Later that evening, when, after dinner, he and Stacie had retired, as they now usually did, to the room she’d chosen as her private parlor, after they’d spent ten minutes or so reading—he his latest acquisition and she a novel culled from the library shelves—he set his finger on the page to note his place, looked up, and with every indication that he’d just thought of the matter, said, “I’ve just remembered—I’ll need to go up to London tomorrow. I have to attend a meeting of historical scholars at the museum tomorrow afternoon.”
She raised her head and opened her eyes wide. “Oh?”
When she appeared to fall into thought and didn’t say anything more, he grimaced. “I’ll most likely remain there overnight, and given I’ll be there, I might as well clear the business that’s built up since we’ve been down here. I might end remaining for a few days—perhaps as long as a week.”
He wanted her to accompany him, but didn’t want to order her to do so. The meeting was real enough, but regardless of it being very much in his academic bailiwick, too enamored of the contentment he’d found with her at the Hall, he hadn’t intended to attend. Now, however, he needed an excuse to return with her to London. Once he had her back in the capital, surrounding her with unobtrusive guards would be easy, in addition to Ernestine, who had moved to Albury House, as well as his mother and Emily, all three of whom he felt sure he could count on to keep Stacie amused and accompanied wherever she went.
His emotions, his instincts, would no longer allow him to countenance her roaming alone, as she’d been doing on the estate, but conversely, the very last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel under constant guard, and in the country, concealing watchers was well-nigh impossible. The only alternative would be to restrict her movements, effectively caging her—and that would be even worse. Consequently, London was his—their—best option.
He also felt reasonably certain that whoever was behind the attacks lived in town and had sent someone into Surrey to do their dirty work. The principal business he expected to pursue while in the capital would be to search out the blackguard behind the deeds and, one way or another, nullify the threat to her.
In that respect, London at present also contained Ryder, Rand, Kit, and Godfrey; Frederick felt confident he would have their unqualified support in hunting down the man who had dared to threaten their sister. They might even have some inkling of who it might be.
Her gaze distant, Stacie remained silent, apparently inwardly debating.
Frederick compressed his lips against an almost-overpowering urge to blurt out that he needed her to go with him, that in the circumstances, with her under threat, he couldn’t function if they were separated by miles…
But it was too soon—still too early in their marriage. Caution insisted he hold his tongue and do nothing precipitous to give his game away. He needed to wait and let her grow not just comfortable but rooted in the position of his marchioness before he confessed to sliding around the promise he’d given her not to fall in love with her.
Finally—although the wait was probably less than a minute—she refocused on his face and smiled. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come to town with you.”
Don’t cheer. Making sure no hint of relief or triumph showed, he inclined his head and returned her smile with an easy one of his own. “In that case, perhaps we can catch up with your brothers and sisters-in-law while we’re there.”
Stacie nodded eagerly, glad of having a perfectly valid excuse to cling to her husband’s company. “Felicia’s close to her time, and I’d like to be near—or at least, nearer. And I would also like to check in on Protheroe, our three protégés, and the music school in general. If we’re going to hold another musical evening—perhaps at the end of this month, before the ton quits the capital—then it would be wise, I suspect, to give Protheroe and the lads fair warning, especially if we decide to include an additional string performance.”
Frederick agreed and declared the matter settled, and they decided to leave after breakfast.
While Frederick crossed to the bellpull and, when Hughes responded, informed him of their intentions, and Hughes assured them all the necessary arrangements would be set in train, Stacie’s thoughts returned to her primary concern—protecting her arrogant husband from further harm. Her first step in that regard had to be separating Frederick from the book he currently held in his hands. She was counting on him not taking the tome to London; she’d discovered that there was a hidden room off the Hall’s library—probably originally a priest’s hole—in which the most prized of Frederick’s acquisitions were stored.
If the blasted book was left at the Hall, that would potentially create two targets for whoever was after it, and hopefully, the tome itself would prove the more attractive. Certainly, murdering its owner seemed a less-direct way of laying hands on the book, when a well-planned burglary would achieve a quicker result with, surely, less risk to the villain. Not that any burglar was likely to discover the priest’s hole, but if there was another attempted burglary while they were away, then that the book was the villain’s objective would be beyond doubt.
The notion that she might be the true target of the attacks had occurred to her, but she couldn’t imagine why anyone with the wherewithal let alone the knowledge to hire a thug to commit violent deeds would have her in their sights. That she’d walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night and surprised the villain’s henchman had to have been mere accident, and she doubted the sort of thug a villainous would-be thief hired would know that sometimes ladies drove gigs and not just gentlemen.
While Frederick gave orders as to which team of horses he wanted harnessed to his curricle the following day, and that Elliot and Kitty should follow with their luggage in the larger carriage as before, Stacie studied Frederick’s face.
Whoever the villain was, he most likely resided in London. Finding and exposing the blackguard would undoubtedly be their surest way forward, and in terms of ferreting out the villain, Frederick would have access to greater resources in town. Eyes narrowing fractionally, she scanned his—as always—uninformative countenance. Despite the lack of any evidence therein, she strongly suspected that, on his list of “business to be accomplished while in town,” the top spot was taken by: Find the blackguard and deal with him.
Or words to that effect.
Chapter 16
They arrived at Albury House an hour before luncheon. At Frederick’s order, Hughes had sent a rider up to town at daybreak to advise the household of their anticipated arrival. Amid all the unexpected drama, Stacie had forgotten that this would be her first visit to Albury House as its new mistress, a fact borne in on her as, bowed in with a flourish by Fortingale, she set foot on the hall tiles and found the staff lined up to greet her.
She smiled and stepped up to the task. When she reached the end of the line, just enough time remained to refresh themselves and shake the dust of the journey from their clothes before luncheon would be announced.
With a subtly expectant smile flirting about his lips, Frederick led her to the marquess’s apartments, which dominated one corner of the first floor. He opened the door, glanced inside, then stepped back and waved her in.
She stepped over the threshold—and laughed. Delighted, she looked all around the large room, then glanced over her shoulder at her remarkably clever husband. “I take it red wasn’t previously your preferred color?”
With an acknowledging dip of his head, he closed the door and joined her. “Until now, red hasn’t featured in my color choices.” His long fingers found her hand; gently gripping, he raised it to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. “But it’s your favorite color, so in that sense, it’s now mine as well.”
The room had been redecorated in garnet red; rich, sumptuous velvets and heavy brocades toned wonderfully with the dark walnut of the furniture. Indeed, the room was both masculine and feminine; she could easily see him lounging in the bed or in one of the comfortable chairs, but she also felt entirely at home
—that this room encompassed the meaning of the word.
She met his eyes. “It’s lovely.” Her lips lifted in a deliberately seductive smile. “I feel I should reward such thoughtfulness.”
He appeared to consider it, then sighed. “Sadly, with Mama, Emily, and Ernestine eagerly awaiting us downstairs, I regretfully suggest all demonstrations of your gratitude would best be delayed until tonight.”
She laughed. “Very well, my lord. Tonight it is.” She turned toward the minor door he waved her toward. “For now, we’ll have to be content with making ourselves presentable.”
They did and, subsequently, descended to the dining room and weathered a luncheon that had patently been designed by the cook and Mrs. Macaffrey to rival anything Mrs. Hughes and her team had placed before them.
After growing used to sharing meals with Frederick alone, Stacie found it a trifle disconcerting to have to actively make conversation. She managed to avoid giving any undertakings regarding possible activities for her afternoon, but allowed the other three ladies to indulge in as much speculation as they wished.
When they rose from the table, Frederick made his excuses and departed for his meeting at the museum.
Stacie accompanied the other three ladies to her mother-in-law’s private drawing room.
Halfway across the room, the dowager paused and looked at Stacie. “By rights, this room should become your domain, my dear. I would be happy to shift to using one of the smaller rooms…?”
“No need.” Stacie smiled confidently. “I’m perfectly content that this room remains primarily yours, Mama-in-law.” She was surprised by how easily the title tripped off her tongue and immediately saw how much her use of it had pleased Frederick’s mother. “Provided, of course, that I may join you here.”
The dowager closed a hand on Stacie’s arm and gently squeezed. “You will always be welcome, my dear—never doubt it.” She released Stacie and waved them to the chairs; the dowager sank into one of the armchairs by the fireplace, Emily and Ernestine shared the chaise, while Stacie claimed the second armchair.
As soon as she’d settled, the three older ladies fixed eager eyes on her. “Now,” the dowager commanded, “tell me—how did you find Brampton Hall?”
Stacie was happy to satisfy their curiosity on the subject, although her unvoiced refusal to touch on anything to do with her and Frederick’s relationship caused a certain level of disappointment.
From the corner of her eye, she kept watch on the clock. When the hands stood at two-thirty, she concluded her description of Mr. Camber, who the dowager knew of but had never met, and stated, “Ladies, I must call on my sisters-in-law and let them know I’m back in town.” She rose. “Especially with Felicia so near her time, I wouldn’t want them to suppose I was still in the country and too far away to summon if there’s a need.”
“Oh, indeed. You must let them know,” Ernestine agreed.
The prospect of an imminent baby obliterated any disappointment the three ladies might have felt. The dowager looked quite pleased. “We’ll look forward to hearing whatever news there may be over dinner tonight.”
Stacie left them, hurried to her room, summoned Kitty, and gave orders for the town carriage Frederick had said she might use to be brought around, then when Kitty returned, changed into one of her more fashionable walking dresses.
For the visit she was about to make, she wanted to look her best.
By the simple expedient of asking her modiste while being fitted for her wedding gown, she’d learned that Lady Halbertson lived at Number 9, Farm Street. After allowing Fortingale to instruct the coachman to take her to Raventhorne House, she waited until the carriage was on South Audley Street and nearing the corner of Mount Street before rapping on the roof and giving the coachman her revised destination. She fully intended to call on her sisters-in-law, but first, she had a suspicion to either confirm or refute.
She’d spent the hours traveling to town mulling over the possible motives for the incidents at Brampton Hall and had accepted that there was a distant chance that she herself had been the intended target on both occasions. While she considered such a scenario extremely unlikely, it was one she could check, given that the only person who might have reason to attack her was Lady Halbertson.
Stacie had to own to a worm of jealousy where Frances Halbertson was concerned. Her ladyship had known Frederick before Stacie had, and now that she more fully comprehended the sensual delights her husband could bestow, she had to wonder if Lady Halbertson’s gentle and unthreatening demeanor cloaked a more devious nature. If, for instance, her ladyship harbored an ambition to do away with Stacie and inveigle Frederick into marriage once the position of his marchioness was, again, vacant.
Stacie didn’t want to believe that of Lady Halbertson, but having grown up observing her mother and her cronies, she knew how much duplicitousness could lurk behind a charming façade.
She trod up Lady Halbertson’s steps at a few minutes before three o’clock—a time when the lady should, with any luck, be at home. The parlormaid who answered the door confirmed that was so and, on being given Stacie’s title, without any show of consciousness, invited Stacie inside and showed her into the small drawing room, then went to fetch her mistress.
Stacie was left to conclude that either the parlormaid was a new addition to the household, or the staff had never known the identity of the gentleman who had, in the not so distant past, called on their mistress.
Lady Halbertson didn’t keep her waiting; she swept into the room mere minutes later, a pleasant and intrigued smile on her face. “Lady Albury.” Her ladyship curtsied, then gracefully rose. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Nothing in Lady Halbertson’s face suggested Stacie’s visit wasn’t the pleasure she’d termed it. Stacie drew in a breath and opted for blatant honesty. “Lady Halbertson, I hope I may be frank with you.”
Her ladyship’s gaze grew a touch wary, but her features remained relaxed. “I take it you’ve heard that I was Frederick’s mistress—as far as I’m aware, his last mistress prior to him marrying you.” She waved Stacie to the chaise and moved to claim an armchair. “And indeed,” she went on, as Stacie sank onto the chaise, and her ladyship sat as well, “I would prefer frankness between us. I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, and as I owe Frederick a genuine and ongoing debt of gratitude, I sincerely want nothing but the best for him. So whatever questions you may have, ask, and I will answer as best as I can.”
Stacie studied Frances Halbertson’s face; she would take an oath that every word her ladyship had uttered had been the absolute truth—that reality shone in her fine eyes, in the helpful eagerness that infused her. Stacie replayed her ladyship’s words, then tilted her head and inquired, “A genuine and ongoing debt?”
Lady Halbertson nodded. “Over his continuing advice and his efforts on Connor’s behalf.”
“Connor?”
“My son.” Lady Halbertson’s face transformed; no Madonna had ever looked prouder. “He’s just nine years old and has a burning ambition to become a great violinist. Frederick’s advice—to both Connor and myself—has been”—her ladyship raised her hands in an expansive gesture—“invaluable. He counseled Connor that he should finish school before exclusively devoting himself to his music and explained why in terms a nine-year-old could understand.” Her ladyship caught Stacie’s eyes. “If you’ve ever had to manage a nine-year-old boy, you’ll know how imperative that is.”
Stacie nodded. “I remember my younger brother at that age. You couldn’t get him to do anything unless you could explain its purpose. ‘Why’ was his favorite word.”
“Exactly. And Frederick has gone further and spoken to his friends at the Royal Academy, and when Connor leaves Eton, if he still wishes to pursue what he insists is his calling, then the Academy has agreed to assess him and, if he makes the grade, take him in on a scholarship.” Her ladyship’s eyes shone as she said, “I cannot tell you how much Frederick’s su
pport and help have meant to Connor and me.”
Studying her ladyship’s face, Stacie suspected she understood.
Under her gaze, Lady Halbertson sobered. “I should make it plain that Frederick didn’t have to do what he did—I never asked it of him. His actions, first to last, were made out of the goodness of his heart. He called one afternoon—purely to check if I would be at some ball that evening—and heard Connor practicing. Nothing would do but for Frederick to climb to the schoolroom and put Connor through his musical paces.” Her ladyship seemed to reflect, then confessed, “I must say, I found Frederick’s commanding attitude rather terrifying, but Connor lapped it up. He was in alt after Frederick left.”
Stacie couldn’t help smiling. “One does not get between Frederick and music. I’ve already learned that lesson.”
Lady Halbertson tipped her head, her gaze on Stacie. “Would it be appropriate to offer you refreshments?”
Stacie read the question in her ladyship’s eyes—Could they be friends?—and smiled. “I don’t see why not.”
Frances Halbertson beamed, rose, and crossed to the bellpull. After giving instructions to the parlormaid, she returned to her armchair. “Now, I hope I’ve set your mind at rest as to the cause of any lingering interest in this household on Frederick’s part. We agreed to speak frankly, so in that vein, allow me to assure you that any more personal connection between Frederick and myself is very definitely in the past.”
When Stacie tilted her head, asking an unaskable question with her eyes, her ladyship readily volunteered, “I’ve decided I’m not cut out for the role of nobleman’s mistress. Indeed, I don’t think I ever was—my husband left me sufficiently well provided for, and of course, Connor will eventually come into his own—but something in Frederick called to me and…” She shrugged. “He was persistent, yet in matters such as that, once the pursuit is ended and the prize won, for the gentleman, the excitement tends to wear off.” For the first time, her ladyship openly studied Stacie. “That said, I would suggest that, with you, he will remain constant. Given the way he looks at you, I would say that you and he have a chance at a match made in heaven.”
The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3 Page 31