Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“I should suggest Master Owen instead,” Mary said mildly.

“Well, yes, perhaps you are right. After all, they are certain to insist the minute dinner is over that Owen read me some poetry or that I play love songs to him, or some such nonsense. Then, of course, Aunt Augusta will yawn and nod and haul Uncle Alfred from the salon, leaving the ‘two dear young people alone.’ ”

“Now, miss, you mustn’t do anything rash. If this gentleman visits again, which you believe likely, I will know about it. Perhaps it is best that you simply wait them out.”

Chauncey nodded glumly, and allowed Mary to dress her in another of Aunt Augusta’s new gowns. It was a pale green silk cut fashionably low over her bosom. Too low, Chauncey thought as she stared in the mirror. No horse, she thought, ever looked like this. No, she looked more like a lovely piece of candy begging to be nibbled.

“Braids, Mary. Yes, I think a very severe style is in order for this evening.”

Mary grinned at her young mistress, but the resulting creation only made Chauncey appear all the more appetizing, in Mary’s silent view. The thick band of braids fashioned high on her head made her slender neck look all the longer and more graceful. Mary sighed. It was too late to change it now.

“You take care, miss,” she cautioned. “As long as you’re playing the piano, you should be safe enough!”

“Thank you for the advice,” Chauncey said dryly.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Aunt Augusta and Owen agreed with Mary. Did Owen believe that her new hairstyle was meant to entice him? Probably, she thought cynically, along with her bosom falling out of her gown.

“How utterly charming you look this evening, my dear Elizabeth,” her aunt said. “So sophisticated with your hair like that. Don’t you agree, Owen?”

“Oh, certainly, Mother, certainly.”

“A beautiful new Penworthy,” Uncle Alfred said.

Aunt Augusta tittered. Tittered! Chauncey felt her ears begin to tingle. She turned glittering eyes toward her uncle and said with forced calm, “I fear you forget that I am not a Penworthy, Uncle Alfred. I am a FitzHugh, a Jameson FitzHugh.”

“But not for much longer, I vow,” Aunt Augusta said archly.

Chauncey did not miss the warning glance she sent toward Owen.

Aunt Augusta must have realized that the conversation had taken too forward a turn, and quickly retrenched. “You know, Elizabeth, your uncle and I have been thinking that your bedchamber is a bit confining. With your marvelous taste, my dear, we have decided that you should have the Green Room and decorate it to your liking.”

My marvelous taste? Chauncey wanted to laugh aloud. If Aunt Augusta was judging her taste by the dinner in front of her, her ability to spin falsehoods was indeed phenomenal. Stewed ham hocks in wine sauce, and boiled collards! Cook had gazed at Chauncey as if she had lost her mind. The Green Room. Chauncey blinked. It was a large, airy bedchamber that connected by an adjoining door to Owen’s room. The siege had intensified. For a moment Chauncey felt raw fear well within her. She could expect no protection from her aunt or uncle. She would have to go to Uncle Paul on the morrow. He would have to help her.

She smiled blandly. “I shall think about it, Aunt Augusta.”

When Aunt Augusta and Uncle Alfred bid the young couple a hearty good night, just as Chauncey knew they would, she saw that Owen would make his declaration. He was sweating, beads of perspiration standing out on his broad forehead.

“Would you like me to play for you, Owen?” she asked, watching him rub his palms on his breeches.

She did not wait for him to reply, but moved purposefully to the piano and seated herself. She began to play a Mozart sonata, a very long one, she thought viciously.

Owen overcame his trepidation and interrupted her during the second movement. “Elizabeth, my dear,” he muttered close to her ear. She jumped at the feel of his hot breath against her cheek, and her hands came down on a discordant array of keys.

“I must speak to you. Please, Elizabeth, I find that I can hold back what I feel for you no longer!”

Chauncey turned slowly on the piano stool and stared up at him for a long moment. “How fluently you say your lines, Owen,” she said.

He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. “I doubt I could ever be as fluent as you, my dear. Come, Elizabeth, and sit with me.”

She rose and followed him to the high-backed sofa. But she didn’t sit down. “What is it you wish to say to me?” she asked without preamble.

Owen laughed confidently. “You are so forthright, Elizabeth. As you wish.” He shrugged, then sent her a blinding smile. “I want you to marry me.”

Chauncey looked him squarely in the eye. “Why, Owen?”

“Why?” he repeated softly, his eyes caressing her face. “I love you, of course. I told you countless times in the past days that I have long admired you.”

“Yes, that is what you have said. What I should like to know, Owen, is why you are asking me to marry you now, at this time.”