The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3

by Stephanie Laurens

  Frederick nodded. “He came with a gun, and he came to the music room.”

  She frowned. “That could have been a good guess—you are well known to be a pianist. He might have thought the music room would be the best place to look for you.”

  “But how did he know where the music room was? In fact, how would a thug of that type know about music rooms at all? Yet he came over the wall in the right spot to approach the music room directly—in fleeing, he would have gone the same way.” Frederick leaned back in the chair, grimly accepting what that meant.

  Stacie put it into words. “Our villain knows this house or at least where the music room is.”

  “Which narrows the field to all the guests Mama has entertained here over the decades.”

  Stacie wrinkled her nose. “And I suppose all the other times, he might simply have been following us.”

  Frederick tipped his head in agreement. Still holding her hand, his thumb gently rubbing circles over the soft skin, he let his mind skate back over all they’d said. “Our villain is someone familiar with this house, but has insufficient funds to be able to hire a competent assassin. And while I feel Ernestine’s point—that the attacks commenced after our wedding—is both correct and somehow relevant, I can’t see how it fits.”

  When Stacie looked at him, he met her gaze.

  After a moment of studying him, she said, “I can’t help but see a parallel between what’s been happening to us and what my mother caused to happen to Mary and Ryder.” He frowned, and she went on, “That was all about the succession—so the pertinent question in this case might also be: Who is your heir?”

  His face cleared. “Carlisle, who you’ve met. And with Carlisle, what you see is the genuine man.” He shook his head. “I can’t see him being in any way involved in this—he’s definitely not the bloodthirsty, or even the desperately acquisitive, type.”

  Stacie’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. But it was Rand who was Ryder’s heir, not Mama, and Rand was entirely clueless as to Mama’s plotting.” She refocused on Frederick’s eyes. “What about Aurelia? She wasn’t thrilled over me joining the family—I thought she was thawing at our wedding, but when I spoke to her before we left the wedding breakfast, she was still distinctly chilly.”

  Frederick frowned. “She was?”

  Stacie nodded decisively, but after a second’s further thought, she grimaced. “Then again, I’ve heard that Aurelia is frequently chilly to everyone, so I’m not sure that counts.”

  Frederick forced himself to consider the prospect that the motive behind the attacks was the succession. Eventually, he said, “No matter how I try, no matter what pressure he might be under, I can’t see Carlisle doing anything so mercenary and inherently messy and risky as plotting my demise. He would be much more likely to approach me for help. And as for Aurelia”—he shook his head and met Stacie’s eyes—“while I accept that she has as much to gain as Carlisle by my death, I can’t see her being behind these sorts of attacks, either. Hiring a low-class thug—even through an intermediary—is definitely not Aurelia’s style.”

  Stacie humphed. “I doubt she’d even countenance an intermediary who would associate with thugs.”

  Frederick grinned and tipped his head. “That’s true.”

  A peremptory rap fell on the study door, then it opened and a determined-looking Mary walked in with Ryder, grim-faced, at her heels. They were closely followed by Frederick’s mother and Emily, both looking concerned and, if Frederick was any judge, faintly miffed at not having been summoned sooner.

  Ernestine brought up the rear. She shut the door, waited until the others disposed themselves in the various armchairs, then crossed to retake the chair she’d earlier vacated. With a defiant tilt to her chin, she looked at Frederick and Stacie and announced, “This is a time for family to rally around.”

  Given the expressions on the faces now turned their way, Frederick accepted that there was no point in arguing. In fact, it probably was time to seek wider counsel. He inclined his head in acquiescence and let his gaze touch each face. “Thank you for coming.”

  Mary, who’d looked poised to annihilate any argument he attempted to make, narrowed her eyes on him. “Perhaps you might open our discussions by telling us all of the attacks that, apparently, you and Stacie have been subjected to.”

  Frederick exchanged a glance with Stacie and, at her encouraging nod, proceeded to outline all the incidents and included their thoughts on what each suggested about their assailant and who had hired him.

  While listening to their observations regarding the thug, and what that might mean, Ryder nodded several times.

  Frederick concluded with their recent thoughts on the succession being a possible motive. “But that avenue doesn’t seem to get us any further.”

  Mary and Ryder exchanged a long glance, then Ryder looked at Frederick and said, “Instead of asking who benefits directly by your death—namely Carlisle, who I think we all agree”—he glanced at the dowager, Emily, and Ernestine—“doesn’t have the right character for a villain—perhaps we should be asking who benefits by Carlisle succeeding to the title, other than Carlisle himself?”

  Frederick glanced at Stacie, but it was his mother who said, “Aurelia?”

  When everyone looked at her, the dowager huffed. “I suppose she’s definitely one who will benefit, but although she is not my favorite person—indeed, she’s not a particularly likeable person at all—I can’t see the change in position, even being elevated to the title of marchioness, as being a sufficient lure to push her into the act of hiring someone to murder another. She’s extraordinarily straitlaced, and even a whiff of scandal is, in her terms, something to be avoided at all costs.”

  The dowager tightened her shawl about her shoulders and looked at Stacie. “I suspect that’s why Aurelia has been a trifle stiff with you, my dear. Given your mama’s reputation, Aurelia would have feared that your association with our family would bring scandal in its wake—and neither the circumstances surrounding your engagement or your wedding would have allayed those fears in the least.”

  A short silence ensued.

  Mary broke it. “I agree with Ryder. Given we’re satisfied these attacks have nothing to do with music and books, the qui bono angle seems the most likely. So if not Carlisle or Aurelia, then who?”

  Stacie looked from one face to the other as the silence stretched—and stretched.

  Then Emily, looking faintly conscious, suggested, “What about Mr. Barkshaw?”

  “Mr. Hadley Barkshaw?” Mary clarified. When Emily nodded, Mary looked at the dowager. “How is Hadley Barkshaw connected to the marquessate?”

  “Indirectly.” The dowager turned to stare at Emily. “He’s Aurelia’s brother.”

  Emily explained, “Aurelia was a Barkshaw before she married Carlisle. Hadley is Aurelia’s younger brother. She has an older brother as well, but I believe he spends most of his time in the country with the elder Barkshaws—their parents.”

  “Who,” the dowager added, “are known to be exceedingly strict in their ways. Hence, Aurelia’s overreaction to any possible hint of scandal.”

  Puzzled, Stacie asked, “Why did you suggest Hadley, Emily?”

  From the look on Mary’s face, she’d taken the words from her sister-in-law’s mouth.

  Emily colored. “It was just a notion—an impression I’ve gathered based on what I’ve seen at various family functions. People—well, those like Hadley, who is very self-centered—often forget I’m there and are wont to speak rather indiscreetly, and I rather suspect that Aurelia has been…” Her gaze grew distant as if she was recalling a conversation, then she refocused and said, “I believe the term Hadley used was ‘bailing him out’ with funds.”

  “Well!” the dowager said. A second later, she added, “Not that I find I’m all that surprised—not on either of their parts.”

  Ryder had been watching Mary’s face. When a short silence fell, he prompted, “Mary?”

  After Emi
ly’s revelation, Mary had been staring at the rug. She blinked and looked at Ryder, and he asked, “Can you add anything regarding Hadley Barkshaw?”

  Mary primmed her lips, then eased them and said, “There’s nothing I know of as verified fact. However, I do recall that Hadley, who generally presents as being charming and personable, was said to have been sniffing around Miss Dunsworthy’s skirts until her father and brother got wind of it and—according to the rumors—saw him off. Given that the Barkshaws and Dunsworthys are of similar social standing, but that Miss Dunsworthy is something of an heiress, one is left to draw the obvious conclusion.” She looked around at all their faces and explained, “That the Dunsworthys discovered enough about Hadley to convince them that he was after Miss Dunsworthy’s money—more, enough to decide he was an undesirable parti.”

  Stacie glanced at Frederick and found him exchanging a long look with Ryder, one laden with several layers of meaning.

  “I believe,” Ryder said, speaking to Frederick, “that you and I should consult with Rand and, through him, with whoever else we need to speak to in order to get a definitive answer regarding Hadley Barkshaw’s finances.”

  Looking increasingly focused, Frederick nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” He and Ryder rose. Frederick glanced at Stacie, then at the other ladies. “We’ll return as soon as we can, but until then, I believe I speak for both Ryder and myself in asking you all to remain here—in this house.”

  Safe and surrounded by the Albury House staff, who—Stacie had not the slightest doubt—Frederick would set to guard them.

  She wanted to go with him, but it was likely their quest would take them into the gentlemen’s clubs and similar places where she couldn’t go; they would find what they needed to uncover faster without her.

  Before Stacie could, Mary answered, “Of course.” She glanced at the others, finally bringing her gaze to rest—wryly understandingly—on Stacie. “We’ll wait here—just hurry up and find out if Hadley might be the one behind all this. If he isn’t, we’ll need to think again.”

  Stacie met Frederick’s eyes. “Perhaps that’s something we can do while you and Ryder are out—see if there’s anyone else we can think of who might possibly be behind these attacks.”

  Frederick nodded. “Good idea. We’ll leave you to it.” He caught her hand, raised it swiftly to his lips, his eyes trapping hers as he briefly kissed her knuckles, then he released her and followed Ryder to the door.

  Stacie watched them go—the two men in all the world she held most dear—then she stifled a sigh, rose and rounded the desk, and joined the other ladies.

  They put their heads together and wracked their collective brains, but after fifteen minutes, none of them had advanced any other name for the role of possible villain.

  Relaxing in the armchairs, the other ladies started to chat about this and that—the usual inconsequential matters that absorbed the ton. Stacie did her best to pay attention and contribute; she was well aware that all four ladies had remained to do their part in keeping her occupied and therefore safe—for no other reason than that they loved and cared for her as she loved and cared for them.

  This, she told the tiny child growing inside her, is the stuff of which families are made.

  Chapter 19

  Frederick and Ryder returned to Albury House while the ladies were still at the luncheon table.

  Frederick walked into his dining room to see Stacie seated in her usual place; she’d been avidly chatting with Mary and Emily and appeared reasonably calm—at least she wasn’t pacing.

  On his and Ryder’s arrival, all five ladies ceased talking and fixed them with expectant looks.

  As he and Ryder took their places at the table, Mary, imperious as always, demanded, “Well?”

  “In a moment,” Frederick returned. He glanced at the two footmen who had been serving, then looked at Fortingale, who promptly directed the footmen to set down the water and wine jugs they were carrying and leave the room.

  As the pair passed out of the door, Fortingale caught Frederick’s eye and faintly arched his brows—asking if he should depart as well.

  Frederick shook his head. Better Fortingale remained and heard the story; if they were to pursue the idea he and Ryder had tossed around in the carriage on the way home, they would need the butler’s—indeed, the entire household’s—assistance.

  Fortingale shut the door and, while Ryder and Frederick served themselves from the platters the ladies readily passed them, circled the table and filled Frederick’s and Ryder’s water and wine glasses. When Fortingale stepped back to take up his usual position beside the sideboard, Frederick, his fork in his hand, looked around at the ladies’ impatient faces and stated, “It seems entirely possible that Hadley Barkshaw is, in fact, behind the attacks on myself and Stacie.”

  “Well!” The dowager sat back, a host of emotions crossing her face. “That is going to set the cat among the pigeons with the Barkshaws.”

  Mary leaned forward. “What did you learn?”

  Down the length of the table, Stacie met Frederick’s eyes. “Start from the beginning—what did Rand say?”

  Ryder replied, giving Frederick the chance to eat a few mouthfuls. He’d been seriously impressed that, once Rand had understood what they needed to know, it had taken Stacie’s brother a matter of an hour before he handed them the name and address of a Mr. Mordaunt, a major moneylender in the East End, who, according to Rand’s sources, was the person they needed to speak with regarding Hadley Barkshaw.

  “So,” Ryder concluded, “Frederick and I paid Mr. Mordaunt a visit.”

  Ryder looked at Frederick, and he nodded and took up their tale, allowing Ryder to address his plate.

  “Luckily,” Frederick said, “Mordaunt was at home and, once we sent in our cards, entirely willing to speak with us. Indeed, he was quite eager to meet me—to actually set eyes on me. It transpired that Mordaunt was laboring under a series of consecutive misapprehensions, on the basis of which he’d loaned Hadley Barkshaw far, far more than he otherwise would have.”

  Eyes on his plate, Ryder snorted. “You really have to hand it to Barkshaw—Mordaunt is no one’s fool, but Hadley hadn’t just convinced him with his tale but had strung him along through setback after setback.”

  “How?” Stacie stared at Frederick. “How on earth did Hadley lure an experienced moneylender—which is what I assume Mordaunt is—in?”

  “And then continue to pull the wool over his eyes?” Mary added.

  Frederick picked up his wineglass and took a sip while rapidly considering how frank he should be. Lowering the glass, he decided that, given what he knew of the ladies present, none of them were likely to have the vapors. “Initially,” he said, “Hadley borrowed on the grounds that, although by then I was in my late twenties, I remained unmarried, lived the life of a scholar, and eschewed the ton, and had shown no interest whatsoever in marriage—or, in fact, in females—at all.” Frederick met Stacie’s eyes and saw them widen in comprehension.

  “And Mordaunt believed that?” she asked, as Mary, Frederick’s mother, and Emily all made inelegant sounds of disbelief.

  Frederick inclined his head. “In that, Hadley neatly used the discretion I have always practiced, combined it with Mordaunt’s apparently somewhat jaundiced view of men who devote themselves to musical pursuits, and came up with a story that worked to Hadley’s advantage. Suffice it to say he convinced Mordaunt that there was every likelihood that I would never marry, and that at some point in the future, Carlisle or Carlisle’s son, Jonathon, would inherit the title and the estate—and most importantly, the estate’s coffers.”

  “I still can’t see…” Frowning, Mary looked at the dowager and Emily. “Would Carlisle have repaid Hadley’s loans? Perhaps to placate his wife and his in-laws?”

  The dowager considered, but eventually shook her head. “Carlisle is as generous as the next man, but he has sons and two daughters to establish… I really can’t see Carlisle, who, while not as
priggish at Aurelia, frowns on even the most innocent forms of gaming, being, as the term goes, an easy touch—not for Hadley.”

  “That wasn’t Hadley’s pitch to Mordaunt.” Having taken the opportunity to clear his plate, Frederick lifted his wineglass, sat back, and sipped.

  It was Stacie who guessed, “Aurelia. Hadley told Mordaunt he could bleed what money he needed from the estate through Aurelia. That way, it wouldn’t have mattered whether it was Carlisle or Jonathon who inherited. Regardless, Hadley could claim Aurelia would have access to the funds he needed.”

  Frederick and Ryder nodded.

  Ryder touched his napkin to his lips, then lowered it and said, “According to Mordaunt, Hadley claimed Aurelia will give him any money he wishes once she has access to the marquessate’s funds—quite how she would do that, Hadley didn’t specify, but he had told Mordaunt of Aurelia’s fear of scandal and how she would do anything to ensure the Barkshaw family name remained untarnished.”

  “That was something Mordaunt could and did check,” Frederick said. “He had information on the elder Barkshaws and the older brother and his family that confirmed what Hadley had told him—namely, that the Barkshaws value their scandal-free name above all other considerations.”

  He paused, then went on, “Obviously, when Mordaunt saw the announcement of Stacie’s and my engagement—and then the wedding occurred so soon afterward and quietly to boot—he leapt to the obvious conclusion.”

  The ladies’ faces conveyed their dawning comprehension of how, to an outsider, the unexpected betrothal followed by a wedding twenty days later might appear. “Oh,” Ernestine said.

  Stacie’s eyes met Frederick’s. “What did Mordaunt do?”

  Ryder answered, “Unsurprisingly, Mordaunt wanted to ask Hadley just what your engagement, and then your marriage, meant in terms of his investment, but it took him another few weeks to hunt Hadley down.”

  “By which time,” Frederick took up the tale, “Hadley had decided that—as you and I were conveniently in the country, out of sight of everyone, including Mordaunt—that I was suffering from an incurable illness, and our engagement and marriage was actually a noble kindness arranged by our families designed to give you”—he nodded down the table to Stacie—“an established spinster, the protection of my title and a dower settlement on my death, which was expected at any minute.”