The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3

by Stephanie Laurens

  The young performers invited to showcase their talents that evening were the same three who had opened the marchioness’s near-legendary first event the year before, when she’d still been Lady Eustacia Cavanaugh. As she, now Lady Albury, said in her introduction, all three young men had made strides as, under the patronage of the marquess and herself, their careers had progressed onto a wider stage.

  The pianist, Brandon Miller, and the duo of cellist and violinist who followed—Phillip Carpenter and George Goodes—were now familiar to many of those attending, having been hired by ladies to perform at various events through the preceding year. Nevertheless, it was clear to even the most superficial observer that all three had evolved both in skills and in confidence under the Alburys’ wing.

  Those three were followed by the latest three performers to be admitted to the list of Albury protégés. The cream of the haut ton pricked up their collective ears when her ladyship invited Lord Brougham to introduce the horn and wind ensemble. Subsequently, they listened closely, noting the rich timbre of the performance that Brougham had explained was the hallmark of exceptional performance with such instruments.

  When the trio took their final bow, the haut ton was pleased to approve, and ladies could be seen making notes of names and instruments for later consideration.

  Finally came the moment that even the most jaded of the audience had waited for. Lord Frederick Brampton, Marquess of Albury—very much one of their own—appeared to rapturous applause. Those in the front rows saw the faintly cynical look he exchanged with his wife, then he bowed, circled the grand piano, and sat before the keyboard.

  Then he placed his fingers on the keys and played his latest composition, which he had titled simply “Ode to My Son.”

  The piece was indescribably moving; not a single matronly eye remained unclouded by tears, and not a few of the gentlemen were similarly afflicted.

  When the evocative work finally drew to a close and the marquess took his bow to thunderous applause, then, as was his habit, retreated from the room, all were in agreement that this, his third publicly released composition, was a worthy addition to his catalog, joining the earlier “Anthem to My Muse” and his “Christmas Sonata,” which had been delivered to critical acclaim at, respectively, the second and third of Lady Albury’s evenings the previous year.

  Stacie remained in the music room only long enough to see the guests all moving into the supper room, then she slipped away and joined Frederick where he loitered, waiting for her in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

  He smiled when he saw her step into the gallery. “I thought you would come up.”

  She returned his smile with one even more fond. “I knew you would.”

  He reached for her hand, and their fingers intertwined as they turned down a corridor, then took another flight of stairs upward.

  “Incidentally,” she informed him, knowing he needed to hear it, “they loved your Ode.” She cast him a laughing glance. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

  He arched his brows, but she could tell he was relieved. “Good to know.”

  They reached the top of the stairs and fetched up before the door to the nursery.

  Frederick watched Stacie grip the doorknob and quietly crack open the door.

  The inspiration for his latest opus lay sleeping peacefully in a cot near the window.

  The nursemaid on duty smiled and bobbed a curtsy, then withdrew, leaving them with their son.

  Lord Edmund Frederick Carlisle Brampton was just three months old and remained blissfully unaware of the doting gazes trained upon him.

  Frederick lounged against the window frame and, in the soft moonlight that spilled through the glass, watched Stacie as her gaze traced the small round face, the tiny nose, the delicately pursed lips.

  Whether Edmund would have her hair or Frederick’s was still moot, but Frederick felt sure his son would inherit her periwinkle-blue eyes.

  Yet as he relaxed and the tension of performance sloughed away, it wasn’t his son who commanded his attention. He drank in Stacie’s Madonna-like expression, the glow of pure love that infused her face, an expression unlike any other in the universe—and inside him, music stirred.

  Eventually, she drew back with a sigh, then she looked up and saw his smile. “What?” she whispered.

  Smile deepening, he shook his head as he reached out, slid an arm around her waist, and settling her beside him, drew her toward the open door. “I cannot understand how you ever doubted the power of your love—for me and for our children.” Through the shadows, he captured her gaze, caught her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed her fingers. “You are radiant—literally radiant—with it, and as ever, I am in awe.”

  She smiled, then halted and, stretching up on her toes, kissed him. “I do love you,” she whispered against his lips.

  Unable to resist, he drew her back for a longer, more thorough kiss, but eventually, albeit reluctantly, they both drew back.

  He met her eyes and lightly grimaced. “We have guests.”

  “And protégés to do our best for.”

  “Indeed.” He guided her through the doorway and nodded to the maid, who slipped back into the room as he and Stacie walked down the corridor.

  He and she had carved out a unique position within the haut ton, but along with that much-desired state came responsibilities—responsibilities they both took seriously. Championing the alumni of the music school attached to St Martin-in-the-Fields had become a shared purpose, a joint endeavor.

  Another sort of family, in a way.

  The thought made him smile as they returned downstairs, and dutifully, with a commitment he’d never expected to possess, he steeled himself to accept with due grace the accolades of their guests.

  An hour later, Stacie was circulating among their guests when she came upon her younger brother, Godfrey, taking his leave of Mary.

  “I’ve hardly had a chance to say hello,” Stacie protested as she linked her arm in his.

  Godfrey grinned and patted her hand. “I’m your younger brother. Hello is optional.”

  She chuckled. “Do you really have to leave?”

  He nodded. “I’ve a commission in Cornwall—quite an intriguing one. I want to get an early start.”

  “Very well.” Stacie exchanged a look with Mary, who then waved them both away as she returned to Ryder, who was deep in conversation with another peer. Stacie held on to Godfrey’s arm. “I’ll see you to the door.”

  “Hmm.” Godfrey eyed her warily. “Why do I get the impression that look you just exchanged with dearest Mary bodes me no good at all?”

  She shook her head and steered them determinedly through the still-substantial crowd. “You’re imagining things. But I’ve been meaning to point out to you—you who are the last of us to wed—that despite our past, love does, in truth, conquer all.” She met his eyes. “I’m a shining—indeed, my husband informs me I’m a radiantly glowing—example of that.”

  “You are radiantly glowing, but I rather suspect it’s Frederick himself who’s the cause of that.”

  Stacie pinched his arm.

  “Ow!” He mock-scowled and pretended to rub the hurt. “I knew I should have left you with Mary.”

  They reached the front hall, and she drew him to one side and halted. “Stop trying to change the subject. I accept that I was the one most affected by Mama and her machinations, but you were there often as well. As much as I had to, you, too, need to leave behind your years with her and all the twisted lessons she tried to teach us. Quite literally, we need to forget her and all her works and go forward and live our own lives and not allow her to taint those. I know that’s not always easy, but if we want happiness in our lives, that’s what we have to do.”

  Stacie looked into Godfrey’s eyes and saw the gentle, easy smile curving his lips reflected there.

  Godfrey squeezed her hand and held her gaze. “Would you believe me if I told you I’d thrown off Mama’s influence years ago?”<
br />
  When she looked doubtful, he sighed, then more briskly said, “Don’t worry about me.”

  That brought on a very sisterly frown. “Don’t be nonsensical. I’m your sister—I’ll always worry about you. We’re family, and that’s what families do.”

  He had to give her that. “Possibly, but with you and Mary and Felicia and Sylvia all watching out for me, I doubt that even Fate would dare decline to send love my way—eventually.”

  She knew him well—better than his sisters-in-law, even better than his brothers. She cocked a questioning brow at him. “Eventually?”

  “Indeed.” It was time to get away, before she could start an inquisition. He moved toward the door, and Fortingale—bless the man—opened it. Godfrey swooped down, pecked Stacie on the cheek, then tapped the tip of her nose, which always made her wrinkle it and was guaranteed to distract her. “Eventually,” he said, as he slipped his arm from under her hand, “because at this very moment, I have no time for falling in love. I, dear sister, have another and even more demanding mistress to serve.”

  Namely, Art, in his drive to become the very best in his chosen field of gentleman-assessors of masterpieces.

  Stacie frowned, but before she could say anything more, he turned and walked out of the door and went quickly down the steps.

  Without looking back, he waved over his shoulder, then strode off determinedly into the night.

  Dear Reader,

  Stacie’s story was always destined to be one of challenges—that was obvious after the dramatic events at the end of The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh, the book in which she first appeared. It was clear that Stacie’s relationship with her mother and the shadow of her mother’s actions would inevitably influence who Stacie became, the sort of woman she grew to be, especially in the arena of love and romance.

  And because of the hurdles Stacie faced, her hero had to be the right sort of man—one who faced a challenge of his own—and who, through meeting that challenge at Stacie’s behest, would in turn challenge Stacie to face her own demons.

  I hope you enjoyed following Stacie’s path into love, marriage, and happiness with Frederick—if you feel inclined to leave a review here (link to retailer’s bookpage), I would greatly appreciate it.

  As I’m sure you’ve realized from the last scene in this book, the final volume in the Cavanaughs, The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey Cavanaugh, the tale of how Godfrey finds romance, is on my drawing board and is scheduled for release in July 2020.

  Meanwhile, to round out 2019, the third volume of Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Chronicles, Lady Osbaldestone’s Plum Puddings, will be released on October 17 for you to enjoy in the lead-up to Christmas.

  As ever, I wish you continued happy reading!

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  Stephanie.

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  COMING NEXT:

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  The third instalment in LADY OSBALDESTONE’S CHRISTMAS CHRONICLES

  LADY OSBALDESTONE’S PLUM PUDDINGS

  To be released on October 17, 2019.

  #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens brings you the delights of a long-ago country-village Christmas, featuring a grandmother, her grandchildren, an artifact hunter, the lady who catches his eye, and three ancient coins that draw them all together in a Christmas treasure hunt.

  Therese, Lady Osbaldestone, and her household again welcome her younger daughter’s children, Jamie, George, and Lottie, plus their cousins Melissa and Mandy, all of whom have insisted on spending the three weeks prior to Christmas at Therese’s house, Hartington Manor, in the village of Little Moseley.

  The children are looking forward to the village’s traditional events, and this year, Therese has arranged a new distraction—the plum puddings she and her staff are making for the entire village. But while cleaning the coins donated as the puddings’ good-luck tokens, the children discover that three aren’t coins of the realm. When consulted, Reverend Colebatch summons a friend, an archeological scholar from Oxford, who confirms the coins are Roman, raising the possibility of a Roman treasure buried somewhere near. Unfortunately, Professor Webster is facing a deadline and cannot assist in the search, but along with his niece Honor, he will stay in the village, writing, remaining available for consultation should the children and their helpers uncover more treasure.

  It soon becomes clear that discovering the source of the coins—or even which villager donated them—isn’t a straightforward matter. Then the children come across a personable gentleman who knows a great deal about Roman antiquities. He introduces himself as Callum Harris, and they agree to allow him to help, and he gets their search back on track.

  But while the manor five, assisted by the gentlemen from Fulsom Hall, scour the village for who had the coins and search the countryside for signs of excavation and Harris combs through the village’s country-house libraries, amassing evidence of a Roman compound somewhere near, the site from which the coins actually came remains a frustrating mystery.

  Then Therese recognizes Harris, who is more than he’s pretending to be. She also notes the romance burgeoning between Harris and Honor Webster, and given the girl doesn’t know Harris’s full name, let alone his fraught relationship with her uncle, Therese steps in. But while she can engineer a successful resolution to one romance-of-the-season, as well a reconciliation long overdue, another romance that strikes much closer to home is beyond her ability to manipulate.

  Meanwhile, the search for the source of the coins goes on, but time is running out. Will Therese’s grandchildren and their Fulsom Hall helpers locate the Roman merchant’s villa Harris is sure lies near before they all must leave the village for Christmas with their families?

  Third in series. A novel of 70,000 words. A Christmas tale of antiquities, reconciliation, romance, and requited love.

  Preorders available by August 1, 2019

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  RECENTLY RELEASED:

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  A CONQUEST IMPOSSIBLE TO RESIST

  Cynster Next Generation Novel #7

  #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens returns to the Cynsters’ next generation to bring you a thrilling tale of love, intrigue, and fabulous horses.

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  A notorious rakehell with a stable of rare Thoroughbreds and a lady on a quest to locate such horses must negotiate personal minefields to forge a greatly desired alliance—one someone is prepared to murder to prevent.

  Prudence Cynster has turned her back on husband hunting in favor of horse hunting. As the head of the breeding program underpinning the success of the Cynster racing stables, she’s on a quest to acquire the necessary horses to refresh the stable’s breeding stock.

  On his estranged father’s death, Deaglan Fitzgerald, now Earl of Glengarah, left London and the hedonistic life of a wealthy, wellborn rake and returned to Glengarah Castle determined to rectify the harm caused by his father’s neglect. Driven by guilt that he hadn’t been there to protect his people during the Great Famine, Deaglan holds firm against the lure of his father’s extensive collection of horses and, leaving the stable to the care of his brother, Felix, devotes him
self to returning the estate to prosperity.

  Deaglan had fallen out with his father and been exiled from Glengarah over his drive to have the horses pay their way. Knowing Deaglan’s wishes and that restoration of the estate is almost complete, Felix writes to the premier Thoroughbred breeding program in the British Isles to test their interest in the Glengarah horses.

  On receiving a letter describing exactly the type of horses she’s seeking, Pru overrides her family’s reluctance and sets out for Ireland’s west coast to visit the now-reclusive wicked Earl of Glengarah. Yet her only interest is in his horses, which she cannot wait to see.

  When Felix tells Deaglan that a P. H. Cynster is about to arrive to assess the horses with a view to a breeding arrangement, Deaglan can only be grateful. But then P. H. Cynster turns out to be a lady, one utterly unlike any other he’s ever met.

  Yet they are who they are, and both understand their world. They battle their instincts and attempt to keep their interactions businesslike, but the sparks are incandescent and inevitably ignite a sexual blaze that consumes them both—and opens their eyes.

  But before they can find their way to their now-desired goal, first one accident, then another distracts them. Someone, it seems, doesn’t want them to strike a deal. Who? Why?

  They need to find out before whoever it is resorts to the ultimate sanction.

  A historical romance with neo-Gothic overtones, set in the west of Ireland. A Cynster Next Generation novel—a full-length historical romance of 125,000 words.