Magic in the Stars by Patricia Rice Page A

the same interest in the placement of the
planets. We should be communicating !”
    “But no two astrologers could ever achieve the same
results,” he said scornfully. “Have you ever read an almanac that correctly
predicts the weather? Science is based on empirical evidence, and you have
none. I do not believe star charts predict compatibility, but you know women. Tell me how much it costs in
pounds and cents for you to find me a wife who can manage estates.”
    She’d stupidly hoped this man was different because their
charts seemed so compatible—another example of how badly she read her own chart.
Still, she refused to let him deride her abilities.
    “Ten pounds per chart, once you have provided exact birth
date, time, and place,” she retorted, refusing to admit she had no idea what empirical evidence might be. She would look it up as soon as he was gone.
    “I am to walk up to women and ask when and where they were
born?” he asked in incredulity.
    “If you want anyone other than the Malcolm descendants in my
library, you will. I can go over my charts and make lists. I can call in a few
friends,” she said, rising. His virile presence was too intense for
concentration. She needed him to leave before she said anything else ridiculous
for him to scorn.
    “I cannot guarantee you will find the perfect mate within my
circle,” she continued, taking his arm and leading him to the door. “You have
just met Emilia. She is looking for a husband so her grandfather’s executor
will release her rather considerable inheritance. She would be perfect for you
in all other respects—but like your family, she has other interests, and they
don’t include estate management.”
    With a puzzled expression, Lord Theophilus glanced at the
doorway as if it would summon the memory of the woman who had just passed
through it. “Perhaps you could introduce her to Erran. He’s a peacock who
always comes up short on his tailor’s bills.”
    “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “But the task now is to
find your match.”
    He studied her with despair. “I don’t suppose you know of estates? You seem the
managing sort.”
    Her insides clutched with the desire to shout Yes, yes, my charts say we are all that
should be compatible , but she shook her head. Because her own chart was
always strangely skewed and that doom in her family sector was much too accurate. “I am a city girl and know nothing
of rural estates. Besides, my charts say I must never marry. It is much too
dangerous, and your family doesn’t need any more tragedy.”
    “If I don’t find a wife soon, I see nothing but tragedy in the months to come.
Either I will kill Duncan, or he will kill me.” Lord Theophilus slammed his hat
on his head and strode out—leaving the peaceful serenity of her parlor
shattered.
    How did one find a safe wife for the man for whose stars crossed with her own in dangerous
incompatibility?

Six
    Still gnashing his teeth in frustration, Theo sought his
uncle’s home near Hyde Park. Uncle Pascoe used the name of Ives, although
Theo’s widowed grandfather had sired him late in life and never bothered to
marry Pascoe’s mother. Theo thought he ought to look at his marriage-shirking
ancestors as warning, but unlike Lady Azenor, he didn’t believe in portents.
    Pascoe was the youngest of the uncles, in his thirties. He’d
been married once, produced twins still in the nursery, and had poured his
energy into developing various forms of transportation so that fabrics woven in
Manchester could reach London, Paris, or Boston in the shortest possible time.
The process involved considerable government and political interaction, thus
his residence in London.
    Pascoe greeted Theo’s arrival with a slap on the back and an
offer of brandy. “You look as if you’ve just buried both parents and your
favorite mistress. Come in, sit down, and tell me what I can do to help.”
    Taking a sturdy leather chair in the gloom of his uncle’s
study,