Yet Aurelia Brampton exchanged nods and accorded Stacie a curtsy perfectly gauged for her rank. Carlisle’s wife was a lady best described as severely handsome; her contributions to the ensuing exchanges were cold and stilted, and she remained as stiff as a poker throughout.
In contrast, her husband was of the bluff and easygoing sort; if he was bothered that Frederick’s proposed marriage would threaten his position as Frederick’s heir, Stacie saw no evidence of it, and she truly didn’t think Carlisle, as he insisted she call him, was capable of acting at all.
After only a few minutes, Frederick made their excuses on the grounds they had another engagement to attend, and they set off through the crowd toward the ballroom door.
Frederick dipped his head closer to Stacie’s. “Aurelia is always rigidly stiff—I’ve never seen her otherwise—and she tries to make Carlisle the same. In her presence, I’m always tempted to drop something she values in front of her, to see if her stays will snap when she bends.”
Stacie pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh, then asked, “Is there a reason for her being so starchy?”
“I’ve heard her parents described as the ultimate in high-sticklers. They are rarely in London, and I’ve only met them once, at Carlisle’s wedding years ago. For what it’s worth, my sisters are of the opinion that Aurelia was brought up to live in fear of scandal of any sort whatsoever—of even a hint of it touching her hems.”
“Hmm,” Stacie replied. “In that case, you and I are, ultimately, not going to feature among Aurelia’s favorite people, even if, in calling off our engagement, we restore to her a direct pathway to becoming a future marchioness.”
“Bite your tongue,” Frederick murmured, which Stacie interpreted as an understandable reprimand over alluding to their future plans in public.
Yet his expression remained confident, relaxed and smiling, as he said, “Trust me, there won’t be any scandal over us.” He glanced down and met her eyes. “Society will just shrug and go merrily on.”
The following afternoon, Frederick called at Green Street and took Stacie for a drive in the park, a pleasant interlude that demonstrated that the curious horde had started to lose interest in their romance and look elsewhere for more gossipworthy news.
After driving through the fashionable stretch of the avenue, Frederick drew into the verge and, leaving Timson holding the horses, helped Stacie down, and they ambled across the lawns to the banks of the Serpentine and watched, smiling, as three little girls threw bread crumbs to a gaggle of swans and noisy ducks.
Frederick thought he saw the shadow of a pleasant memory pass fleetingly over Stacie’s face. When they started back to the curricle and he asked what had made her smile so fondly, she admitted that her father used to bring her and her brother Godfrey to the Serpentine, where she would feed the ducks and swans while Godfrey sailed his toy yacht.
Then she turned the tables on him, forcing him to admit that his major interest, even as a boy, had been music, music, and more music. “Papa soon gave up trying to instill other interests in me. In retrospect, I feel for him—I was his only son, yet at that age, all I wanted to do was play the piano.”
She slanted him a glance. “I take it the riding and driving came later, along with the dancing?”
He smiled. “Indeed.”
They couldn’t expect to keep to themselves for long, and several groups took advantage of their stroll back to the curricle to approach and exchange the usual pleasantries, along with the expected subtle inquiries, but none were overly pushy, and they reached the carriage without him needing to cut anyone off.
He helped Stacie to the seat, joined her and took up the reins, and tooled them back to Green Street.
When he took his leave of her in the front hall—kissing her hand but, as they weren’t on the porch and he therefore had no excuse, abstaining from kissing her cheek—she was still smiling. When he returned down the steps to the pavement, he was smiling, too.
The dinner at Albury House that evening, arranged by his mother several weeks before, wasn’t an event he could legitimately avoid, no matter how much he wished to, and as his recently acquired fiancée, Stacie had to sit through it, too.
The other guests were his mother’s friends, those still alive and able to get about, and included his godparents. Predictably, the entire company was delighted to learn of his engagement and even more delighted to meet Stacie.
“Knew your father quite well,” Lord Hardacre boomed. “Excellent sort!” He opened his mouth to say something else, but abruptly shut it, then mumbled, “Pity he died when you were still so young. Good man. Good man.”
To Frederick’s relief, all the others steered clear of the topic of Stacie’s parents, even though all members of the company were of the haut ton and of an age that guaranteed they would have heard a great deal about the late Marchioness of Raventhorne.
As he’d expected, the conversation took a turn toward the stultifying all too soon. The exchanges around the dining table revolved about the various guests’ health, or lack of it, and the deaths of acquaintances and relatives, followed by reminiscences of the exploits of those who had passed on.
Luckily, to a man and woman, the company valued their sleep, and all departed relatively early, freeing Frederick to insist on accompanying Stacie in her carriage on the drive home.
For him, sitting in the comfortable darkness close beside her and breathing in the subtle perfume that rose from her skin and hair was the best part of the evening. He’d taken her hand to help her into the carriage and had followed closely behind her, allowing him to retain his hold on her fingers; when he dared to link his fingers with hers and she didn’t tug hers free, he looked ahead and smiled to himself.
The distance to her house was too short to attempt anything more.
Her gaze apparently on the streetscape slipping past the window, she murmured, “Did you notice Lady Constance fell asleep at the table?”
“At one point, I thought she would topple forward and land with her face in her plate. I signaled to Fortingale, and he jogged her elbow while pretending to refill her glass.”
“I wondered if he’d had a hand in waking her up.” After a moment, she said, “That was well done of you. She would have hated it if she’d slumped onto the table.”
He lightly shrugged. “She’s a good old thing—she used to bring me sweets and insist that I play for her. Consequently, of my mother’s friends, she was a favorite.”
The carriage drew up, and he leaned forward and opened the door, then descended to the pavement and steadied Stacie as she climbed down. She looked up and told her coachman he could drive on to the mews, as Frederick had elected to walk home. When the man glanced his way, Frederick nodded a confirmation, and the coachman flicked his reins, and the carriage rolled away.
Still holding Stacie’s hand, Frederick strolled with her up the steps to the porch and to her front door. With her free hand, she reached for the bell chain. Before she could tug, he raised the hand he held and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist.
Her eyes, wide, flew to his face. He met her gaze, then, slowly, giving her plenty of time to draw back if she would, he shifted closer, bent his head, and pressed a soft kiss—not just a brush of the lips but a true kiss—to the corner of her lips.
She’d tensed. As he slowly straightened, she watched him intently. In the faint light that fell through the transom above the door, he could see her pulse beating—too fast, too hard—in her throat.
To his senses, she was like a cornered fawn, ready to leap away at the slightest sign of threat.
He smiled gently. “No biddy across the street tonight—that simply felt right.”
She blinked; her eyes were very blue, the pupils dark and fathomless.
Allowing his smile to deepen a fraction, he reached out, closed his hand around hers where it had frozen on the bell chain, and gave the chain a tug.
Then he lowered his hand and stepped back. His gaz
e on her, he waited until her sleepy maid opened the door, then he saluted Stacie, turned, and walked down the steps. He glanced back to see the door closing behind her.
Smiling, he thrust his hands into his pockets, turned toward Park Street, and lengthened his stride.
They’d arranged to meet at the eastern end of Rotten Row at eight o’clock the next morning.
Stacie wouldn’t have been surprised if, in the wake of that odd almost-kiss Frederick had claimed, she’d had difficulty falling asleep. Instead, the instant her head had hit the pillow, she’d lost touch with the world and had woken with the first birdcalls, refreshed and looking forward to getting out and feeling the wind in her face.
She decided that the only way to deal with that almost-kiss was to ignore it. Why he’d done it was a mystery, but given his character, which she was coming to realize was impulsive—he was an inherently adventurous spirit to whom very few people had ever said no—perhaps, as he’d said, to him it had simply fitted the moment.
Regardless, she wasn’t of a mind to allow such a minor incident to mar her enjoyment of the ride. With her groom trailing behind, she rode into the park and turned south to Rotten Row.
She saw Frederick waiting, mounted today on a raw-boned gray and watching the other riders as they thundered off down the tan.
Then he turned his head and saw her and smiled—and her silly heart flipped, flopped, and turned over.
Ignoring the sudden constriction about her lungs, she smiled back, irrationally pleased she’d chosen to wear her new peacock-blue riding habit, with its matching cap sporting a jaunty peacock feather curling up and over her head.
She drew her mare in alongside the larger gray. “Good morning, my lord.”
Still smiling, he inclined his head to her. “A very fetching outfit.” His warm gaze said he approved. “You cast us drab gentlemen into the shade.”
Her smile widened.
The gray shifted, powerful and restless.
Feeling increasingly breathless, she waved at the track. “Shall we?”
He nodded, and they walked their horses forward to take their place in the queue at the head of the track, and in short order, it was their turn to tap their heels to their horses’ flanks and fly down the tan.
It was exhilarating and satisfying, thundering down the track with Frederick holding the gray back just enough for her mare to keep pace. The wind of their passing blew Stacie’s curls from her face and tugged at the feather in her cap. Excitement sang in her veins, familiar yet with an undercurrent of heightened awareness, of additional subtle pleasure.
They reached the end of the tan and reluctantly slowed, then wheeled to the right, onto the grass, slowing to a trot as they headed back toward the starting point.
Stacie glanced at Frederick, and he met her gaze and grinned.
His eyes reflected the same unalloyed pleasure and joy that was buoying her. “Shall we do that again?” he asked.
She laughed. “Yes—let’s.” In that moment, she felt more carefree and lighter of heart than she had in a very long time.
They both looked ahead and urged their horses into a faster trot, eager to experience the thrill of galloping—galloping together—again.
As they wheeled to rejoin the queue, the word “liberated” sprang to her mind. She hadn’t realized that being an engaged lady, even a faux-engaged lady, would make her feel this unfettered—this free.
That evening saw them attending Lady Kilpatrick’s ball. Her ladyship was one of the major hostesses, and an invitation from her equated to a command.
Unfortunately, because of that, her ladyship’s events were always unmitigated crushes, a condition neither Frederick nor Stacie appreciated. By mutual accord, they sought refuge on the dance floor.
Frederick claimed the first two dances, then surrendered Stacie’s hand to Percy and himself moved on to partner Mrs. Forsythe, a young matron he introduced to Stacie as a distant connection.
Stacie found Percy to be almost as good a dancer as Frederick. When she remarked on their shared skill, Percy revealed that when he, George, and Frederick had first come on the town, they’d decided that dancing was an activity at which it would pay to excel, so had hired a dance master to polish their steps.
Percy grinned. “An excellent investment in time and expense—all three of us can attest that ladies definitely appreciate a gentleman who can dance.”
Stacie chuckled and nodded. “That’s certainly true.”
When, eventually, they swirled to a halt at the end of the measure and straightened from their curtsy and bow, a gentleman approached them.
Smiling, he bowed to Stacie. “Lady Eustacia.” The gentleman exchanged nods with Percy. “Do introduce us, Piper.”
Stacie didn’t know Percy well enough to decide if his impassive demeanor meant he disapproved of the gentleman or simply had little time for him, but nevertheless, Percy obliged. “Lady Eustacia, allow me to present Mr. Hadley Barkshaw.”
Barkshaw smiled, a touch ingratiatingly. “You’ve met my sister, Aurelia—Carlisle Brampton’s wife.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned, and Stacie smiled and extended her hand. “You’re a connection of Frederick’s.”
“Indeed.” Taking her hand, Hadley bowed over it. “And if I may, might I beg the honor of this dance?”
The musicians chose that moment to start up again—a country-dance, this time. Stacie saw no reason not to incline her head and, with a parting smile for Percy, allowed Barkshaw to lead her into the nearest set.
The dance was one that kept partners together, close enough to converse; while they turned and twirled, Barkshaw chatted—in a self-absorbed vein touching on subjects that confirmed Stacie’s assessment that he was some years younger than Frederick and his friends, possibly of similar age to herself. Eventually, Barkshaw congratulated her on her and Frederick’s engagement and capped his comment by brightly asking when they expected to wed.
Stacie countered by asking if Barkshaw had yet had a chance to congratulate Frederick. Barkshaw admitted he hadn’t yet crossed Frederick’s path, underscoring that he and Frederick did not move in the same circles; Stacie sensed that Barkshaw almost said as much but, at the last moment, held the words back.
Instead, he recommenced his steady patter of comments and observations, some of which were entertaining. However, he returned twice more to the question of when she and Frederick planned to marry, leaving Stacie wondering if Barkshaw was one of those gentlemen who sought to curry favor with the hostesses by always knowing the latest ton news; there was no denying that the date of her and Frederick’s wedding was currently a topic of considerable speculation.
She was more than experienced enough to fob Barkshaw off; indeed, they might be of similar age, but in terms of managing within the ton, she sensed she was his senior by several years.
Regardless, when the lengthy country-dance eventually ended, she was pleased to find Frederick waiting and promptly reclaimed his arm.
Frederick greeted Barkshaw with his usual cool aloofness. For his part, Barkshaw promptly congratulated Frederick on his and Stacie’s engagement, then with a bow and polite thanks to Stacie for the dance, Barkshaw took himself off.
Frederick eyed Barkshaw’s departing back. “Aurelia must have dragged him here. I expect she’s trying to encourage him to settle down.”
Stacie made a disparaging sound. “Judging from the general tone of his comments, that’s going to be a hard row for her to hoe, at least at present.”
“Oh?” Twining her arm more definitely with his, Frederick steered her around the edge of the dance floor. “I’ve had enough—can we go?”
She looked ahead. “The door is at the far end—by the time we reach it, we’ll have more than done our duty and can legitimately escape.”
As she’d foreseen, they were constantly stopped by this lady or that gentleman, all wanting to offer congratulations and glean whatever news they were willing to share. She was growing adept at sliding ar
ound the leading questions, and Frederick more than held his own with his coolly arrogant aloofness and sometimes cutting wit.
At one point, when they were momentarily free of others, Frederick tapped Stacie’s wrist and asked, “What did you mean by implying that Aurelia had her work cut out for her with Hadley?”
Stacie lightly shrugged. “Just that he struck me as an inexperienced rakehell—one who is yet a junior in the field, but seeking to find his way down that path.” She paused, then added, “Actually, when you think about it, he seems an odd sort of brother for Aurelia to have. I would have expected someone more like Carlisle—indeed, someone more serious and less genial than Carlisle.”
Frederick tipped his head. “True.” He considered the point, then conceded, “I hadn’t thought of that before, but you’re right. As I mentioned earlier, Aurelia’s parents are as rigidly correct as she is, if not more so. Perhaps Hadley’s going through a delayed and prolonged rebellious phase.”
Stacie chuckled. “That might explain it.”
Frederick lowered his head and whispered, “There’s a side door just ahead which gives access to the foyer—dare we take it?”
She glanced up and met his eyes. “I would love to, but we can’t. We have to take our leave of Lady Kilpatrick—and luckily for us, she’s just over there.”
Frederick looked, heaved a put-upon sigh that made Stacie smile, and led her to their hostess’s side.
The next morning, Frederick called for Stacie before any callers had had a chance to descend, and they hailed a hackney, traveled to Leicester Square, and took refuge with Mr. Griggs.
“It feels like sneaking away,” Stacie had confessed as they’d jolted over the cobbles.
Frederick had grinned. “That’s because it is.”
The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3 Page 19