Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“You look like an angel. The top angel.”

He threw back his head and laughed, showing even white teeth. Why, Byrony wondered, hadn’t he married? He certainly appeared to have everything any woman would want.

“I’ll bear that in mind, Byrony,” he said after a moment. “But I believe that I must prefer being earthbound, unless, of course, you’d consent to share the celestial firmament with me.” He wrapped her in his warm smile, and again she found herself returning the smile easily.

She click-clicked poor old Coolie forward. “Have you ever been in San Diego before?”

“Unfortunately not. It’s a lovely little town. I venture to say that you will find San Francisco equally as interesting.”

“Oh, I have no particular interest in San Diego.”

“I forgot. You just came here from Boston, didn’t you? A truly fascinating city. No wonder you’re not very impressed with San Diego.” She nodded, and he continued easily, “You’re probably wondering why I proposed marriage to you in such an unusual way.” He turned to study her profile.

“Yes,” she said, “I did.”

“I saw you two years ago in Boston.”

She turned her head to face him. “I don’t understand.”

He looked rueful. “You see, I didn’t find out who you were until I was on the point of leaving. But I didn’t forget. No indeed. And to discover that we were related—you can imagine my pleasure and relief.” He paused a moment, the easy smile never leaving his mouth. “It took me a while to find you.”

Was he saying that he’d fallen in love with a girl from just a brief look at her? Byrony couldn’t imagine such a thing, but it made her feel somehow very special. After all, he had no reason to lie to her.

“What were you doing in Boston?”

“Business. Boring stuff for such a lovely young lady, I assure you. Such warm, humid weather. I must admit that I couldn’t wait to return to San Francisco. It’s much cooler. You see, Byrony, San Francisco is like”—he raised his hand—“my thumb here, a peninsula, with the Pacific on the left side, the bay above and down the other side. Our weather is cool all year around. I think—I hope you will like it.”

“It sounds lovely. I can remember sweat—” She broke off, remembering Aunt Ida’s lectures about the subjects a lady never addressed.

He laughed again, patting her arm lightly. “Me too. You must have drunk gallons of lemonade during the summer months.”

“Yes,” she said, “I did. Where do you live in San Francisco?”

“On Rincon Hill, it’s called. In South Park. Irene and I worked with the architect to make it look a bit like our home in Baltimore. I hope you will feel at home there, Byrony.”

“Irene lives with you?” Byrony asked, though she already knew the answer. It seemed a bit odd to her that a sister would continue to live with her brother after he married, but it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as if theirs was a love attachment.

“Yes, you will like my sister. My half-sister, actually. I spoke about you to her and she is enthusiastic about meeting you and having a new sister.” He was silent a mo

ment. Byrony filled in the silence with points of interest in the landscape.

“You don’t mind leaving your family so soon, do you?” he asked after a moment.

“No,” Byrony said, “I don’t. My mother and her husband realize that you are a very busy man. Do you wish to return to San Francisco after the wedding?”

Married to an absolute stranger. She felt as though she herself were somehow apart from the girl in the buckboard. She shook herself as he said, “Yes, by ship. One of my ships, actually. She’s the Flying Sun and the accommodations are quite comfortable. It shouldn’t take us more than five days to reach San Francisco.”

She wanted desperately to ask him how much he was paying her father, but hesitated. It was one of those topics that was doubtless considered a man’s business. She prayed it was a goodly amount so her mother’s work could be lightened.

Ira looked at her profile, delighted that she was so lovely. Even if she’d been homely as mud pie, he still would have married her. But her beauty would make every man in San Francisco envious of him. And she was so young, and malleable. Every problem would be solved. He knew all about her father, and had, indeed, despised the man on sight. Miserable bastard. At least the girl had been protected. He had shown himself to her as sensitive to her feelings and very gentle, knowing instinctively it was the way to proceed with her.

He encouraged her to speak of her life in Boston, and did no probing when she glossed over her return to San Diego. He would have liked to tell her that her mother had always been a silly fool, even when she was young, so certain in her belief that she could change the buffoon, Madison DeWitt, but he’d realized quickly enough that she’d appointed herself her mother’s protector.

“You will be happy, Byrony, I swear it to you,” he said as he helped her down from the buckboard.

“Well, my boy, how are you?” Madison DeWitt clapped Ira on the back, oblivious of the fact that the boy was in his late thirties.

“Just fine, sir,” Ira said politely. “I was just telling Byrony about my house in San Francisco. Her future home.”