Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“Giana, will you not tell me about Rome?”

“No, Mother, I will not.” She smiled. “It is best forgotten, by both of us.”

Chapter 9

London, 1851

Russell Street was nearly bare of shoppers in the late afternoon. Aurora looked only cursorily about before dropping her eyes to the cobblestones and lifting her heavy taffeta skirts to cross the street to the colorful display window of Mademoiselle Blanchette’s, the fashionable milliner’s in London. She was thinking about the cargo hold of the Orion, picturing it empty of its wooden crates and fitted with temporary bunks and dividers for human cargo. She and Daniele had outfitted four ships in the past three years to carry passengers to America, and now even more were needed for the exodus to the newly discovered gold fields in California. She did not hear the rumbling carriage wheels until the wild snorting of a horse caught her horrified attention. She jerked about to see a huge bay stallion pulling a smart brougham bearing down on her. The horse veered miraculously to the side, nearly tipping the brougham before the driver brought him to a jolting halt.

Aurora, her heart in her throat, could only stare at the passenger who jumped down from his seat and strode over to her, yelling toward his liveried driver to hold the horse steady.

“Madam,” the man bellowed at her, “what the devil are you doing woolgathering in the middle of the street?” He grasped her arms to steady her, and pulled her to the sidewalk. He did not release his hold on her, guessing aright that her legs were weak as water from the shock.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora said, leaning against him

“Are you all right?” he asked her, not bellowing this time.

“It was stupid of me,” Aurora said. She forced her legs to support her and looked up into the face of an uncommonly handsome man. He was tall and slender, and dressed in the height of fashion. His black frock coat was molded nicely to his shoulders over a waistcoat of rich maroon silk, and his broad-striped trousers were elegantly tapered over his long legs. No man of business. His eyes were a pale gray, nearly silver, heavily hooded with the longest black lashes she had ever seen, and his hair, black as her own, was winged with white at his temples.

“You have the most beautiful eyelashes,” she said.

His silver eyes twinkled at her.

“I am sorry,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You are quite right to be angry, for I wasn’t paying attention. Thank you for not hitting me.”

The strong hands on her arms eased. “Are you married?” the man asked.

Aurora blinked up at him.

“Are you married?” he repeated.

She shook her head. “I’m a widow.”

“Excellent,” he said. She felt his long fingers touch her cheeks as he straightened her capote hat. “What is your name?”

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“Aurora.”

He grinned down at her as he retied the blue taffeta bow under her chin. “What a relief that is. I am delighted that it is not Mary or Prudence, names I cannot abide.”

“Why ever not?” she asked, looking up at him with a bemused eye.

“The names of my nurses when I was a tot. Dragons, the both of them. If you were endowed with a name like that, it would try my soul, I assure you, ma’am.”

Aurora laughed; she couldn’t seem to help herself. “And what is your name, sir?”

“I am Arlington, you know,” he said. “All Arlingtons have long eyelashes. I say, Aurora, where do you live?”

“Belgrave Square,” she said, aware that his hands had somehow moved from her bow to her elbows.

“Nice area, that,” he said. “Come along, Aurora, I will take you home now. You’ve had a nasty shock, bad for your nerves, and mine.”

“But I—”

He gave her that engaging grin again, and despite herself, the corners of her mouth curved up in answer.

“Good girl.”