The Angel of an Astronomer
Linda Rae Sande
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
The Angel of an Astronomer
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2020 Linda Rae Sande.
V1
ISBN: 978-1-946271-27-3
Cover photographs © PeriodImages.com and 123rf.com.
All rights reserved - used with permission.
Edited by Katrina Teele-Fair.
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Contents
Also by Linda Rae Sande
An Epiphany in the Park
1. A Father Plots
2. Twins on a Train
3. A Homecoming Over Tea
4. A Plan is Revealed
5. A Knight Spies a Lady
6. Home at Worthington House
7. A Ride in Park Lane
8. A Back Garden Beckons
9. A Weary Mind Wanders
10. A Discovery Out the Window
11. A Young Lady Ponders Her Future
12. Discussing a Dome Over Dinner
13. A Night with Venus
14. A Conclave of Cousins
15. When the Moon Hits Your Eye
16. Contemplating a Construct
17. A Biscuit Saves the Night
18. A Plan is Revealed
19. Two Letters
20. An Invitation to Ride
21. An Invitation Arrives
22. A Knight Considers an Invitation
23. A Viscount Seeks Advice
24. Finally, A Ride in the Park
25. A Spy Knows
26. A Conversation in the Cold
27. Preparations for a Party
28. A Meeting of Like-Minded Men
29. A Brother Teases a Sister
30. A Night with a Knight
31. A Father-Daughter Talk
32. A Knight’s Secret is Revealed
33. A Mother Surprises
34. A Stunning Announcement
35. Apologies and a Proposal
36. Farewells and a Proposal
37. Devotion to Duty
A Winter Wedding or Two
Excerpt
Afterword
Also by Linda Rae Sande
About the Author
Also by Linda Rae Sande
The Daughters of the Aristocracy
The Kiss of a Viscount
The Grace of a Duke
The Seduction of an Earl
The Sons of the Aristocracy
Tuesday Nights
The Widowed Countess
My Fair Groom
The Sisters of the Aristocracy
The Story of a Baron
The Passion of a Marquess
The Desire of a Lady
The Brothers of the Aristocracy
The Love of a Rake
The Caress of a Commander
The Epiphany of an Explorer
The Widows of the Aristocracy
The Gossip of an Earl
The Enigma of a Widow
The Secrets of a Viscount
The Widowers of the Aristocracy
The Dream of a Duchess
The Vision of a Viscountess
The Conundrum of a Clerk
The Charity of a Viscount
The Cousins of the Aristocracy
The Promise of a Gentleman
The Pride of a Gentleman
The Holidays of the Aristocracy
The Christmas of a Countess
The Heirs of the Aristocracy
The Angel of an Astronomer
Stella of Akrotiri: Origins
Stella of Akrotiri: Deminon
Stella of Aktrotiri: Diana
An Epiphany in the Park
Hyde Park, early October, 1838
On such a brisk and bleak day as this, George Grandby, Viscount Hexham, might have forgone the afternoon ride in the park. The one that usually took place every spring day at five o’clock in the afternoon and featured a parade of aristocrats either riding on the backs of their favorite mounts, riding in their showiest of equipage, or simply walking.
In the autumn months, far fewer participated, and on days such as this, he was sure the park would be abandoned.
But his twin sister, Angelica, insisted they go. “This will be one of the last opportunities to see everyone before they leave town,” she argued.
Tempted to tell her that “everyone” would rather be at home close to a fireplace or in their clubs, George instead held his tongue for a moment. Sometimes it was easier to simply let his twin sister have her way.
Usually, in fact.
Parliament was due to end its sessions within a week, and then all the aristocrats who had country estates or mansions in other parts of England would depart the capital, including the two of them and their parents, the Earl and Countess of Torrington.
They wouldn’t return to London until the spring, so perhaps it would be a last chance to at least see those who dared to brave the weather in favor of a ride in the park.
“I am quite sure it’s going to rain,” George said as he inhaled, sure he smelled it in the air around them.
Angelica, about to allow a Worthington House groom to assist her onto her horse, glanced up to find blue skies above. However, a bank of ugly gray clouds to the west threatened to overtake the blue. “Then we shan’t ride long,” she reasoned, stepping onto the mounting block next to her bay stallion, Hermes. She placed a foot into the side saddle’s stirrup and was soon seated, the hem of her hunter green riding habit artfully displayed in an arc along the side of the horse. Her dark green kid gloves weren’t especially warm, but she could always tuck her fingers beneath the hem of her velvet jacket should they get cold.
Her brother had already directed his black Irish walker toward Stanhope Gate, and Angelica and her mount were soon abreast of him. “Race you to Rotten Row,” she challenged, and then before he could respond, she had Hermes galloping to the gate.
“Angel!” he scolded. But his walker, Ares, was anxious to rejoin his stable mate, so George allowed him the rein. They passed dozens of bare elms and maples, the trees having shed their leaves the week before, when the chill autumn evenings had grown colder than usual.
By the time they were on the crushed granite path that led past the east bank of the Serpentine, George had caught up to Angelica.
“What’s your hurry?” he asked, his voice raised so he could be heard over the sound of the horses’ hooves.
“I hope to see Lady Anne,” Angelica replied as she gently slowed her mount.
George followed suit. “Who?”
Angelica laughed. “Lord Trenton’s daughter, of course. She is leaving for Staffordshire in the morning, and I won’t see her again until the spring.”
Allowing a sound of disappointment at learning why they were heading to Rotten Row, George gave a shake of his head. “What is she? Twelve years old?” he asked. “How is it you even know her?”
Angelica rega
rded her brother with a look of surprise. “Lady Anne is nearly eighteen years old and will finally be making her come-out in the spring,” she explained. “And I know her because she was friends with one of my classmates at Warwick’s,” she added. “I think we got on so well because our fathers are both earls, and because we both have brothers intent on making our lives miserable.”
Warwick’s referred to Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School in Glasshouse Street. Although it was popular with daughters of bankers and rich tradesmen, a few daughters of aristocrats attended as well. Their burly footmen would stand outside the classrooms, guarding the entrances and riding with them in the carriages that took them to and from the venerable school.
Those who attended Warwick’s agreed it was far more enjoyable than the schooling they received from no-nonsense nuns at seminaries. Angelica had managed only one year at a seminary and then begged her father to allow her to attend Warwick’s.
He, of course, allowed her whatever she wanted.
To a point.
She had learned long ago just how far she could get with her requests. I can spoil you rotten until you have everything you want, and then you’ll run out of things to want and have to be satisfied with what you have, he had said when she was but ten years of age.
She hadn’t understood his comment then, but over time, she slowly came to realize he spoke the truth.
There was no use wanting something only to discover the having wasn’t nearly as satisfying.
These days, she only asked for what she really wanted. He obliged her, but she knew it was only because he could afford to do so. Had he become impoverished as so many lower aristocrats had with this past year’s devastating crop failures, he would have denied her.
Ignoring the comment about making her life miserable, George said, “I cannot believe Lady Anne is nearly eighteen.”
Her brother’s comment brought Angelica out of her reverie. “And I cannot believe Gabe the Younger has not introduced you to her,” she countered, referring to Anne’s oldest brother.
“As a matter of fact, he did, but it was... years ago. Probably when she was twelve,” he murmured. His recollection of the girl included his surprise at how tall she was and the fact that she looked rather angelic—curly blonde hair surrounding a porcelain complexion highlighted by bright blue eyes and bow lips.
The twins had made it to the edge of Rotten Row, and Angelica allowed a sigh of disappointment. Apparently the impending rain and chill in the air had most of the ton ensconced in their homes, for only a dozen or so carriages lumbered along in a haphazard line. “Well, just a quick ride then,” she said as they slowed their mounts to a walk.
Waving or speaking briefly to those who passed going the other direction, the twins quickly made it to the end of the line of carriages and horses. Turning their mounts to complete the circuit, George surveyed the equipage that had been behind them.
His gaze fell on the nearest curricle, and his heart seemed to stop.
The air around him crackled.
The hair on his head felt as if it wished to stand on end, as did the hairs on his forearms.
Time slowed to a stop.
He held his breath.
Angelica had already directed her horse to walk alongside the young lady’s curricle, and she was speaking to her as if they were long-lost friends.
George struggled to take a breath.
“Hexham,” his sister called out, in a voice suggesting she was scolding him. She waited for him to join her before continuing. “May I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Anne?” She turned her attention back to the curricle and the two who occupied it. “Lady Anne, this is my brother, George Grandby, Viscount Hexham,” she said as she held out a gloved hand in his direction.
George didn’t even notice that one of his acquaintances, Gabe Wellingham, oldest son of the Earl of Trenton, was driving the curricle. “It’s very g...good to meet you, my lady,” he managed to get out, wondering why it was he stuttered.
“And you as well,” Anne replied with a nod. “As I recall, we were introduced many years ago. May I call you Hexham?”
George stared at her, the sound of her voice positively angelic. The voice had sounded through lips the color of summer berries. Her cheeks nearly matched, their blush heightened by the chill in the air.
But it was her eyes that had him mesmerized. They were blue. The shade of blue found in cornflowers. “Of course, my lady,” he replied, about to add that she could call him anything she wanted to.
He would come running.
Kneel before her.
Do her bidding.
He could only imagine what his reward might be.
Perhaps she would allow him to kiss her. The thought of capturing the berry-colored lips with his own had him imagining far more he could do with the comely blonde. Especially after he removed all the clothes from her body and from his.
George suddenly wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his days in a bed with Anne Wellingham. Spend them pleasuring her in every conceivable manner, making love to her morning and night. Coaxing her to come at the very moment his body could hold back no more and he allowed his own release.
As if his thoughts had been overheard and deemed inappropriate by Zeus, a bolt of lightning lit the darkening sky. The scent of ozone filled George’s nostrils. Thunder rolled above him.
And then the ugly gray clouds, pregnant with rain, gave birth.
“Hexham! I’ll see you at White’s!” Gabe called out as he slapped the ribbons over the backs of the matched grays that pulled his curricle. The equipage jerked into motion and sped off.
Despite the downpour that had water streaming from the brim of his top hat, George managed to keep his eyes locked onto Lady Anne’s until she was well past him.
Reluctantly, he turned his attention onto his sister, who regarded him with a smirk that suggested she had enjoyed his moment of fascination with the gorgeous Lady Anne.
“That was the Lady Anne you were speaking of earlier?” he asked, ignoring the rain that poured down around them.
“Indeed,” Angelica replied, her gaze taking in the quick exits of the other riders and vehicles that raced to the main gate. “We should be going,” she added, when George still didn’t make a move.
His horse took matters into its own hooves, and began a quick trot back the way they had come.
Angelica allowed her stallion to follow, and then urged it to move faster.
There would no doubt be mud splattered along her habit’s hem and on her back, but she knew she would be drenched to the skin if she didn’t get to cover soon.
Meanwhile, George seemed lost in thought as she passed him at a gallop.
She didn’t look back as Hermes flew over the crushed granite and out to Park Lane through Stanhope Gate. A few minutes later, and she was allowing the groom to help her down from her mount.
A quick glance in the direction of the park had her shaking her head, drops of cold water dribbling down her cheeks and neck.
George hadn’t picked up the pace one bit, his horse merely trotting along.
Fool, she thought. And then she allowed a brilliant smile.
A fool in love.
Chapter 1
A Father Plots
Mid-November, 1838, Torrington Park near Hexham
“There you are,” Adele, Countess of Torrington, remarked once she’d found her husband in his study. She leaned against the door jamb, her arms crossed beneath her generous bosom. “I thought you might want a spot of tea. Or some coffee.”
Milton looked up from his desk and gave her a grin. “I haven’t exactly been hiding, my love,” he replied. He held a quill in one hand and was regarding a note he’d just written. “Just finishing up a letter.”
“Correspondence about the earldom?” she guessed,
an eyebrow arching up with her query. At eight-and-fifty, her blonde hair was streaked with gray, but her elegant features remained youthful.
“About the Wadsworth earldom, actually,” he replied. Nearing seven-and-sixty, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, was still handsome despite the white hair that had replaced his dark waves just the year before. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles were perched on the end of his nose.
Adele angled her head to one side. “Anything amiss?”
He took a deep breath. “At the moment, yes. Four daughters, all about to have their come-outs in the next few years,” he replied with a smirk. “I am happy we had just the one.”
“Oh, poor Sylvia,” Adele replied with a shake of her head, referring to the countess and the mother of the four girls he mentioned. She knew the countess preferred living at the Wadsworth estate in Suffolk, so the family was rarely in London.
“You mean, poor Wadsworth,” her husband countered. “Entire wardrobes and dowries for four daughters? His earldom is barely solvent as it is.” He didn’t add that there wasn’t yet a single son to inherit the earldom, which meant it would probably go to Wadsworth’s younger brother.
“Oh, dear. What will he do?” Adele knew what Wadsworth’s father had done, and she surely didn’t want Sylvia to have to endure what the Dowager Countess of Wadsworth—the current Viscountess Lancaster—had to suffer when she had been married to the late earl.