Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

Uncle Alfred said, “I really do not like this, my love. It is not that we are—”

Aunt Augusta interrupted him curtly. “Enough, Alfred. We haven’t much time. Owen must be as attentive as possible to his cousin.”

Why haven’t they much time? Chauncey heard Owen say in a sulky voice, “I don’t think Chauncey—”

“What an outrageous nickname! I pray you won’t use it again, Owen!”

“Yes, Mother. As I was saying, I don’t think Ch . . . Elizabeth particularly cares for me.”

There was a stretch of utter silence. Aunt Augusta said grimly, “It was stupid of you to treat her like a housemaid, Owen! Quite stupid! You must gain her trust. Yes, that’s it. The girl is lonely, but now we are her family. Her loving family.”

Owen asked very softly, forcing Chauncey to strain to hear his words, “And if she doesn’t come around, Mother? And in time?”

There were several minutes of utter silence. “It is something I would dislike above all things,” Aunt Augusta said finally. “To compromise a young lady is most disturbing and quite ill-bred . . .”

Chauncey drew in her breath. Then she heard Owen laugh, covering the remainder of Aunt Augusta’s words. She felt herself pale with rage. Oh yes, Owen would like to catch her unawares again! She would scratch his eyes out! She would tear . . .

“I don’t like it,” Uncle Alfred said. “Any of it.”

“Forget Isobel,” Aunt Augusta said harshly. “It must be done.”

“Well, I am ready for bed,” Owen announced.

Chauncey dashed down the corridor, managing to close her door just in time. She didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

“Well, miss, here is your chocolate! It’s a lovely day today and I want to know what you discovered.”

Chauncey snapped awake. “Good morning, Mary,” she said on a yawn. “I have quite a bit to tell you, and also a plan.”

When she finished recounting the overheard conversation, Mary was gazing at her in consternation. “It is villainous! Suggesting that Master Owen compromise you! It is—”

“Yes, it is all that, Mary,” Chauncey said, cutting her off. She stared thoughtfully for a moment into the dark glob of chocolate at the bottom of her cup. During the long, wakeful hours of the night, she had managed to repress her sorrow, her fury, and her unhappiness. All she had left was determination. “Will you help me, Mary? I have an idea. It is probably quite foolish, but I can’t think of anything else for the moment.”

“Oh yes, miss, anything!”

“I want you to find out if there have been any visitors in the past couple of days. Not any of Aunt Augusta’s acquaintances, but a stranger. Can you do it?”

Mary screwed her eyes thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “That old sot Cranke might be difficult. But I’ve got ears, miss, and I can ask the staff, very subtle-like, of course.”

“If there has been a visitor . . .” Chauncey shrugged. “Well, then we shall see. I can only believe that someone wants to remove me from here, and that for whatever reason, my aunt doesn’t wish me to go. If there hasn’t been anyone, then I would imagine that I am going to have to tread very carefully until I can leave this house and its loving occupants. Please bring me the paper, Mary—I think I should begin looking for a position.”

What in heaven’s name was going on? She saw them all objectively now, just as she had finally seen Guy. She had been nothing short of a fool to believe them, even for a moment. Chauncey sighed. She was likely a fool for thinking that someone, a stranger, had anything to do with Aunt Augusta’s newfound devotion to her niece. She rose from her bed and began to bathe, wondering if Owen would be waiting for her in the corridor.

3

Two days passed in what Chauncey described to Mary as a state of siege, with herself being the fortress under attack. There had been a visitor, Mary had discovered, a “dried-up little man with the smell of the city on him,” so Cranke told one of the footmen. But who the dried-up little man had been was still a mystery.

“Greed,” Chauncey said. “There can be no other motive. Can you really believe, Mary, that Aunt Augusta would spend all this money for any other reason?” She waved her ha

nd toward the two new gowns that lay on her bed in a froth of silk and satin. “She must view it as an investment of sorts.”

“Then you think, miss, that this man is perhaps a business associate of your father’s? That he is here to tell you that your father didn’t lose everything after all?”

“I know it sounds farfetched,” Chauncey said on a tired sigh, “but for the life of me, I can think of nothing else.”

“Don’t chew your thumbnail, miss.”

“Oh!” Chauncey regarded the ragged nail. “They are driving me distracted! And here I am hiding in my bedroom.” She rose from the uncomfortable wing chair from beside the small fireplace and began to pace about the room. “I am being a coward, Mary, a miserable coward! I shall demand to know why they are treating me like a piece of prime horseflesh. I shall look Aunt Augusta straight in the eye—”