Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“Of course. Would you not expect me, as your mother and someone who cares very much about you, to look into what kind of man he is?”

“He has not had a particularly happy life, I know,” Giana said. “To have to endure such a father.”

“I suppose that would be somewhat daunting,” Aurora agreed, thankful that Giana had very little memory of her own cold father. “There are things you should know, my love,” she said after a moment.

Giana looked guarded, but Aurora forged ahead. “His uncle, Viscount Gilroy, refused to have anything more to do with his nephew some five years ago. It appears that Mr. Bennett lost a good deal of money gambling and stole money from his uncle to cover his debt.”

“That cannot be true.”

“I fear that it is, Giana, and there is more. Mr. Bennett is sunk in debt. His only hope of saving himself is to wed a girl with money. I believe that when his half-sister, Patricia, wrote to him about you, he saw his opportunity. Do you really believe that a gentleman, Giana, would meet a girl clandestinely, without the knowledge or approval of her mother?”

“But he met me quite by accident. It was I who fell in love with him first. Indeed, he was concerned that what we were doing was not proper. As to his being in debt, I imagine that he spends a great deal of his money on his poor father.”

“No, he does not. He hasn’t seen his father in over a year.”

Giana rose unsteadily to her feet. “It appears, Mother, that you have no faith at all in my judgment. Did Mr. Hardesty dig up all these vile accusations?”

“Thomas certainly did as I asked.” She gentled her voice. “My love, there is no doubt that Mr. Bennett is indeed a fortune hunter. He is the kind of man who must perforce be charming, for it is his stock-in-trade.”

“So you are telling me that the man I love doesn’t love me, only the Van Cleve money. Is it hard for you to imagine that I can attract a man who could possibly care for me?”

“I’m sorry, Giana, but what I’ve said about Mr. Bennett is true. There are many other men you will meet, men who are honorable and honest.”

“Do you think me so ill-favored, Mama, that Randall could not care for me?”

“Of course not. I did not say that.”

“I think, Mother, that you have said enough.” Her voice rose coldly. “You wanted Randall here only to insult him and make thinly veiled threats. It was not well done of you, Mother. I see now that every word you uttered was meant to wound him. You must have believed me a simpleton not to see through it.”

“I have never thought you a simpleton, Giana. For the moment, you are merely blinded by your infatuation and do not see him as clearly as do I.”

“Even though I am but seventeen years old, Mother, I am not blind. Perhaps it is you who do not wish to see the truth.”

“Giana, please,” Aurora said, raising her hand.

“I am going to bed, Mother. Good night.” Giana swept from the drawing room without a backward glance, her shoulders drawn stiffly back, her chin held high.

“Damn,” Aurora said under her breath. Blind child.

She realized with a sense of dread that she must now move very carefully, else Giana would bolt and she would lose her daughter. But what was she to do now? Lock Giana in her room? Perhaps, she thought finally, there was a way, though not through Giana, to be sure. She could likely show Giana a signed confession and it would not sway her. But Randall Bennett was a man who knew his interests. She must convince him that they did not lie with the Van Cleves.

Chapter 3

“The Chartists are sniffing about the shipyards, Aurora. They got wind of the new hauling machine we are installing.”

“I know, Thomas. What really worries me is the support they’re receiving from the less savory elements in society.” Aurora rose suddenly from her chair and splayed her hands on the desktop. “I cannot understand why men wish to destroy what will, in the long term, make their lives easier. Thank God we do not own any mills. Did you hear that Morris Clipton, one of the Chartists in Yorkshire, led a machine-smashing foray into Robert Holmes’s cotton mill?”

“Yes. I have heard the damage estimates at well over ten thousand pounds.”

Aurora sighed, and touched an ink-stained fingertip to her temple. “Poor Robert was screeching like a wounded pig. Not that I care for him or his methods much, mind you, Thomas, but the fact of the matter is—was—that the new looms would have meant that children would have been spared twelve hours of work a day.”

“Ah, Aurora, you are misunderstanding, on purpose, I think. Many of the Chartists don’t want their children freed by machines to be educated. In many instances, the money the children earn helps to feed the family.”

“Enough, Thomas. I know it is a complicated question, and one that we will not easily resolve. But one thing I do know: machines are here to stay. There is little we can do about men who abuse their workers, but the Van Cleve shipyards will not install machines only to boot the workers out to starve. When the new machinery is in place, I want every man displaced to be assigned another job.”

“You are being quite a humanitarian, Aurora,” Thomas said.

“It is simply good business, Thomas. We have several contracts that can’t afford to be held up because our workers are malcontented.”