The Angel of an Astronomer Page 3

  “You three should go,” Sarah said as she helped herself to a lemon biscuit. “I still have to read my correspondence,” she added, not wanting to admit she was avoiding the cold. Despite having worn boots in the traveling coach, her feet still felt chilled.

  “It would be good to see who might be in residence,” Anne agreed. “For paying calls.”

  “And to discover if there are any marriage-minded men living there,” Gabe teased.

  “That, too,” Anne replied, not the least bit embarrassed by her brother’s comment.

  This would be her first Season, but she was determined it would be her last.

  Chapter 4

  A Plan is Revealed

  Meanwhile, back on the train

  George angled his head to one side and inhaled slowly. “This will be your last Season. You’ve already reached your majority,” he stated, his gaze going from the window to Angelica.

  The comment was made in a manner suggesting he didn’t agree with his father on the matter of her majority. He thought she should be five-and-twenty while their father had insisted she could lay claim to her fortune when she was but one-and-twenty. Although she could do so—she and George had just had their twenty-first birthdays in September—Angelica had decided to wait until the end of this next Season.

  Angelica arched a brow, not liking how his statement made it sound—as if there wouldn’t be any more Seasons after this one. “And?” she prompted.

  “You haven’t a single marriage prospect.”

  Her mouth dropping open in a most unladylike manner, Angelica was about to wallop him with her reticule. Given everything she had stuffed into it that morning, she was quite sure she could knock him out cold with a single, well-placed swing. “What of it?” she hissed. Her eyes widened when she considered what her father’s surprise might be.

  A husband.

  She blinked and struggled to breathe. “Oh, don’t you dare,” she whispered hoarsely. “I cannot believe you would do this,” she added as a gloved hand went to her chest, as if she might need to hold herself up.

  She couldn’t believe her father would do this. She couldn’t believe George would be a party to an arranged marriage!

  George furrowed his brows together. “Angel,” he scolded. “Whatever has you looking as if you’re about to faint? And don’t you dare—”

  “I will faint if that’s what it takes to abuse you of the idea of—”

  “Angel!” he repeated as he leaned forward. If she fainted, she would require a vinaigrette, and he was quite sure she didn’t have one in her overstuffed reticule. There wouldn’t have been room for it.

  He knew her lady’s maid was in the next compartment, sitting across from his valet.

  Or perhaps sitting on his valet.

  The two had married the week before and were still enjoying the bloom of early matrimonial bliss.

  Mary Banks was the first-born daughter of his mother’s lady’s maid, Alice, and their father’s valet, Alonyius Banks. Mary had met John Fitzhugh, the born-and-London bred son of one of his uncle’s servants, when the family had gathered at Slater House for a huge dinner. That was the night before the Torringtons departed for Northumberland and Torrington Park.

  George was sure he felt sparks in the air that night. A sort of electric thrum that had several family members ceasing their conversations to watch in wonder as two people who were destined to be together regarded one another for the very first time.

  The women gathered in the Great Hall of Slater House in Mayfair immediately knew something momentous was happening. The men were a bit obtuse, if only because several were anxious to make their way to the study to begin an afternoon of imbibing Uncle Donald’s scotch.

  Not particularly interested in drinking scotch so early in the day, George had hung back and watched the proceedings in a state of curiosity. The memory of the thrum that had permeated the air had stuck with George ever since.

  He wanted that same sort of reaction to occur when he spotted his intended for the very first time. He wanted to desire his future wife.

  He wanted the sparks. The air charged as if a thunderstorm was about to loose its power. A sort of assurance that the woman who caused such a stir in the air might do the same for him for the rest of his life.

  Perhaps it had, he thought as he remembered a day in the park the month prior.

  The memory had him considering that his sister might want the same. To desire the man she would eventually marry.

  Would she desire the man Father had in mind for her?

  There was only one way to find out, but since she hadn’t yet met the man—and neither had he—George was trying to decide how he might arrange an introduction when it became apparent he was about to be walloped by his twin sister’s reticule.

  And he knew he would suffer a terrible blow should her aim be spot-on. The damn thing may as well have been a hammer, given how much was stuffed into it and its weight.

  Having taken a direct hit from Angelica’s reticule in the past—she could only take so much teasing before she took action—George managed to duck at exactly the right moment.

  Angelica’s reticule sailed within inches of his perfectly coifed Brutus-styled hair and hit the wall of the compartment with a resounding thunk.

  “Father only wishes you to meet the man,” George said quickly. “There is absolutely no requirement in place that you accept a...” George ducked as the reticule once again passed within inches of him, this time about to break a nose of which he was rather proud. No bump and no hook meant he might actually remain handsome until he reached his forties. “... A proposal,” he finished at the same moment Angelica let out a growl of frustration.

  “Some duke’s whelp, I suppose?” she ground out.

  George blinked, shocked at how ornery his sister could sound when given the chance. She would never behave like this in public.

  He hoped.

  “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. His brows furrowed when he considered the young man’s lineage. “Although he might be distantly related to one.”

  He caught the reticule in both hands before it impacted his cheek. Had it hit him, he was sure he would have a shiner. George considered how long he might have had to wait for the bruise to abate before he could make an appearance at White’s. It was that or take up bare-knuckle fighting at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. Then he would have a good excuse for sporting a black eye.

  “Really, Angel. There are times I think our father should have named you ‘Kate’,” he murmured under his breath, thinking she was acting like the Bard’s perfect shrew.

  Then he saw how tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Angel,” he whispered in alarm, setting aside the reticule so he could move to her side of the compartment and gather her into his arms. “You’re taking this far too seriously,” he murmured once Angelica had her cheek resting in the small of his shoulder. “Father merely wanted you to consider this knight—”

  “A knight?” Angelica repeated as she lifted her head from his shoulder.

  “I know. It was a surprise to me as well, but... Father wants you to be happy. He doesn’t care if you marry beneath your station if it means you end up with a man worthy of you.”

  Angelica wiped the tears from one cheek with a gloved hand and sniffled. “Do you know this knight?”

  George’s eyes darted toward the window. “I know of him. I haven’t yet met him.”

  Angelica blinked, sensing evasion in his answer. “How much do you know?”

  Her brother shrugged one shoulder. “The earldom has properties in Suffolk. A well-respected family. Excellent lineage.”

  Frowning, Angelica straightened. “You make him sound like a contender for the Derby,” she murmured.

  “I believe his brother has one of those, too,” George replied. “He had a nag last year that won a couple of the races.”

  Angelica punched him in the arm, which had George letting out an ‘ouch’ before he slid sidewa
ys on the leather squabs.

  “Where is this meeting to take place?” Angelica asked as she straightened and dabbed her hanky beneath her eyes.

  Deciding he was safe from her reticule—it was still on the seat opposite—George straightened in the squabs and said, “I was thinking of hosting a dinner party at Worthington House. Invite a few of my fellow lords and him so that we can ruminate on the upcoming session.”

  Angelica furrowed a brow. “With their wives in attendance, surely.”

  George held his breath a moment. “Well, we could,” he hedged, “except that none of my... well, that is to say, I am not acquainted well enough with those who are old enough to have taken a wife to invite them,” he stammered. “And besides, all the married aristocrats are spending the holiday at their estates in the country.”

  Blinking, Angelica dared a glance out the window and decided the sudden dreariness beyond the glass matched her mood just then. It had been snowing when they left Hexham. “Not a single wife? No other person of my sex will be there?” she queried in disbelief.

  Goodness. Was this to be her lot in London? Hosting entertainments at her childhood home that would only be attended by men?

  On the one hand, she would be the talk of the town! Other hostesses would either display their jealousy with whispered murmurs in Mayfair parlors or beg to know her secret. Having only one brother who wasn’t yet married was the trick, of course.

  At that thought, Angelica reconsidered the situation. Would it really be so bad to be the only woman at the table? Why, if one of the gentlemen grew bored with talk of politics, surely he would turn his attention on her and ask her opinion of something.

  What did she think of the London and Greenwich Railway, for example? She made a mental note to ask George to take her on it one day.

  Or what was her opinion of the recent marriage act that established civil marriage? She wasn’t sure what she thought of a wedding taking place anywhere but in a church, but the thought of marrying in a folly had a slight grin appearing at the edge of her lips.

  Wouldn’t a wedding within the columns of a folly surrounded by pink and white rhododendrons be ever so beautiful? The air sweet with the scent of their blooms and birdsong providing the music?

  Angelica gave a shake of her head.

  Father would insist she marry in St. George’s, she was sure. Which meant she could end up marrying at any time of the year.

  Christmas, she thought with a sigh. With snow falling, and the scents of fresh-cut evergreens and a yule log burning in the large fireplace. Her bouquet of flowers could include holly and their bright red berries.

  Cold winter nights wouldn’t seem so cold if she was nestled in the arms of an attentive husband.

  That’s the way her parents slept.

  She knew this only because she had sneaked into her father’s bedchamber several times as a child during thunderstorms and discovered them together. Given the lack of space on the bed, she had simply curled up into a chair and then woke up when her father was carrying her back to the nursery in the morning.

  The memory from her youth had her giving a start.

  She loved being carried like that, the familiar scent of her father’s cologne surrounding her as she buried her head in the warmth of his robe.

  Whomever she married probably wouldn’t carry her like that. Well, perhaps he would carry her over the threshold when they entered his home for the first time after the wedding.

  A finger snapped in front of her and she gave a start. “What is it?”

  George rolled his eyes. “I said you should invite some of your friends,” he said, obviously perturbed she hadn’t been paying attention. “Cousin Emily is still in Chiswick. The Norwick twins should still be in town. Even out the numbers. It’s what Mother would do.”

  “I suppose,” she murmured.

  “We make it clear that this is just an evening to share a meal and mayhap to play cards. Maybe have some music? I’m quite sure the new butler has seen to keeping the piano-forté tuned.”

  Winslow, the former under-butler, had replaced Bernard earlier that year, and although he was thorough in his duties, Winslow was freer in sharing the gossip he learned from the other servants.

  The thought of a dining room full of young, unmarried aristocrats had Angelica wondering where all the chaperones would be expected to sit. Worthington House’s dining room could easily accommodate four-and-twenty guests, but would the maids be expected to sit in chairs lined up against the long wall? “How many gentlemen are you considering?” she asked.

  “Six. Eight at the most,” George replied. He was about to name them off when he noticed how Angelica was staring at him. “What is it?”

  “Is that all?” she asked. “You had me thinking the dining room would be full,” she accused. “Eight gentlemen is reasonable, although I rather doubt I can find eight friends still in London this time of the year. Most have gone home for Christmastide and won’t be back in town until the Season starts.”

  “Well, we don’t require an even number,” George murmured. “But I would hope you weren’t the only one of your sex at the table.”

  Angelica allowed a shrug. “How is it you will find eight gentlemen who are still in London?”

  George displayed a smirk. “Bachelors, all,” he replied. “I think most have rooms at The Albany or own townhouses in Green Street,” he went on, and then added, “Where they prefer to stay over the holiday because the alternative would be to spend it in the company of an elderly aunt or cousin in some snowbound manor house far from any entertainments.”

  “George!” Angelica said in a scolding voice. Her brows suddenly furrowed. “Is that what you think of our parents? That they’re... elderly?”

  “They are,” he replied with a shrug. At her look of alarm, he added, “They are a half-generation older than the parents of our contemporaries.”

  Angelica sighed, knowing he spoke the truth. Their mother had been eight-and-thirty when she gave birth to them. “This... knight. Does he have a name?” she asked, deciding she may as well learn what she must of the man her father thought a suitable husband for her.

  George sighed. “Sir Benjamin. His ancestral home is in Suffolk, but he has recently taken up residence in London.”

  Blinking, Angelica mentally reviewed the names of the men she remembered from her dance cards. She didn’t recognize the name Benjamin. “Why haven’t I met him?”

  His eyes darting to one side, George shrugged and said, “Hasn’t spent time in London. Been living in Cambridge, I think. His father was an earl, and when he died, this man’s older brother inherited.”

  Angelica furrowed a brow. “How did the second son of an earl become a knight?” she asked, almost to herself, imagining that some derring-do in a war might have been involved. As to which war, she could only think of the war where Greek gained its independence. Or perhaps Sir Benjamin had fought in the Anglo-Burmese War.

  “He did something to impress the king, I should think.”

  “How old do you suppose he is?”

  “Five-and-thirty,” he guessed.

  “You’re joking,” she replied, her eyes wide. “He’s practically old enough to be...” She stopped her complaint, noting how one of George’s brows had arched up.

  Was he daring her to continue the comment?

  At least this Sir Benjamin was half their father’s age. “He was born in this century, at least,” she conceded.

  George gave a one-shouldered shrug. “True, and he’s apparently very intelligent. Completely opposite of his father, if what our father said is true.”

  Angelica furrowed a brow. “Oh?”

  Once again allowing a shrug, George replied, “I cannot put voice to the reason, for I would be subjecting you to inappropriate words and images.”

  Her eyes widening before a grin touched the edge of her lips, Angelica guessed, “His father was an ass?”

  George’s eyes rolled and he cleared his throat, deciding he co
uldn’t admonish her for her unladylike guess. “Exactly.”

  Edmund, Sixth Earl of Wadsworth, had been far worse than an ass, practically abandoning his family in favor of spending time with his mistresses.

  “Is his brother—the current earl—is he of similar disposition?”

  “The exact opposite. Responsible to a fault, except when it comes to the most important duty.”

  Frowning, Angelica straightened in the squabs. “He doesn’t attend Parliament?” she guessed.

  George shook his head. “He hasn’t yet produced an heir.”

  Blinking, Angelica angled her head to one side. “Then... why does Father want me to meet this man’s brother when the earl is obviously the one in need of a wife?”

  Wincing, George took a moment to decide how to respond. “Oh, he has a wife,” he finally said. “And four daughters.”

  Angelica hissed, immediately feeling sorry for the man’s wife. She would no doubt be the one blamed for a nursery empty of any heirs. “Would I have met the countess?” she asked.

  “Doubtful,” her brother responded. “She and the four daughters prefer to spend the majority of the year in Suffolk. Meanwhile, the earl has managed to restore his earldom to its former glory, but now he will have to come up with dowries. Given that the past two springs have been some of the coldest on record and crop yields were so poor, he may have trouble in that regard.”

  Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Our Father must think he won’t sire an heir, and that the earldom will then go to Sir Benjamin should the earl die first.”

  George nodded. “Which means you would eventually become a countess.”

  Angelica blinked, awed by her father’s plan. She regarded her brother a moment, trying to decide if she wanted to be married to a man who might one day inherit an earldom. Her mother had made being a countess look easy, but she’d had years of practice. Adele was the daughter of a marquess. The sister of a marquess. She had been the wife of a wealthy man prior to her marriage to the Earl of Torrington. Playing hostess and acting as a helpmate—and bedmate—was easy for Adele Torrington.