The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3

by Stephanie Laurens

  He would have to work to keep that muted, at least for now.

  His mind skated over the recent exchanges and snagged on a comment from Lady Hendrickson, who had once again raised the specter of Stacie’s mother, Lavinia, expounding in a rather pointed way over how Lavinia would have wallowed in the attention occasioned by their engagement, then capping the exchange with the so-oft-repeated mantra of how very like Lavinia Stacie was.

  Something in the comment struck Frederick as odd—as wrong. While Kean dominated the stage, Frederick mentally stepped back to the conversation at Raventhorne House…

  Stacie is absolutely nothing like Mama.

  So Godfrey had stated, and he was arguably the person who knew Stacie best and viewed her most clearly.

  Yet how many times had Frederick heard the refrain You are exactly like your mother directed at Stacie, just in the few weeks he’d known her?

  The comments, of course, referred to different things. Godfrey had sought to assure him that Stacie’s character was nothing like that of her mother’s, while all the ladies’ comments referred to what he gathered was a remarkable physical likeness. By all accounts, Lavinia had been a great beauty; the ladies’ comments were intended as compliments.

  Frederick’s instincts jabbed. That was what was wrong. The comments were compliments, yet Stacie didn’t like receiving them. It was her reaction that was nagging at him; every time a comment along those lines was leveled her way, she stiffened—just a fraction—and her smile turned false.

  While Kean declaimed before him, Frederick tried to negotiate the subtleties of Stacie’s mind. All he could conclude was that she didn’t like being told that she was like her mother—not in any way.

  Given what he’d learned of the woman, no one could wonder at that.

  The second act had rolled straight on into the third, which now came to an end, and the curtains swished closed, and the lights came up for the main intermission.

  Frederick had arranged for a champagne supper to be served in the box; as the door opened to admit the servers with their trolley, and George and Percy moved chairs out of the way, Frederick glanced at Stacie as she rose and stood beside him.

  She was a stunning sight, gowned in violet-blue silk with pearls looped about her slender throat and pearl-encrusted combs anchoring her fabulous hair, yet it had never been her beauty that had impressed him; he was far too jaded for that. Instead, by her focus on her project, she’d reached past all his long-standing defenses and engaged his interest; that alone made her unique in his eyes.

  All that had followed over the past weeks had only drawn him deeper—deeper into a type of fascination he had heretofore reserved for music and old books.

  That, he supposed, was why she inspired the same acquisitive, possessive, protective urges he normally associated with his collection of ancient tomes and old scores.

  The servers passed around flutes of champagne and platters of delicacies. They barely had a chance to sample and sip before the first of the visitors arrived.

  Stacie faced the fresh onslaught with unexpected confidence; with Frederick beside her, she felt surprisingly assured that she could weather the curious tide. Lord Farleigh and Viscount Piper were doing sterling service at the door, admitting only those of high rank or influence or those connected with Albury or herself and denying the merely curious, all with invincible charm.

  Midway through the intermission, Mary and Sylvia appeared. “It’s bedlam in the gallery outside this box,” Mary reported. “I’m almost sorry I didn’t insist on Ryder and Kit escorting us.”

  Sylvia laughed and glanced around at the crowded box. “But where would they have fitted?”

  “True,” Mary returned with a smile, then said to Stacie, “Felicia sent her best. She’s feeling too bloated to appear in public and swears the baby can’t come soon enough.”

  Stacie and Sylvia smiled. Everyone in the family was looking forward to the birth of Rand and Felicia’s first child, although the blessed event was still some months away.

  Mary glanced around, her gaze sharp and shrewd, then lowered her voice to say, “We just dropped by to see how you were faring—clearly you have everything in hand.” Mary’s gaze slid approvingly to Frederick, currently chatting with old Lady Faubert. “This was well done. Appearing here will stand you and Frederick in good stead.”

  “I’ve realized he was right,” Stacie murmured back. “If I want to pursue my dream of establishing myself as a hostess of select musical evenings and advance the careers of our local musicians, then making the most of the opportunities arising from our engagement is the only sensible course.”

  “Exactly!” Mary gave one of her approving nods.

  “My father has always maintained,” Sylvia said, “that having a goal is only a beginning, and that one’s efforts to overcome hurdles and cling to that goal and not turn aside from it are what, ultimately, make the goal worthwhile.” She paused, then added, “He usually ends that homily by saying that nothing worthwhile in life is ever easy, and while the saying might be trite, I suspect it’s also true.”

  Stacie inclined her head.

  Mary touched her arm. “You’ve clearly found your feet, so we’ll leave you to it and return to our box. I must say hello to Frederick’s mother before we leave.”

  Stacie smiled and let them go, then with a calm serenity that had previously escaped her, turned to the lady Frederick brought to meet her.

  Frederick sensed Stacie’s increasing steadiness as she answered Lady Conway’s questions about the music school. With his eyes, he tracked Mary and Sylvia as they made their way through the still-considerable crowd to speak with his mother and Emily.

  Mary had patted his arm as she’d passed him, and Sylvia had given him an obviously encouraging nod. Combined with their assessing behavior earlier in the day, he could only conclude that, not only did they know of his true intentions regarding Stacie, but they approved and, like their husbands, were willing to actively support his campaign.

  That was excellent news. Heartening news. Of all Stacie’s many connections, Mary’s opinion was unquestionably the one that would carry most weight—not only with Stacie but also with everyone else. Yet from all he’d seen, Stacie was close to Felicia and Sylvia as well; their opinions would matter to her, too.

  Well and good; it appeared he had their backing.

  He returned his attention to Stacie; seeing her still engrossed with Lady Conway, he allowed himself to drink in the vision she presented—and marvel that, in the space of a day, he’d not only made up his mind whom he would marry but had succeeded in gaining the support of her family in wooing her to his side.

  The next morning, after a lengthy internal debate, Frederick called at Mount Street at precisely eleven o’clock. After sending in his card, he was conducted to a family parlour at the rear of the mansion, where he found Mary, Felicia, and Sylvia reclining in relaxed fashion in comfortable armchairs.

  Mary studied him as he walked in. “Good morning, Albury.”

  Frederick managed not to wince. He inclined his head to her. “Frederick, please.”

  Mary smiled. “As I understand your ambition is to become one of this family, then first names are probably appropriate at this juncture.”

  She waited while he exchanged nods with Felicia and Sylvia.

  When he looked back at Mary, she arched her brows. “I assume this isn’t a social call.” She waved him to an armchair opposite hers. “How can we help?”

  Frederick seized the moment of sitting to review the wisdom of what he was about to do, but it still seemed the obvious way forward. He settled, looked first at Mary, then at Felicia and Sylvia. “I’ll take it as read that you are all aware that I wish to convert Stacie’s and my sham engagement into the real thing. However, as I believe you are also aware, Stacie harbors a very strong antipathy toward the married state.”

  All three ladies were nodding.

  He went on, “I have yet to learn what it is that comp
els her to reject the notion of marriage, especially with such adamantine resolve, but from all her brothers have told me and all I’ve otherwise learned, it seems certain her reasoning derives—in some way, manner, or form—from the years she spent under her mother’s wing, her years of being exposed to her mother’s notions of marriage and wifely behavior.”

  Mary stared at him, then nodded. “I would have to agree. I can’t think of anything else that might have engendered such a strong and lasting aversion to marriage. One really needs to look no further than Lavinia’s influence.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Sadly, understanding that tells me nothing of the specific root cause, leaving me unable to directly counter it.”

  Mary grimaced. “I take your point.” She looked at Felicia and Sylvia. “I’ve never had the slightest inkling as to why Stacie feels as she does, only that she is, indeed, set against marriage. Do either of you have any insights?”

  Both Felicia and Sylvia shook their heads. “Although I do agree,” Felicia said, “that her aversion to marrying runs deep.” She looked at Sylvia. “Her reaction when she unintentionally caught your bouquet made that abundantly plain.”

  Sylvia nodded, eyes wide. “Indeed.”

  When the three said nothing more, but simply looked at him expectantly, Frederick went on, “So that’s where we all stand in the matter of getting Stacie to marry—me or anyone else. Given I can see no reasonable way of learning what the foundation of her aversion is—I have asked directly, and she maintains her reasons are too complicated to explain—the only way forward I can see is to set the matter of her aversion to matrimony to one side and, rather than attacking it directly, hope to find a way around it—namely, by demonstrating in the most effective way possible the benefits of becoming the Marchioness of Albury.”

  Mary blinked, then sat back in her chair, her gaze growing distant as she thought, then she refocused on him and nodded. “That’s a potentially viable approach, especially now that she’s committed to this vision of hers of creating musical evenings and has settled on you as an essential part of her plans.”

  “Yes,” Frederick said, “but we need to be subtle. The last thing I would wish is to have her think that marrying me is a condition to succeeding in her aims.”

  “Good God, no.” Felicia wrinkled her nose. “That sort of coercion is hardly a prescription for wedded bliss.”

  “What I need,” Frederick said, deeming it wise to be specific, “is a campaign of events that will demonstrate the advantages that will accrue to Stacie on marrying me, not in the sense of pressuring her to shift her stance but rather…for want of a better word, seducing her into changing it. The decision needs to be hers alone. All I can do—all we can do—is cast the position of my marchioness in the most appealing light.”

  Mary narrowed her eyes at him in considering fashion. “That’s a very clever way forward and might just work.”

  Frederick felt a soupçon of relief. He’d come there in the hope of recruiting all three ladies, but Mary especially. Of all the ladies in the ton, few would understand better than she the advantages of being a marchioness, and as she was close to Stacie, Mary was also best placed to know how those advantages would appeal to Stacie—a necessary requirement for the successful formulation of his campaign. He inclined his head to Mary. “I came here hoping that you would advise me as to the most useful avenues and events through which I might advance my cause with Stacie.”

  Mary studied him. “What you’re proposing is essentially an old-fashioned wooing.”

  He blinked. “I suppose I am.”

  “It’s really rather simple.” Felicia shifted her bulk in the chair as if she’d grown uncomfortable. “You need to convince Stacie that marrying you is better than not marrying you.”

  “Better for her,” Sylvia put in, “which, in her circumstances, translates to a brighter and better future for her musical evenings.”

  “That’s a pertinent point,” Mary said. “Stacie wants for nothing. The only thing she actively wants of life—at least that we’re aware of—is to succeed in becoming a major hostess of musical events. We should bear that in mind in framing your wooing.”

  Frederick quashed the impulse to wince at the word. “Another point we need to bear in mind is that Stacie isn’t blind. The longer my campaign to change her mind”—he much preferred that description—“lasts, the more likely it will be that I’ll cross some invisible line, and she’ll sense my true intentions before I’ve progressed my case with her sufficiently well for any rescripting of her attitude to override her ire.”

  “Hmm.” He found himself the subject of Mary’s blue gaze. After a moment, she said, in the tone of one making an interesting observation, “You do know that Stacie is a dab hand at manipulation, don’t you? I know, because I am, too. Yet from what I’ve seen of you, Frederick, you could give both me and Stacie a run for our money in that sphere.”

  He held Mary’s gaze, not entirely sure what to say. In the end, he ventured, “I’ve been aware of Stacie’s attempts to sway me from the first—when she so artfully endeavored to persuade me to her cause. She was remarkably open about her machinations. In return, I’ve not, to date, sought to hide my attempts to influence her. She recognized what I was doing yesterday morning in convincing her to accept my invitation to the theater and didn’t seem overly exercised. Whether she’s consciously aware of my more-subtle manipulations or not, I can’t say, but I’m certain that, at some point, she’ll realize.”

  Mary considered, then tipped her head in acknowledgment. “If she knows that manipulation is a habit of yours…” She shrugged. “Ryder’s even worse than you, yet between him and me, that hasn’t been a problem.” She smiled rather foxily. “Essentially, we expect it of each other and so are never surprised.”

  He stifled a laugh.

  “So!” Mary sat up. “Let’s put our minds to devising your campaign.”

  Frederick kept his lips shut and his expression hopeful.

  Felicia stirred. “Why not make a list of all the possible events and select those most useful?”

  Mary rang for paper and pen.

  Frederick sat back and let the ladies have free rein, occasionally commenting and suggesting events such as a visit to the Royal Academy’s private museum. He watched Mary create a reassuringly long list of events, each with its possible connection to music noted alongside.

  Eventually, Mary sat back and, with Sylvia, who had moved to sit on the arm of Mary’s chair, reviewed the list. Then Mary looked at Frederick, eyes narrowed in a considering fashion he’d already learned to be wary of. “We’ve basically created a concerted campaign that should cover the spectrum of advantages that might help in swaying Stacie to accept your suit. However, none of this will work unless your desire to woo her is genuine—unless you’re willing to let her see that, possibly not immediately but at some point.”

  He comprehended, none better, what Mary was alluding to—that essential conviction, the genuine passion required to persuade another to one’s cause; indeed, it had been Stacie’s passion for her musical evenings and the potential benefit to local musicians that had drawn him to support her. He also understood Mary’s underlying query—her doubt. When the time came, would he willingly face what he felt for Stacie and own to it?

  I will if I have to—if there’s no other way.

  Holding Mary’s gaze, he replied, “Speak to anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I am relentless in pursuing anything I decide I want. I’ve decided I wish to have Stacie as my marchioness, ergo, I will do whatever is necessary to secure her hand in marriage.”

  Mary searched his eyes, then nodded. “Good. Because I warn you, ‘whatever is necessary’ might, indeed, be what it takes to achieve our now-shared goal.” With a flourish, she held out the list.

  Frederick leaned forward and took it, then sat back and ran his eyes down the page.

  “Obviously, some events occur on specific dates, but others can be a
rranged to suit,” Mary said. “I suggest you leave Stacie as little time to think and dwell on things as possible—essentially, you need to sweep her off her feet and keep her twirling until her resistance weakens, you seize the moment and lay your revised proposition before her, and she—we all hope—agrees.”

  Frederick quashed an urge to make an arrogant retort; he knew exactly what he needed to do. However, with their list, Stacie’s sisters-in-law had, indeed, helped, so with becoming meekness, he nodded and tucked the list into his coat pocket. “Thank you, ladies.” He rose and took his leave of them; as he walked out of the parlor, he wondered what they would say of him after he’d gone.

  Mary watched Frederick depart. Only after his footsteps had faded did she allow a slow smile to curve her lips.

  “What?” Sylvia asked as she returned to the armchair she’d previously occupied.

  Mary tilted her head. “It occurs to me that Albury—Frederick—coming to see us as he just did is, to put it mildly, a distinctly notable move. I can’t think of many gentlemen, finding themselves in his shoes, who would have even thought to make it. But he did. That suggests he’s truly focused his mind on how to win Stacie—which, in my view, is exactly what she needs. Given her dogged stance against marriage, the only happening that might shift her from it is being pursued—relentlessly—by a determined man.”

  Felicia arched her brows. “One willing to do ‘whatever is necessary’ to win her?”

  “Precisely.” After a moment, Mary added, “I have to say that I’m now feeling a great deal more hopeful that this might prove to be a truly excellent match.”