The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3

by Stephanie Laurens

  Frederick considered all he’d heard, then ventured, “What you’ve told me explains why Stacie would have a poor view of her parents’ marriage, specifically her mother’s role in that. But as far as I can see, none of that explains why she should so trenchantly recoil from marriage for herself.” He cut his gaze to Ryder. “If nothing else, she’s had the example of your marriage to Mary, and also the Cynster marriages in general, to counter the view her experience of her mother might have instilled in her.”

  Ryder met his eyes, then grimaced. “I have to agree, but the problem is, we’re guessing at what’s in Stacie’s mind.” He raised his hands, palms out. “I’ll admit I’m less than confident over that.”

  Both Rand and Kit humphed in agreement.

  Godfrey stirred. “Actually”—he met Ryder’s gaze, then looked at Frederick—“there’s one aspect of what happened back then on which none of us have touched. That said, I can’t see how it would impinge on Stacie’s thoughts of marriage for herself, as it’s patently something that was peculiar to Mama.”

  Frederick arched his brows. “What aspect?”

  Godfrey looked at Rand, and when Rand, faintly puzzled, nodded in encouragement, returned his gaze to Frederick. “While Papa was still alive, Mama didn’t just take great delight in being scandalous, she took even more delight, derived even more real joy, from knowing her exploits were reported—in full detail—to Papa.” Godfrey’s features hardened. “Malicious isn’t a strong enough word to describe her—she took pleasure in, reveled in, hurting people. Not us, her children, but literally anyone else was fair game, and Papa was her favorite target.”

  He paused, then went on, “I don’t know why—as far as I know, he never did anything to even curb her excesses. Where she was concerned, he was weak—always trying to appease her, she who was never either grateful or satisfied.” Godfrey glanced at Rand and Kit.

  Frederick followed his gaze and saw that Godfrey’s older brothers looked shocked.

  Godfrey went on, “Stacie and I saw it, but while Rand, Kit, and Ryder knew of Mama’s excesses, she largely kept her maliciously malevolent side from them. Probably because she knew how they would react if they learned she was attacking Papa like that.”

  “Why,” Ryder asked, his expression appalled, “didn’t you say something? To any of us?”

  Godfrey gave his powerful eldest brother a don’t-be-silly look. “You forget—I was ten when Papa died. Yes, I’d seen what was happening, but back then, I had nothing to compare it with. I saw and understood what Mama was doing, but I didn’t know, then, that marriages weren’t supposed to be like that. I can remember events from the last few years of Papa’s life quite vividly, but it’s only been in recent years, since you married and I’ve seen how a marriage is supposed to be, that I’ve come to understand how truly horrendous Mama’s behavior was.”

  Godfrey’s gaze passed from Ryder, to Kit, to Rand. “I saw what happened, but only now do I understand what was actually happening.” He briefly shrugged. “That’s why I never said anything. But”—he shifted his gaze to Frederick—“the relevant point is that whatever I saw, Stacie—three years older—saw much more, especially as Mama made a point of keeping her close. That said”—Godfrey glanced at his brothers—“and speaking as the one of us who has spent most time with her over the last decade, Stacie is absolutely nothing like Mama, and while I can see that her experience of Mama’s actions might make her tentative over marrying, I can’t see why it would make her swear off marriage altogether.”

  Frederick studied Godfrey’s face, then looked at Ryder, then at Kit and Rand. “There’s…an enormous amount to digest in all that. The reason behind Stacie’s aversion to marriage might well lie buried somewhere in it, yet correctly guessing the way a lady’s mind works is…not something our sex excels at.”

  Several minutes passed in silence, then Ryder warned, “Changing Stacie’s mind about marriage won’t be easy—especially without knowing what her objection is based on.”

  Frederick met Ryder’s gaze, then rose. “Luckily,” he said, “I enjoy challenges.”

  On returning to Albury House, Frederick went straight to his study, rang for a footman, and dispatched the man to the City with a message.

  Frederick spent the next half hour dealing with his correspondence and reports sent up from Brampton Hall.

  A tap on the door heralded Fortingale. “Mr. Camber has arrived in response to your summons, my lord.”

  Frederick nodded. “Show him in.”

  Fortingale bowed and withdrew. Frederick set aside the papers he’d been working on, then William Camber walked in.

  “Good afternoon, Camber.” Frederick waved the private inquiry agent to his usual chair before the desk. “Take a seat—I have an assignment for you that’s somewhat different from the norm.”

  Camber was a middle-aged, neatly dressed, and entirely unremarkable man, all qualities that played well in his line of work. Of heavier than average build, he wore steel-rimmed spectacles, and his gray hair was thinning, but still covered his large head. Camber sat. “I’m always pleased to take commissions from you, my lord. Never a dull moment.”

  Frederick usually used Camber to track down old manuscripts on music and the occasional ancient score. “In this case, while the results might well be eye-opening, they might also be distasteful. I give you fair warning.”

  Unperturbed, Camber simply nodded and waited.

  Frederick leaned back and steepled his fingers before his face. “I want you to unearth absolutely everything you can about the late Marchioness of Raventhorne. Not the current one—don’t go near her or, indeed, any of the family. The lady I’m referring to died several years ago in an accident—but I have no interest in that accident. I already know all I need to about that. What I want you to find out is all you can learn about the late marchioness’s behavior, habits—all aspects of the way she lived—over, say, the last five to ten years of her life.”

  Camber’s gaze had grown distant as he took in Frederick’s instructions. “Did she live in London?”

  “As I understand it, for the most part, yes. Initially at Raventhorne House in Mount Street and, later, in a town house in Mayfair—I’m not sure where.”

  Camber refocused on Frederick’s face. “Quite a bit different from chasing old books and papers.”

  “Indeed. One other point.” Frederick had been tossing up how much to reveal to Camber, but without telling the agent of his interest, he risked not gaining the critical information he was seeking. “The focus of my interest is the late marchioness’s only daughter. I’m particularly interested in how and in what way the late marchioness might have influenced and affected her daughter’s view of the world.”

  Slowly, Camber nodded. “Very well. The usual rates?”

  “Yes. And also as usual, discretion is paramount.”

  “Naturally, my lord. How quickly do you need this information?”

  Frederick lowered his hands and grimaced. “The sooner the better.”

  Camber nodded again and rose. “I’ll get back with a report as soon as I can.”

  Frederick half smiled. “And once you do, I expect to have another commission waiting—but it’ll be back to music, I fear.”

  Camber returned Frederick’s smile. “I’ll look forward to it, my lord.” With a bow, Camber turned and left.

  Frederick stared after him and inwardly acknowledged that, at some point during that day, he’d made one of his impulsive decisions—one that looked set to change his life.

  Chapter 8

  The following morning, after perusing the notice announcing Lady Eustacia Cavanaugh’s engagement to the Marquess of Albury in his morning edition of the Gazette, Frederick strolled around to Green Street and discovered the Raventhorne carriage, the Raventhorne coat of arms blazoned on the doors, drawn up before Stacie’s house. He halted on the pavement, then decided that Stacie’s sister-in-law was a preferable audience to a group of gossipmongers and continued up
the steps to Stacie’s door.

  He was shown into the drawing room to find not only Mary but also Kit’s wife, Sylvia, to whom Frederick had been introduced at Stacie’s event, seated on the chaise.

  Stacie came forward to greet him with a smile that declared she wasn’t entirely certain of how the next moments would go.

  He smiled urbanely. “Good morning, my dear.” He took the hand she offered and raised it briefly to his lips. “I’m delighted to see you’re not inundated with callers this morning.”

  “No, indeed—it’s been something of a relief. Perhaps something else has happened to capture the ton’s attention.”

  He heard a soft snort from the direction of the chaise. Presumably, Stacie hadn’t realized her sister-in-law’s carriage stood guard outside. Or perhaps she didn’t register the discouraging effect Mary’s presence would have on the overly curious.

  Regardless, he followed her down the room and exchanged greetings with Mary and Sylvia. From behind their pleasant smiles, both ladies viewed him with quiet assessment; he assumed they’d heard from their husbands of his quest to persuade Stacie to the altar and were still weighing whether or not to support his effort.

  After greeting Ernestine, rather than sit, Frederick swung to face Stacie, still standing beside him; the movement put them closer than was customary, but he didn’t step away, and she couldn’t, not without appearing flustered. He smiled understandingly—conspiratorially. “I’m due at a meeting in the City shortly, but I hoped to inveigle you and Mrs. Thwaites to join me in my box for the performance at Drury Lane tonight—Charles Kean is reprising his Hamlet for one night only.”

  “Oh!” Ernestine raised her fingers to her lips. When the others all looked at her, face alight, she confided, “I’ve always wanted to see Kean in that role.”

  His smile faintly triumphant, Frederick arched a brow at Stacie.

  She frowned. “I’m not sure…”

  Frederick’s smile faded; he trapped her gaze. “Many who attended your event two nights ago will be present. As your intention is to hold more such events, introducing more of the worthy graduates of the music school to the ton—an aim I wholeheartedly support—then consolidating and maintaining your social position is as essential to your goal and the future of those graduates as me practicing on a piano is.”

  Stacie understood the real message in his words. The ton would expect to see them behaving as an engaged couple; if she wanted to establish her musical evenings as she’d planned, she couldn’t afford not to satisfy society’s expectations.

  But just being as close to him as she was now was playing havoc with her nerves. Spending hours in a dimly lit box with him seated close beside her…

  She glanced at Mary.

  Mary met her eyes and arched her brows. “Have you seen Kean play Hamlet?”

  “No.”

  “In that case,” Mary said, “you should go—his performance is definitely worth experiencing.”

  No help from that quarter, yet Kean’s brilliance notwithstanding, she doubted she would be able to concentrate on the stage. Raising her gaze to meet Frederick’s—he hadn’t shifted, and with an armchair behind her, she couldn’t ease away—she said, “Thank you, my lord—Ernestine and I would be happy to accept your invitation.”

  He smiled—and despite not being all that happy over being jockeyed into another public appearance, she found herself charmed; when he wished, the man could be diabolical.

  “Excellent.” He glanced at Mary and Sylvia and half bowed. “I’ll leave you ladies to your morning.” To Ernestine and Stacie, he said, “I’ll pick you up in my carriage at eight.”

  Delighted, Ernestine assured him they would be ready and waiting.

  “I’ll see you out.” Stacie waved toward the door—and he finally consented to move.

  She noted that he didn’t try to hide his satisfaction as, side by side, they walked into the front hall. When she paused before the door and he turned to her, reaching for and taking her hand, she fixed him with a level look. “Do you always get what you want?”

  He met her gaze as he raised her hand. “Almost always.” He held her gaze and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  For a moment, she felt captured, trapped in his mesmerizing eyes—then his smile deepened a fraction, and he released her hand and stepped toward the door, which a round-eyed Hettie promptly opened.

  He still held Stacie’s gaze, then with a dip of his head, he turned away. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  He walked out of the door and left her wondering what that odd moment of strange connection had been about.

  As the curtain of the Drury Lane theater parted on the first act, and the lights dimmed and the patrons quietened, with Ernestine, Frederick’s mother, and her companion, Mrs. Weston, on one side and Frederick on the other, Stacie sat at the front of the Albury box and heaved a silent sigh of relief.

  Both Mary and Sylvia had urged her to make the best of the situation and enjoy the benefits of having a handsome nobleman squire her about, yet a niggling reluctance still plagued her. As a rule, she tried not to lie or manipulate others, and what she and Frederick were presently doing amounted to lying and manipulating on a grand scale.

  Countering that, she sternly told herself that their actions were all in a good—if not excellent—cause, specifically in ensuring her continued ability to introduce worthy musicians to the ton’s notice. And as Mary had pointed out, as Frederick was more than doing his part, Stacie needed to step up and keep him company.

  That hadn’t been quite so easily done as said; just getting through the foyer had been an ordeal. But Frederick had held close to her side and guided her through the crush; she’d glimpsed a certain steely ruthlessness behind his ineffably sophisticated mask as he’d arrogantly ignored most who’d sought to detain them, acknowledging only those whose station made them impossible to avoid, all the while relentlessly forging a path through the melee.

  Despite her leaping nerves and the near-constant abrasion of her senses whenever he was close, she’d been grateful.

  She slanted a glance at him as he sat, apparently relaxed, beside her. Although his face was wreathed in shadows, she noted his gaze was not on the stage. He was scanning the boxes on the other side of the theater; she glanced that way and realized that many of the occupants, both male and female, were surreptitiously staring at the Albury box.

  Of course. She shifted her gaze back to the stage and determinedly kept it there. Much of her reluctance to go about in public stemmed from her aversion of being stared at, of being the focus of that sort of attention. It was inevitable, she knew, and indeed, Frederick had probably been wise to engineer this outing; at least in the theater, unlike in a drawing room, all people could do was stare from a distance.

  Over time, the ton’s avid interest would fade; some new scandal would occur, and all attention would deflect to that.

  She tried to concentrate on the performance, but too many of her senses preferred to focus on a distraction nearer to hand. She’d circulated within the ton for over eight years; she’d met countless gentlemen, many as handsome and even a few as physically commanding as Frederick, yet none had ever drawn her attention as he did. Why he should possess such an apparently effortless ability to snare her senses, she had no idea.

  Yet he did.

  She could only pray that, as with the ton’s interest, the effect would fade with time and constant exposure.

  Before she knew it, the curtains swept in, the lights flared, and the first intermission began.

  As always, that signaled the emptying of some boxes and the consequent filling of others. Naturally, the Albury box was one of those soon full to bursting.

  Having anticipated that, she steeled herself to play her part, standing to one side of the box with Frederick, who appropriated her arm and looped it with his. Clamping down hard on her wayward senses, she exchanged the usual pleasantries and observations with those who made it into their orbit.

&nb
sp; Apparently as shrewd as her son, his mother held court on the opposite side of the box, thereby forcing those crowding inside to face one way or the other.

  Among the first to appear were two gentlemen whom Frederick introduced as his closest friends—George, Lord Farleigh, and Percy, Viscount Piper. Both were elegant, charming, and proved surprisingly capable; after making their bows to Stacie and Ernestine, and to the marchioness and Mrs. Weston, the pair retreated to hover just inside the door of the box, effectively acting as guards and directing questioning glances at Frederick over whether those seeking entrance should be admitted.

  Even with their help, it proved something of a crush, but a manageable one. Several times, Stacie had to bite her lip to hold back a chuckle occasioned by Frederick’s glib exercise of a sharp and acerbic wit she hadn’t, until then, realized he possessed.

  Finally, the theater’s bells rang, sending people scurrying back to their seats for the commencement of the second act.

  As their box emptied, Frederick invited George and Percy to remain; he suspected they’d come purely because he’d mentioned over luncheon that he would be attending with Stacie, and they’d helped by keeping the worst of the horde at bay. Smiling, they accepted, taking seats in the second row of chairs, behind him and Stacie.

  He and she reclaimed their seats, and as the lights dimmed, Frederick settled back to watch Kean and his players and think of other things.

  From his perspective, socially, matters were progressing well. Between them, he and Stacie were projecting exactly the picture he wished—that of a more mature, recently engaged couple. Thus far, he’d managed to keep his instincts—or rather, the impulses they incited—from pushing him into stepping over any line, into doing anything that might alert her to his revised direction. That said, he was conscious of having to hold himself back from behaving overly protectively. That wasn’t a battle he’d ever had to fight before; presumably, his new view of Stacie as his perfect bride had recast something inside him so that any even-vague threat to her peace provoked a forceful response from him.