The Angel of an Astronomer Page 7

  The very thought of such a catastrophe befalling his new instrument had him visibly shaking. “Me, neither.” He glanced down at the packing materials and the wooden crate littering the floor. “Perhaps you can see to removing all this?”

  “Right away, sir,” the servant answered, giving him a bow.

  “And let Peters know I’ll be taking my dinner up here this evening. I have every intention of putting this to use once it’s dark enough.”

  “Even if it snows, sir?”

  Ben blinked. “Snow?” he repeated.

  The footman allowed a shrug. “Might not be now, but it smells like it will.”

  Not having given the weather a thought since his return from the train station, Ben had only noticed the skies were fairly clear for his telescope’s maiden night. “Then I have much to do before it does.”

  As for the weather inside the dome, it was chilly, but not yet cold enough to warrant wearing a great coat and leather gloves.

  “Very good, sir.” Not exactly sure what the contraption might be used for, the footman went about collecting the refuse before he made his way down the long, spiral staircase.

  Ben regarded his new instrument with a sigh of satisfaction and got to work.

  Chapter 9

  A Weary Mind Wanders

  An hour later, in the study at Worthington House

  Propping his chin in his hand, George finished reading the last of the correspondence that had collected on a silver salver on his father’s mahogany desk. Nothing required immediate attention, although there was a curious newspaper clipping included in a letter from his cousin, Thomas Grandby.

  He read the accompanying note and frowned.

  Hexham,

  Thought you should see this in the event this issue of The Times didn’t make it up to Northumberland. Seems you may have new neighbors. When you are back in Town, do join me for a drink at White’s. Town is so dull when everyone has left for the country.

  Thomas

  George turned to the clipping and arched a brow as he read the newsprint.

  Those who have been following the ever growing debacle that is Baron Bradford’s life of late claim he has made a break for the Continent. His unentailed house, used as collateral in a game of chance in the East End, has been snagged by a member of the ton, although it is doubtful the gentleman will move in anytime soon. Word is Bradford Hall is in as much trouble as its former owner. That can be the only explanation for all the workmen we have seen coming and going from the premises. Let us hope the new owner can afford all the necessary repairs.

  Frowning, George set aside the clipping and the note. Whatever had been done to Bradford Hall had been done on the inside. The house appeared the same on the outside, at least from what he remembered when they had returned earlier that afternoon.

  As for a new neighbor, he figured he would discover the man’s identity from one of the servants. They all seemed to know the neighborhood gossip well before it made it into Mayfair parlors.

  His eyes darted sideways, thinking he hadn’t even looked in the direction of Bradford Hall when the hackney had parked in front of Worthington House.

  Upon his departure from the hackney, George might have paid more attention to Bradford Hall except he had become aware of a barouche passing by as he and Angelica were making their way up to the front door of Worthington House. On a chilly winter day such as this, only those intending to see and be seen would ride in such a conveyance.

  His quick glance in their direction had him noting there were just three passengers, but for that fraction of a second, only one of them caught his eye. If he dared to stare longer, he would have been caught gawking.

  He was sure the young lady in the fur hat was Lady Anne. Sure because his entire body had reacted much as it had done that day in Hyde Park.

  The man next to her was no doubt her father, but the third occupant?

  A streak of jealousy shot through him when he remembered it was a man. He hadn’t seen his face, so he had no idea of his age, and his top hat had hid most of his hair.

  What if Lady Anne was being courted? From what Angelica had said on the train, he was sure she hadn’t yet made her come-out. That she would do so in the spring, during the Season. Surely he would receive an invitation to her come-out ball, if the Trentons planned to host one at their townhouse in Curzon Street. He made a mental note to ask his sister.

  Now that he knew Trenton and the Wellinghams were in town, he would have Angelica invite Lady Anne to their dinner party.

  The thought of dinner had him checking his Breguet. Noting the late hour, he realized he had little time to dress for dinner.

  Making his way to his bedchamber, George found his thoughts returning to his earlier conversation with his sister on the train.

  Specifically, the part of the conversation having to do with Lady Anne.

  Was it possible she wasn’t yet betrothed as his sister claimed? As his mother had inferred when she talked about the young lady and her artistic talent when it came to painting, drawing, and needlework?

  If not, was Anne being courted by the gentleman in the barouche?

  Thomas Grandby would know. He seemed to know the whereabouts of everyone, even those who made it a point to hide.

  And by now, he might know more about what had happened next door.

  “Fitzhugh, I’ll be going to my club after dinner this evening,” he announced when he stepped into his bedchamber.

  “Very good, sir,” the valet replied as he pulled a dark red waistcoat from the bed and disappeared into the dressing room. He returned carrying a more ornate version, this red one embroidered with brightly colored birds.

  “Has the housekeeper finished preparing your new bedchamber?” George asked, allowing Fitzhugh to undo the buttons of his top coat and waistcoat.

  “Indeed. Mrs. Fitzhugh and I are very grateful, sir.”

  For a moment, George felt a stab of jealousy. His valet was only a few years older than he was, and yet Fitzhugh had found a wife without even looking.

  Well, at least not far, given Mrs. Fitzhugh was his sister’s lady’s maid.

  “So... being leg-shackled is not so bad?”

  Fitzhugh shook his head. “Not with Mary... Miss Banks, I mean, sir. She’s all sweetness, and she never complains.”

  “Never?” George repeated in disbelief. A memory of something his father had shared with him years ago came to mind. Something about Mrs. Banks—his mother’s lady’s maid—and the earl’s valet, before they were married.

  Fitzhugh shook his head. “Probably because she shares her parents’ disposition. I have ever known Mr. Banks to complain, although I’ve heard Mrs. Banks used to back before she married him.”

  So Mrs. Banks hadn’t always been happy.

  George had heard this bit of gossip, although he had been a young boy at the time. Eavesdropping on the housemaids whilst they cleaned the upstairs parlor—he would be hiding under a settee or in a cupboard—allowed him to learn all sorts of things about those who worked at Worthington House.

  Apparently Alice Simpkins, his mother’s lady’s maid, had developed a dislike for his father’s valet, Alonyius Banks, when his parents first wed. Or perhaps she had felt threatened, for life in Worthington House was far different when it was occupied by just Adele Slater Worthington and her servants.

  Once his mother married Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, the number of servants increased. The addition of another senior servant would have meant Miss Simpkins’ rank in the house wasn’t quite as high.

  Or perhaps she had come to that point in her life when she started to ask questions. Questions like, “Is this all there is?” Or “What do I have to look forward to day after day?”

  Questions much like what George had been struggling with lately—at least, until his father informed him he should accept a writ of acceleration and simply get on with his life as an aristocrat. Attend Parliament and start to learn how the country was run.

  Y
ou’re one-and-twenty going on thirty, his father had said. May as well live as if you are.

  Alice Simpkins’ discontent had changed when she and Alonyius Banks were stranded in a coaching inn, their traveling coach and his parents’ trunks snowbound in Darlington whilst on the way to Torrington Park. He often wondered just what Banks had done to thaw the lady’s maid’s chilly disposition. Whatever it was, the two had ended up married shortly after their arrival at Torrington Park

  George thought of how he might arrange for Lady Anne and him to be stranded in a coaching inn. He would ask for two rooms, of course, only to be told there was just one available. And then he would inform Anne that she could have the bed and he would sleep in a chair. Before the clock struck midnight, she would invite him to join her in the bed, if only to help keep her warm.

  He would oblige her, of course, because what else could a gentleman do? Pull her into his arms and settle her back against his front as his knees tucked into the back of hers. Wrap a protective arm around her middle so that his hand just barely grazed her breast through the fabric of her very chaste night rail. Struggle to keep his cock under control, for holding her so close would have him thinking carnal thoughts. Thoughts of what he might to do her once they were formally betrothed. Thoughts of undressing her until she was nearly naked, her long limbs draped with nothing more than a linen, much like the statue of Venus in ...

  “Sir?”

  George blinked, his image of a naked Lady Anne slowly replaced with the visage of his valet. “What?”

  “I asked if you wanted to wear the buckled shoes?” Fitzhugh held up a pair of black leather pumps adorned with an enormous silver buckle. “Or the more sedate pair?” The first pair dropped to Fitzhugh’s side as he raised a pair with a much smaller gold buckle.

  “The sedate pair,” George murmured, deciding he needed to let go of the image of a naked Lady Anne that his mind’s eye was trying hard to hold onto. His hardening cock would be noticed by his valet if he didn’t put a stop to the Venus fantasy. “Tell me, Fitzhugh. When you saw your wife the very first time, did you... know? That she would be the one you would marry, I mean?”

  His valet’s eyes widened before they darted to one side. “I suppose I did, sir.”

  George made a motion for him to continue.

  “You will think me daft, sir.”

  “I won’t,” George assured him, his head shaking from side to side.

  The valet took a deep breath and then said in a lowered voice, “I was sure I heard angels singing, sir. The air was suddenly very still, and everything went quiet. And there was this light from above that showed just on her. Like the good Lord was trying to tell me she was the one.”

  George blinked. “Was it like that for her?”

  Fitzhugh blinked. “Can’t rightly say, my lord, as I never asked her. But she was staring at me like I was the only man in the entire house.” His brows furrowed then. “Or perhaps because I was staring at her.” He dipped his head. “I couldn’t help myself, sir.”

  Thinking back to the day in Hyde Park when Lady Anne had been riding with her brother, Gabe, George tried to recall how she had looked at him. He didn’t remember her expression as that of one who was besotted. In fact, after he initially spotted her, she had stared at him for only a moment or so before she turned her happy gaze onto Angelica. The two were obviously friends of a sort. As much as two young ladies could be when they lived so far apart most of the year.

  But then she had stared at him as the curricle passed him, her gaze not wavering until the downpour hid him from her.

  And her from him.

  Damned rain.

  “I suppose that was the sign you needed to know you could approach Banks about courting,” George replied.

  Fitzhugh shook his head. “Oh no, sir. I got that when she kissed me in the fourth story hall later that night. Just came right up to me, stood on tiptoes, and...” He allowed the sentence to trail off, probably because his master was staring at him as if he’d grown another head.

  “She kissed you?”

  His eyes darting to one side, Fitzhugh nodded. “I didn’t mind. Not one bit. Saved me from having to sort how I was going to do it.”

  George’s eyes rounded. “You must have thought her fast.” What woman would simply walk up to a man and kiss him on the lips? When they hadn’t even been courting?

  Had they even been introduced?

  Fitzhugh shook his head. “I didn’t. I took it as another sign, like those angels singing, and I proposed marriage. She accepted right then and there.”

  George’s mouth dropped open for a moment before he managed to get it closed. “No courting? No... walks in the park? No trysts in the library?”

  His eyes darting to one side, Fitzhugh shook his head again. “No, sir.”

  “No regrets?”

  Fitzhugh’s eyes darted to the other side. “None, sir.”

  For a brief moment, George imagined Lady Anne approaching him from the first story parlor, stopping before him and raising up onto tiptoes to kiss him. He imagined proposing marriage and then grinning as her eyes widened and her face displayed one of its most brilliant smiles.

  He was just about to hear her words of acceptance when the dinner bell chimed.

  George shook himself from his reverie and slipped on the gold-buckled shoes. “You are an inspiration, Fitzhugh,” he said, just before he took his leave of his bedchamber.

  Chapter 10

  A Discovery Out the Window

  An hour earlier, in the upstairs salon

  Angelica reread her correspondence one more time before carefully folding the missives into their original envelope shapes. Draining the last of her tea, she furrowed a brow when she realized she had eaten both cakes and all the biscuits that had been delivered with the teapot the hour before.

  Well, she had been hungry. Was still hungry. Dinner could not be served soon enough.

  The reminder of the evening meal had her rising and shaking out her skirts. The sun had nearly set, although the sky was still light in the west. The dusting of snow that had settled since their arrival glistened in the waning light, at least in the places where it hadn’t turned gray due to soot.

  Making her way up to her bedchamber to dress for dinner, Angelica was soon joined by Mary.

  The lady’s maid had changed out of her traveling clothes and into a simple, drab gown, but her cheeks still displayed a rosy hue. No doubt from her afternoon delight in the train, Angelica thought as she allowed a wan smile.

  She turned so Mary could undo the buttons up the back of her carriage gown and then quickly whirled around to face the lady’s maid. “What...!?”

  Mary furrowed a brow before she slowly angled her entire body so that she might look beyond her mistress to see whatever it was that had the earl’s daughter turning a ghastly shade of white. Her gaze shifted to the bedchamber’s second window and the view beyond.

  Or rather, the lack of it.

  Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she let out, stepping backwards as her hands went to cover her mouth. “What is that?”

  Angelica shook her head. “I’ve absolutely no idea,” she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder and finally moved toward the window, her hands coming up to cup her temples so she could peer out without seeing any reflections in the glass. “It’s a building of some sort,” she murmured. “A round building.”

  At first, she thought it might be a very tall greenhouse—they had become all the rage in recent years—but it wasn’t covered in oil cloth. At least, not all of it. The roof, in fact, appeared to be rounded and made of something solid.

  “With a round top,” Mary said. “Sort of like Winston’s head.” She was standing in the window on the other side of the dressing table, her eyes similarly shielded by her hands as she gazed at the building that had been erected during the time they had been at Torrington Park. “Or one of those churches where the Greek people worship.”

  Angelica straightened at hearing t
he last comment, wondering how her lady’s maid would know such a thing. Then she remembered that despite being a valet, the girl’s father was an educated man. Alonyius Banks had probably even been to Greece. “I don’t see a cross anywhere,” Angelica murmured.

  “Is it allowed?” Mary queried.

  About to ask what she meant by the question, Angelica suddenly understood. Someone had built a rather atrocious building right behind their house. Was such a back garden structure allowed here in Mayfair?

  “I’ll speak with my brother about it during dinner,” Angelica said with a huff.

  Whatever it was and whatever its use, the monstrosity was an eyesore.

  Surely it would have to be taken down.

  Chapter 11

  A Young Lady Ponders Her Future

  Meanwhile, back at Trenton House

  Lady Anne stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror as her lady’s maid began styling her hair. “You needn’t do much with my hair, this evening,” she said to Bradley, her lady’s maid. “We paid a call at my Aunt Lily’s before returning home, and I spent far too much time in the nursery,” she murmured. “But I just loved holding little Todd.”

  Her aunt Lily had explained that the new baby was named for another broker at Wellingham Imports, one that her husband, William, had worked for when he was a child. “I can hardly wait to be married and to have a baby of my own.”

  Bradley blinked. “But... but you’re only seventeen,” she argued.

  “I’ll be eighteen soon,” Anne countered, deciding now would be the perfect opportunity to learn what her maid might know about Viscount Hexham. Bradley stayed at Trenton House year-round, taking on the duties of a housemaid when Anne wasn’t in residence. She was apt to hear gossip. Anne was sure the entire household staff reveled in it. “Pray tell, have you heard anything about the Torringtons returning to town?”