“The impending invasion?”
Throckmorton put his finger to his lips.
“Of course, sir. Yes, sir, but”—Stanhope shifted in the hard, misshapen chair—“can you be sure Celeste is trustworthy?”
“You mean she might be a spy sent to distract me?” Throckmorton chuckled indulgently. “Really, man, who would ever have dared to think a man in my position would fall in love with a lovely young birdbrain?”
13
“If you follow the arc of the Big Dipper’s handle, you’ll find the bright star named Arcturus.” Celeste steadied the telescope for Penelope. “Arc to Arcturus. That’s how you remember its name.”
Kiki imitated Celeste’s gesture toward Arcturus. “Oui, mademoiselle. Arcturus.”
“Arcturus is the brightest star in the summer sky, part of the constellation Bootës.” Kiki didn’t repeat that, so Celeste added, “Bootës is from the Greek word meaning ‘plowman.’ “
“Bootës,” Kiki said.
Penelope kept her eye to the eyepiece as she asked, “Why do you talk to her at all? She doesn’t speak English.”
“Yes, she does. She would have to be a very stupid girl not to, and she’s a very intelligent girl.”
The stars glittered in the clear summer sky, moonrise was a premonition on the eastern horizon, and the garden wall sheltered them from most of the glow from the house windows, but Celeste could almost see the glance Penelope shot at Kiki, and the grimace Kiki sent back. Celeste smiled. The girls struggled toward a kind of accord, and if she stayed on as their governess or . . . or as someone’s mother, she would like to guide them. “Can you see the rings on Saturn?” she asked Penelope.
“They’re turned sideways, and they’re different colors. What makes them different colors?”
“No one knows.”
“When I grow up, I’m going to find out,” Penelope stated.
Hearing the gritty determination that sounded so much like her father’s, Celeste didn’t doubt she would try. Yet experience compelled Celeste to warn, “The learned astronomers would not welcome a female colleague.”
Indignation sounded loud in Penelope’s voice. “They shouldn’t care if I find out things better than they do.”
“They will care even more if you find out things better than they do.”
With insouciant confidence, Penelope said, “Then they’re stupid.”
Celeste wondered if she should, as Penelope’s governess, urge her to be less judgmental and to employ more tact, especially when dealing with the masculine gender. But there was time enough for that later, so she said, “Yes.”
“Who taught you about the stars, Miss Milford?” Penelope asked.
“My father,” Celeste answered, a wealth of affection in her voice.
“Oh, I like him!” Penelope poked her head out from around the telescope. “He showed me how to plant basil seeds in the kitchen garden, and they grew!”
Kiki tugged at Celeste’s skirt. “Ou est-elle, l’Étoile du nord?”
“You already know where the North Star is,” Penelope said scornfully.
Of course Kiki did know that, but she wanted attention, so Celeste knelt beside her. “We find the North Star by using the two pointer stars on the Big Dipper. The five constellations that circle the North Star are . . . ?”
“Cassiopeia, Draco, Ursa Minor, Ursa Major, Cepheus,” Kiki answered.
Celeste looked at her, saw the faint breeze ruffle the blond curls, and wondered when she would admit at last that she was destined to stay in England. It was as if the child believed denying the facts of her life would change them. Celeste’s own heart ached to see her seeking contentment in so very much the wrong direction. If only Ellery . . . but he didn’t know what to do. His new wife would have to teach him how to be a father to this unhappy waif.
Penelope stepped away from the telescope. “I learned the names of all the summer constellations.”
“Tell us,” Celeste invited.
Kiki jumped up and down on the gravel path. “Moi aussi!”
“It’s Penelope’s turn,” Celeste said.
“Non!” Kiki tore herself away from Celeste’s restraining hand, ran a few steps up the path, and shouted, “Libra, Pegasus, Andromeda—”
“See, she does understand English. The little prat.” Penelope stood straight as a ramrod, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the capering Kiki.
Oh, dear. Cast in the shade by her younger, prettier cousin, Penelope had good reason for such sentiment. At the same time she had so much more than Kiki—the security of her father and her home.
“I just hate her. I’m good and no one ever notices me,” Penelope continued. “She’s naughty and she gets all the attention.”
Celeste wrapped an arm around the stiff little figure. “Not tonight. Let’s lie on the rug.” When they’d arrived at this high, secluded spot in the garden, it had been dusk, and Herne had set up the telescope and spread a large blanket over the grass. Now she and Penelope sprawled on the blanket. As they lay on their backs, their skirts billowed with each passing breeze, but who cared? There was no one to see. This night, as music floated faintly from the house and all the proper, wealthy, patrician adults attended yet another party, Celeste and the children learned a lesson in astronomy, and another in sharing. Looking up into the firmament, Celeste asked, “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Capricornus, Aquila, Cygnus—” Kiki yelled.
Shoulder to shoulder with Celeste, Penelope stared upward, rigid with tension. “Aren’t you mad at me for saying I hate her?”
“She’s your cousin, and you live together like sisters. Everyone hates their cousins occasionally, and even more people hate their sisters.” Celeste shrugged, and she knew Penelope felt the gesture. “The trick is not to allow your hate to make you unhappy.”
Penelope began to relax. “Papa said that when he was young sometimes he hated Uncle Ellery.”
Celeste didn’t want to hear that. In only a day, she had observed the children’s similarities to their fathers. Penelope, so much like solemn, responsible Throckmorton. Kiki, so much like the carefree, impish Ellery. And both of them capable of so much more. “Does your papa hate him now?”
“Well, I don’t know, but I heard him say he’s just impatient with Uncle Ellery for being so worthless.”
Ellery is not worthless. The words sprang to Celeste’s lips. But she didn’t utter them, for she feared that the analytical Penelope would enumerate exactly how worthless Ellery was.
“So when I am old like you and Papa, will I hate Kiki less?”
With artless candor, Penelope grouped Celeste and Throckmorton together as adults, and Celeste, who had so long considered Throckmorton her elder, found herself disconcerted and distracted. How had this happened? When had she become Throckmorton’s contemporary? “I . . . yes. Yes, you’ll even love Kiki most of the time.”
“That’s what Papa says,” Penelope said with satisfaction.
Kiki called, “—et . . . Orion . . .”
“Kiki, that’s a winter constellation,” Celeste said with just the right amount of indifference. “Now look up, Penelope. All the stars move, and the planets move, and the earth moves around the sun. When you lie here very still, you can almost see the universe sweep past before your eyes. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yes.” Penelope’s voice contained awe. “I can feel the earth move beneath me.”
With a loud, exasperated sigh at their indifference, Kiki flopped down on the other side of Celeste.
“Remember, Penelope, there’s more to astronomy than knowledge and a telescope,” Celeste said. “Never lose your wonderment at the universe God has created for us.”
“C’est grande,” Kiki said.
“Oui, c’est très grande,” Penelope answered.
Celeste wrapped her arms around the girls and hugged them both against her. It was good to be home.
“Attention!” Kiki pointed at the three-quarter moon hefting itself over
the horizon.
As if propelled by a spring, Penelope sat up. “Can we see that through the telescope?”
“It’s too bright,” Celeste said. So bright, in fact, the dark blobs of trees, bushes and walls began to assume dimensions and recognizable shapes. “It’s better to view the moon when it’s less than half-full.”
One of those recognizable shapes standing by the gate looked very much like a man. She hadn’t noticed his approach, but the back of her neck prickled. She strained her eyes, trying to identify that still form.
“We’ll come out when it’s half-full?” Penelope asked with obvious anticipation.
“Yes.” But Celeste wasn’t really paying attention. Moving with innate caution, she sat up, still watching and not liking the unease that swept her. Then he—whoever he was—shifted, and she jumped like a startled deer. Celeste’s heart pounded as she stared, then—
“Papa!” Penelope leaped up and ran to him as Throckmorton stepped into the moonlight.
Celeste put her hand to her chest to still the thumping of her heart. She didn’t know why he had frightened her so, only that he had. Even now she sensed a tautness in him as if he were primed to fight or . . . or perhaps when she saw Throckmorton in this perfumed dark, she remembered that kiss in the dim corridor and how well he performed it.
She wanted to leave, now, before she also remembered how thoroughly she had responded.
“Did you come to look through the telescope?” Penelope asked.
“No.” If he suffered uneasiness akin to Celeste’s, he hid it with an air of congeniality. “I came because Mrs. Brown said it was time for you and Kiki to go to bed.”
The girls groaned in unison.
Celeste had recommended Throckmorton hire Mrs. Brown as their nursemaid; the widow from the village had raised nineteen children of her own, needed the salary, and Celeste thought that nothing Penelope and Kiki could do would take Mrs. Brown by surprise. Rising from the blanket, Celeste brushed at her skirts to avoid looking at him. “I’ll take them up at once.”
“No need.” Throckmorton gestured toward the shadows.
One of the largest, darkest, stillest shapes moved.
Kiki gave a small shriek.
Penelope jumped.
Celeste stepped forward, fists clenched.
“You’re all very nervous. It’s just Mr. Kinman, a friend of mine,” Throckmorton said in a soothing tone. Raising his voice, he called, “Out for a smoke, Kinman?”
“Yes, Throckmorton.” Mr. Kinman shambled up.
The moonlight struck his flat face. Celeste couldn’t recall previously seeing that battered nose or beetled brow among the guests, but he wore a black suit and a dark cravat, so she supposed he must be a gentleman. Probably he had just arrived. Possibly she should trust Throckmorton to invite only proper guests. Yet she found her eyes narrowing as she considered him.
Still, he bowed elegantly, and how gentle he looked! As he surveyed the girls, his gruff voice softened. “Just came away from the party to indulge in a cigar. I stayed out for a few moments, enjoying the night, as did these young ladies. Did you girls learn a lot about the stars?”
“Yes, sir.” Penelope stepped forward, so sure of herself her voice was firm and confident. “I’m going to become an astronomer.”
“Oui, Monsieur, moi, aussi,” Kiki said.
Kinman squatted so that his face was at their level. “You two will keep those astronomers on their toes.” Straightening, he smiled down at them. “Remind me of my little sisters, you girls do. I miss their liveliness.”
Celeste’s discomfort eased. Mr. Kinman obviously liked children.
Throckmorton moved to Celeste’s side, but he watched Mr. Kinman as if some grand communication was passing between them. “Mr. Kinman can take the girls up to the nursery.”
“No, Mr. Throckmorton. That’s not necessary. I can take the children myself.” Celeste didn’t enjoy being excluded like a child to be protected or a silly woman to be seduced. Moreover, she really didn’t like not knowing in which category these gentlemen placed her. “I’m sure Mr. Kinman would rather rejoin the party.”
The rising moon sculpted half Throckmorton’s face with harsh strokes. The white light created an aggressive thrust to his chin, a blunt avowal of cheek and nose, and a dark socket lit by the faintest glint of his eye. The other half remained in brooding darkness. “Celeste, I wish to speak to you.” Beneath the mildness lurked the tone of a man who expected to be obeyed.
She would obey him . . . but not about this. “I will return and find you as soon as I’ve taken the children upstairs.”
The dark, menacing, overgrown bully beside her placed a hand on her arm. He exerted no pressure, but clearly he would if she tried to move. “I will speak to you now.”
“I don’t mind, miss,” Mr. Kinman said in a placating tone. “I was going that way, anyway.”
He held out his hands to the girls. Penelope walked over to him, and Kiki skipped after them.
Hands on her hips, Celeste watched them walk toward the house, and she refused to erase the note of disapproval in her voice. “You shouldn’t allow the girls to trust a stranger so unquestioningly.”
“Penelope knows to trust those I tell her to trust.”
“Mr. Kinman said he came out for a smoke, but I don’t believe him.”
She thought Throckmorton inspected her critically, but when he spoke he sounded mildly surprised. “Not smoke? Why do you say that?”
“I didn’t spot the glow of his cigar, and he didn’t smell like smoke. I don’t know why he was out here, but I don’t trust a man who lies.”
At first, she thought Throckmorton didn’t believe her. Then he looked down and scraped his boot against the gravel path. “You’ve found him out. He’s shy, hates parties, slips away every opportunity he gets. Look around anytime, and chances are you’ll see him standing just on the outskirts of any celebration.”
“Oh.” She thought about Mr. Kinman’s face, unrefined and plain.
“He really is a good man. I would put my life in his hands.” He smiled without humor. “Indeed, I’ve done more than that. I’ve put my daughter’s life in his hands.”
“Very well.” She should, perhaps, allow Mr. Kinman his bashfulness. “When next I see him, I’ll try to draw him out of his shell.”
Throckmorton coughed, then in a rasping voice, said, “That would be kind of you.”
He was laughing, and she didn’t know why. Probably she’d said something an English lady wouldn’t say. Perhaps she had presumed where she shouldn’t. She didn’t like having Throckmorton laugh at her.
He didn’t realize it, or else he thought he could jolly her out of her chagrin, for in a jesting tone he asked, “Why are you so suspicious, Celeste? Do kidnappers and murderers lurk on every corner in Paris?”
“In Russia.” She considered. “Sometimes in Paris, too.”
“You must tell me about your travels. I begin to suspect you’ve had some fascinating adventures.” Taking her around the waist, he sank down on the blanket and took her with him.
14
“Mr. Throckmorton! A gentleman would never use his strength against a lady.” Celeste wanted to kick him in his soft parts, but as a girl she’d been taught to hold him in respect. And she was off-balance, fighting to keep her petticoats from flying up around her knees.
“I thought we would rest on the grass as you were doing with the children. Rest, look up at the stars, and you could tell me about Russia.”
He sounded benign, but if it had been any other man than stodgy old Mr. Throckmorton who had tumbled her onto the ground in the night, used his voice like dark velvet close to her ear, and spoken of looking at the stars—well, with any other man, she’d have been up and running.
Even with Throckmorton, she was rightfully alarmed. Two nights ago he had kissed her, and although she had warned him further attentions were not welcome and although he had thus far listened, she realized a hitherto unintelligible fact?
??Throckmorton was not merely a money-making engine driven by power and omnipotence. He was also a male, sharing traits with all other males, both animal and human.
But it wouldn’t do to show her wariness, so she pulled herself up to lean on her elbows. Looking down at him, she established her poise by chuckling. “Throckmorton, I never suspected you of being a bon vivant.”
He undermined her aplomb with a long moment of silence. Then, in a thoughtful tone, he said, “Nor I. It must be you who has brought out the vivacity in me.”
Vivacity seemed a strong term, but then, if three days ago someone had told her Throckmorton would be next to her on a blanket in the night, flat on his back, relaxing . . . vivacity was perhaps an apt description, after all.
Or craft. Father said Throckmorton never did anything without purpose. What could Throckmorton’s purpose be now?
Tilting her head, she looked up. The stars were there. She knew they were. But she couldn’t concentrate on them and on conversation, for she’d kissed this very man only two nights ago. So the capacity to observe the stars—indeed, to observe anything—had to be sacrificed to the effort of discourse.
“I was wondering,” he said, “why you aren’t inside dancing with Ellery.”
“Oh.” Unerringly, he put his finger on a source of uneasiness.
“He did invite you to the party, did he not?”
“Of course! After the shooting contest today, he told me I must come.” Which she had intended to do.
“I hesitate to broach a subject of some delicacy, but perhaps you are in need of a ball gown . . .”
“No!” Throckmorton’s almost-offer horrified her. “Not at all.”
“On a governess’s salary . . .”
Was Throckmorton suspicious of her honesty? She tilted her head further, knowing that the moon shone off her right shoulder, and she presented Throckmorton with the silhouette of her throat’s slender length. This time her chuckle was genuine and amused. “The ambassador’s wife was most generous with her cast-offs.”