The Angel of an Astronomer Page 5

  Meanwhile, back in the Euston station

  Sir Benjamin Fulton stood transfixed as he watched an elegant young woman step down from the train.

  The lady’s maid who followed her appeared most cheerful, while the mistress seemed...

  Heartbroken?

  Sad?

  Contemplative?

  Or perhaps her eyes were bothered by the coal smoke that hung in the chilly air.

  She looked as if she’d been crying.

  A woman as beautiful as this one shouldn’t have a need to cry, he considered. From her smart ensemble—a bright navy carriage gown and matching redingote—he knew she was a woman of some substance. The color of her hair—honey blonde—was evident given it was topped with a petite hat worn at a rakish angle and adorned with a short feather.

  Was she traveling alone? If so, she seemed quite at ease despite the new mode of travel.

  Confident, even.

  He liked that in a young woman.

  Not because he liked being kowtowed by a woman, of course, but because he’d had quite enough of helpless females.

  Having a brother with four girls—all being brought up by a governess to believe they would never survive without the help of a husband—Ben wasn’t about to seek out the same sort of woman for himself.

  He wanted someone educated enough to carry on a conversation about topics other than French fashions or gossip overheard in a Mayfair parlor. Someone who would be interested in what he found interesting.

  A tall order, he supposed, given his interest in the heavens above.

  Until the week before, he hadn’t even been thinking of young women. Of marriage and what might—or rather what would—occur should his older brother die without having sired an heir.

  I might become an earl.

  Then two missives had arrived from the north, and ever since, he found he could think of almost nothing else.

  Well, he could, and at the moment, he should. He had a reason for being at the Euston train station, and it wasn’t to admire lovely young ladies or pontificate on the possibility of becoming an earl.

  His latest acquisition should have arrived on this afternoon’s train.

  A telescope. A reflecting telescope. The same sort of instrument Sir Isaac Newton had used the century before to study the heavens above. One with a large lens at one end and a small one at the other, housed in a broad steel tube mounted into a rotating metal fork.

  Once installed on the base he’d had constructed in his back garden observatory, the scope would allow him to see well beyond the limits of his naked eye.

  When last summer had finally paid a call on an impatient London—winter had been especially harsh with cold—he had commissioned an observatory to be built behind his mansion in Mayfair. Located well away from the soot-stained skies of London, his garden was a perfect place from which to stargaze. Although he would have preferred a property out in Richmond or Chiswick, his brother, Benedict, Earl of Wadsworth, insisted he live in the house the earldom had recently acquired. “I need a place I can go besides White’s should my visiting daughters threaten my sanity,” Benedict had said last spring, when he explained how he had acquired the property.

  Ben rolled his eyes at remembering the incident.

  The Wadsworth earldom already provided him with a modest allowance every month. Given his brother hadn’t yet sired an heir, though, there was still a chance Ben would end up inheriting the earldom at some point.

  Given his lack of interest in government and politics, he really hoped a boy would appear soon. His brother was eight-and-thirty, and although his wife, Sylvia, was younger, they didn’t behave the same as they had when they were first married.

  Ben feared his brother would follow in their father’s footsteps—abandon his wife and take a mistress or two.

  That’s why they had a half-sister. Marguerite was doing fine in her marriage, having borne four boys with the tradesman she had wed when she was but two-and-twenty. Ben’s nephews, all younger than his nieces by Benedict, were treated with equal love and devotion. He may have spent more time in his nephews’ company, if only because they showed more interest in his avocation than his nieces did.

  Astronomy.

  Upon Ben’s discovery of a comet the year before, the Prime Minister had taken note and recommended an honor be bestowed on him. With the King’s agreement came word that Ben would be knighted. The ceremony, painless despite the huge sword that had tapped his shoulders, was over in a moment. A few days later, the king died.

  Ben often wondered if the sword had been too heavy for the aged man.

  Thank the gods his new title didn’t require him to take a seat in Parliament. That meant he could spend his nights perusing the heavens and recording his findings in his very own back garden.

  After only a few weeks of late autumn construction, the brick and steel observatory was complete. Benjamin owned an exceptional pair of opera glasses to use as a finder scope, although he had ordered a finder scope be made so that he could mount it on the new telescope.

  Once the instrument was installed this afternoon, he could spend his evenings staring at stars. Communing with comets. Peeking at planets. Making moon eyes at the moon.

  His skills at sketching would assist in documenting his discoveries. He had an easel, pencils, and pens with a variety of nibs that would allow him to perfectly replicate what he saw in the telescope lens.

  He was determined to discover something new about which he could speak at a Royal Society meeting.

  The man in the moon? Or craters on the moon?

  Or the moons around Jupiter? Surely there were more than just the four.

  Or what of Saturn’s rings? And why did Saturn have rings while none of the other known planets could claim such a trait?

  And just why was Mars red?

  Ben was contemplating this and more when he suddenly blinked.

  The beautiful blonde had just been joined on the platform by another blond. But this one was a young man, well-dressed and sporting a top hat of good quality.

  Damnation!

  A servant, probably his valet, followed the young man out of the train car and offered his arm to the lady’s maid. Meanwhile, the young man offered his arm to the woman of Ben’s dreams, and the four made their way toward the station.

  Double damnation!

  She was already spoken for!

  Married, no doubt, although how was it she had managed to land a husband who could have been her twin brother? The two looked alike in a manner that was most unnerving.

  Ben blinked.

  After further study of the young man, he thought he recognized him. A fellow aristocrat’s son, but one who held his title as a courtesy, because he was due to inherit...

  Ben struggled to remember just which earldom the young man would one day inherit. Although he couldn’t come up with a name, the thought that the beautiful blonde might not be married had his heart skipping a beat.

  Something that rarely happened.

  When he sneezed, of course, for he knew it was a well-documented side effect of a sneeze. But other than that, when had his heart ever stopped?

  Well, there was that one time when he had paid witness to a total solar eclipse. But did that really count? The other three gentlemen in his company had all clutched their chests in awe as they stared at the ring of fire that perfectly surrounded the black moon.

  They would probably be blind before they reached their fifties, but he had decided paying witness to such a spectacle was well worth the consequences.

  Given his current view of the young lady, he was glad blindness hadn’t yet taken his sight.

  “Sir, are you here to collect that crate?” a uniformed man asked as he pointed toward a wooden box mounted on a two-wheeled cart. He held a manifest in one hand, the perfect penmanship displaying his name in black ink. “Benjamin Fulton?”

  Pulled from his reverie, Ben dared a quick glance around. He was now the only other person on the platform
besides the rather portly porter. “I am,” he acknowledged. “Is it heavy?”

  “Nothing I can’t manage, although you’ll want assistance to get it off of your carriage,” the porter replied. He saw to grabbing the handles of the luggage cart and then gave the knight a salute.

  Once he was sure the short man was dutifully following him, Ben made his way to an ancient town coach parked in front of the train station—just in time to watch as the beautiful blonde stepped up and into a hackney. Ben hadn’t intended to allow his attention to wander, but the sight of the young woman must have had him making some sort of noise, for the porter was regarding him with an arched brow.

  And a look of amusement.

  “Lady Angelica,” the short man said in a hoarse whisper.

  Ben arched a brow, immediately recognizing the name.

  Unless there was more than one.

  “Daughter of...?”

  “Torrington, of course,” the porter replied, his look of amusement quickly replaced by a display of his contempt for the knight, as if ignorance of the Torrington family was beyond the pale.

  “That is Torrington’s daughter?” Ben half-asked in disbelief, acting as if he knew exactly to whom the man referred. He knew of her, of course. She had been the subject of the two letters he had received the week before.

  Which meant she definitely wasn’t married.

  Thank the gods.

  Good God! What am I thinking?

  At the porter’s continued expression of disappointment, Ben sighed. “I have only been living in London a couple of months. I haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction, but I shall see to one once the entertainments begin in the spring,” he added, hoping the porter wouldn’t leave him—as some sort of punishment for his ignorance—before seeing to it the heavy crate was loaded onto the back of his town coach.

  The equipage had definitely seen better days. At one time, it had belonged to his father and probably his grandfather before that. The gold paint that had long ago displayed the crest of the Wadsworth earldom had peeled off or been painted over with a glossy black lacquer that was no longer glossy. The axels were still good, though, as were the wheels, and besides, the town coach was his only means of getting the crate to Bradford Hall.

  “Sort of a surprise to see them here this time of the year,” the porter murmured.

  “Them?” Ben repeated. He still wondered about the identity of the lady’s escort. Her brother, perhaps?

  “It ain’t yet been Christmas. Usually don’t see the earl’s family in London until well after January.”

  Ben inhaled, the letters now making more sense. Earl’s family. The porter referred to Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington. The young man who had followed Lady Angelica was definitely George Grandby, Viscount Hexham, which meant Lady Angelica was his sister.

  Ben ignored the thrill he felt just then at sorting she was most definitely the subject of the missives.

  His short-lived euphoria abated. “I didn’t see the earl,” Ben commented, hoping to draw out more information from the short man.

  The porter loaded the crate onto the back of the town coach with the help of another porter. “Neither did I, nor the countess,” he agreed, pausing in his effort to secure the crate with leather luggage straps. His brows waggled, and he seemed about to say something before he suddenly sobered and quickly finished his task.

  Pulling a coin from his waistcoat pocket, Ben offered it to the porter. “Perhaps they’ll come on a later train?” he half-asked. He pulled yet another coin from his waistcoat pocket and held it out to the porter.

  Taking the proffered coins, the porter tipped his hat. “Much obliged, guv’nor.” He paused before adding, “Doubt the earl will be in town ’afore Parliament starts in the spring.”

  Ben considered the comment. The thought of Lady Angelica without more than her brother as protector had him wondering if he might gain an audience with the young woman before the first ball of the Season.

  And then he rolled his eyes.

  Whatever was he thinking? He would never have enough courage to approach Lady Angelica, despite the information contained in the letter he had received from the Earl of Torrington. And given that his hobby—astronomy—kept him up late at night and abed until past noon most days, it was unlikely he would ever see her again.

  Well, in his dreams, of course. For he was quite sure he would have a hard time forgetting the young woman.

  Chapter 6

  Home at Worthington House

  Nearly two hours later

  George nudged the napping Angelica with a poke to her shoulder. “We’re home,” he murmured.

  Angelica opened her eyes and dared a glance out the hackney window. “Finally,” she sighed. The train stop was well north of the city, and the last leg of their trip, taken in a hackney that was cleaner than most, was the least comfortable portion of what had seemed the longest day of Angelica’s life.

  She almost yearned for the days when they did the Hexham to London trip by coach-and-four over a period of four days.

  Almost.

  Their servants, likewise napping on the bench opposite, stirred to life and straightened.

  “I’ll have the butler see to new quarters for you,” George commented, knowing the newlyweds would prefer a shared room as opposed to the separate quarters they had been occupying prior to their departure from Torrington Park.

  “Much obliged, my lord,” Mr. Fitzhugh replied, his hand moving to cover his new wife’s hand.

  Angelica caught the simple gesture, and she felt a wave of jealousy pass through her. She didn’t envy her lady’s maid for the man she had married, but rather for her blissful state as a result of her wedding. Never one to complain about anything or say an unkind word about anyone, Mary Banks seemed ever so happy. So pleasant to have in her company.

  “Do you suppose Cook might make us some dinner?” Angelica asked of her brother. “I am starving.”

  George gave her a quelling glance. “Well, we are expected,” he replied, heartened when two footmen hurried from the front door of Worthington House.

  As servants saw to unloading trunks and opening the doors, the travelers unfolded themselves from the cramped quarters of the hackney and made their way to the front door.

  Angelica paused to shake out her carriage gown. She gazed up at the Georgian-era mansion before her, relieved to see it hadn’t changed since the last time she had lived there.

  Only six weeks ago.

  Her time at Torrington Park had seemed far longer. Given its distance from Hexham, she had felt cut off from all civilization. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss Hyde Park or the pleasures of window shopping in Jermyn Street, or New Bond Street, or at one of the new shopping arcades.

  At least the library was well stocked, although after having spent every Christmas holiday at Torrington Park since she was born, she had read all the tomes that interested her. She would have had to start reading the books on modern farming techniques and husbandry for racing horses had she remained another day longer.

  How did her mother abide the quiet after a busy London life of entertaining?

  The sound of a coach-and-four had her turning her attention back to Park Lane. The equipage had just pulled up to the curb in front of the adjacent house. Seemingly empty when they had departed for Northumberland, Bradford Hall had been owned by Baron Bradford. Excessive gambling had left the baron in dire straights. He had taken his leave of London under a cloud of scandal—and unpaid vowels—and no one seemed to know where he had gone.

  Angelica briefly wondered if the baron had returned, but before she could ask, George offered his arm.

  Winston stood aside as they entered, greeting them as they stepped over the threshold. He was joined by their Olde English sheepdog, whose rear end moved back and forth much like a tail would have done if he’d had one.

  “Correspondence?” George asked before they had even finished removing their coats. He gave the dog, Muffin MacDuff Pa
ddlepaws, a quick scratch behind the ears.

  “In the study, sir,” the butler replied.

  “Dinner?”

  “Five o’clock.” Winston’s expression indicated he didn’t agree with such an early meal time, but George had sent word ahead that an early dinner would be warranted after a long day of travel.

  “Anything I need to see to right away?”

  Winston shook his head. “Nothing, sir,” although his gaze darted to the valet and lady’s maid.

  “Ah. Larger quarters for my valet. He and Miss Banks have recently wed in Hexham.” George secretly thrilled at seeing how the news had Winston’s eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Their former butler wouldn’t have batted an eye, let alone given away his reaction to such an announcement.

  “Oh, course. I will see to it the housekeeper has a room ready later this afternoon.”

  George allowed a grin and gave his sister a nod. “I’ll collect you at five,” he said, and then disappeared into the study off the main hall.

  Angelica allowed a sigh and was about to say something to Winston when he turned and said, “I’ll have a tea tray delivered to your rooms in just a moment.”

  “Bless you.” She paused and watched as her lady’s maid and the valet made their way out of the vestibule and toward the back of the house. “Tell me, Winston. Has Baron Bradford returned?” she asked in a low voice. At the butler’s furrowed brow, she added, “A town coach just parked in front of Bradford Hall.”

  “Ah. That would be the new occupant,” he replied, his face having returned to its normally stoic countenance.

  Her eyes widening, Angelica regarded the servant a moment before she was forced to ask, “Does he have a name?”

  Winston’s appearance took on one of discomfort, as if he were experiencing a gastric disturbance. “I am most sure he does, but it is unknown to me.”

  Angelica blinked. “How can that be?” Servants were always the first to know the gossip.

  Winston allowed a shrug before he leaned towards her. “Our servants have yet to make the acquaintance of his servants,” he whispered. “All are new, you see, since the prior staff all left the employ of Baron Bradford well before the house was sold. That is, all but the butler, Peters.”