Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Really, Chauncey, you must pay attention!”

Chauncey started guiltily and raised contrite eyes to Gregory Thomas. Indeed, she thought, taking in his thick wavy white hair and twinkling brown eyes, he did look like her grandfather. He had taken her under his wing with a good deal of enthusiasm, for, she guessed, he was very bored since he had left his business dealings in the hands of his son. “I’m sorry, Gregory,” she said. “It’s just . . .” Her voice broke off suddenly.

“Chauncey, what are you up to?”

No, she thought firmly, I won’t tell him. No one is to be involved, no one but me. She smiled warmly, praying that she was convincing, for Gregory Thomas was exceedingly perceptive, making her feel on occasion as if her mind was a story eager to be read. “I was just thinking about my aunt and uncle, if you must know!”

He looked instantly diverted. “What have they to say this time?”

Chauncey gurgled with ready laughter. “You won’t believe this, Gregory, but my Aunt Augusta has sent me a bill! For my room and board for six months. Also for the gowns and things she had made for me that fateful week.”

“I trust you told them to go to the devil.”

“Gregory, such language for a sweet young lady! No indeed, sir, I instructed Mr. Gillette to send them fifty pounds. I can just imagine the look on my aunt’s face. She has been trying to blacken my name, you know. I find it most diverting.”

“Wretched woman! I think we should put a stop to it, Chauncey. After all, a good

name is quite important—”

“Particularly for a woman?” she asked blandly.

“Yes, I won’t lie to you, and neither should you lie to yourself.” He waved a slender hand. “Now that you have successfully gotten me off our fascinating subject, I must tell you that your aunt and uncle have been to see your father’s solicitor.”

“Uncle Paul? Good heavens, whatever for? When? I visited him last week, you know, and he mentioned nothing of it to me.” Indeed, she thought, Paul Montgomery’s kindness to her had turned to stilted formality during the past weeks. He had been hurt, she had thought in explanation, to learn that she had no intention of allowing him to administer her vast wealth. No, he hadn’t mentioned anything about her aunt and uncle on her last visit. Indeed, he had seemed perturbed when she finally confided her plans to him.

“But you can’t do that! ’Tis unheard-of, Chauncey! For God’s sake, my dear, let it go!”

She had gazed at him intently, wondering at his unwonted display of emotion. “No, Uncle Paul, I shall never let it go. Delaney Saxton will pay. Once he is broken, once he knows that I, Elizabeth Jameson FitzHugh, am the person who has ruined him, I shall consider getting on with my life.”

His jaw had worked spasmodically and he had paled under her intense gaze. “But, Chauncey—” he began.

“Uncle Paul, don’t worry about me. I know what I am about, I assure you. And please don’t tell me how much money it will cost. I can afford it, after all.”

Chauncey, aware that Gregory was regarding her questioningly, shook off the memory of that meeting and asked more calmly, “What did they want with Uncle Paul, sir?”

“They wanted to discover if there were some way they could get part of your inheritance. Nearest relatives, former guardians, and all that sort of nonsense.”

“I trust,” Chauncey said tartly, “that he sent them to the rightabout!”

“Oddly enough, he didn’t,” Gregory said. “My sources of information tell me that he is quite busy at this moment trying to manufacture evidence, shall we say, that you were guilty of a breach of promise, that you had, in fact, been engaged to marry Owen Penworthy, and broke it off when you learned of your inheritance. These are some of the rumors they are busily spreading, my dear. I am surprised you did not know of them. But you needn’t worry yourself about it, Chauncey. I have discussed the matter thoroughly with Frank Gillette. If such a charge were true, it would be likely that you could be sued for a good deal of money, but of course, it isn’t true. Your Uncle Paul doesn’t have a prayer of succeeding.”

One thing Gregory Thomas had taught her during the past weeks was to sift calmly through facts when faced with a problem. She forced herself to do that now. After several moments she said, “I can understand my aunt and uncle’s actions, for as my nurse Hannah used to tell me, a cat remains a cat. As to the rumors they are spreading, I had heard only that they were calling me coldhearted, an unnatural niece, and the like. What I do not understand is why Paul Montgomery would be willing to assist them.”

Gregory Thomas shrugged elaborately. “Who knows? Money, as I’m certain you are discovering, my dear, makes people behave in execrable ways.”

“You don’t like Paul Montgomery,” she said flatly.

“You are becoming much too perceptive, Chauncey. No, I will admit to it. I dislike the man heartily. I have for many years now. I do not trust him.”

More facts to sift through. “Why?”

“My reasons have nothing particularly to do with you, my dear, thus I will keep them to myself.”

“Very well, sir, I will not press you. None of it will really matter soon in any case. In exactly three weeks I will be sailing on the Eastern Light to America.” She shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps I shan’t return to England.”

He shook his head at her, perplexed.

“The Eastern Light,” she explained kindly, “leaves from Plymouth on the thirteenth of November.”