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In some confusion she turned to see that her charges were safe. They had lined up like ninepins along a narrow flat portion of the roof, their breath streaming straight up to the heavens in the still, dark night. Ned had a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. Anne, Camille, and Pris held hands well back from the edge, and John Jowers looked quite ready to grab Octavia should she slip. Ned advised them all to let their eyes adjust to the dark by looking north first.

Wynford leaned down to whisper to Harriet. “They’re safe.”

They stood a little apart from the others, the narrowness of the roof enforcing a closeness that strict propriety would condemn. Their clothes brushed at every point. His hands rested on her shoulders, sending warmth down through her. He spoke quietly in her ear, pointing out Castor and Pollux, in whose heavenly neighborhood the Geminids would appear. But she was thinking only of him and his quick, clever mind, and not seeing the stars at all.

Pris was the first to cry out. “I see Polaris and the Plough.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” John Jowers added.

“Look, a meteor.” Jasper pointed low in the sky.

“Where?” was the general cry. Everyone looked, then everyone declared that Jasper was having them on. The boy turned his gaze south.

“Well, there’s Orion, anyway. You can’t say I don’t see Orion. You can always tell him by his belt.”

Octavia laughed. “You mean like you can always tell my brother by his waistcoats?”

There was a moment of stunned silence at Octavia’s audacity, then laughter, Wynford’s among the rest. “Have a care, Octavia,” he said lightly. “A brother’s dignity is not to be trifled with.”

Harriet was glad that his sense of humor remained unimpaired.

As they waited for another flash of meteor, a violent thump against the roof door made everyone turn.

“It’s the phantom,” said Jasper. Then Cat began to howl his mournful howl.

“No ghost, then,” said Ned.

“Quick, everyone, back inside,” Harriet urged. “We don’t want to wake the whole street.”

Laughing, they descended. John Jowers and Octavia came last, engaged in an argument that Harriet could not quite catch. She turned her head to them and saw Mr. Jowers steady Octavia when her foot caught in the hem of her dress. He quickly released her hand and turned away.

Goodnights were said. Promises were made to be the first to name the phantom. The young men went off for further amusement, and the girls and Jasper headed up to their rooms.

Wynford returned briefly to the drawing room to snatch up Octavia’s bag of peppermints. He came straight to Harriet. “Your traveler with the teacup is a duke,” he said, for her alone. A shiver went through her as if only the two of them played at the game instead of a noisy crowd of careless young people.

* * * *

The next afternoon, as Harriet and Octavia took their places for the last of the Royal Lectures, Octavia averted her gaze from the group of young gentlemen entering the theater and made a great business of arranging her reticule and fan in her lap. John Jowers passed up the aisle with only a brief nod to Harriet, his eyes like Octavia’s, resolutely looking elsewhere.

Harriet waited. It was plain that Octavia was far from the listless girl she had been when she’d first arrived in London but equally clear that she’d had a falling-out with her friend.

Octavia at last looked up, her chin held high, her attention fixed on the table where Mr. Wallis would soon begin his talk. The benches were crowded, and people leaned over the balcony above to observe the models of the planets on display below. Under the noise of dozens of conversations, Harriet heard Octavia sigh.

“Thank goodness this is the last lecture. I don’t think I could bear another,” Octavia said with frankness if not with tact.

“Yes,” Harriet agreed, keeping her countenance. “There can be enough of a good thing.”

Octavia turned the green silk fan over in her hands, opening and closing it. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful to you for taking me,” she said. “It is only that...”

“You and Mr. Jowers appear to have quarreled.”

Octavia lifted startled eyes to Harriet. “He understands nothing of a woman’s situation,” she declared.

“Nothing?” Harriet asked. She suspected that the young man had been guilty of plain-speaking again.

“He doesn’t understand that ladies must marry. Gentlemen do not have the least imperative to do so. Just look at my brother. They all have estates or prospects. And if those fail, they have professions.”

“How did the subject of marriage arise between you and Mr. Jowers?” Harriet asked.