Wednesday dawned cool and cloudy and only grew more dismal as the day progressed. By eight o’clock in the evening, as the first of Stacie’s guests trod the red carpet leading from the curb to her front door, a fine mizzle was falling.
Nothing, however, could dampen the spirits of those invited to attend the exclusive event that had flung the entire haut ton into rabid speculation over the past four days.
Stacie stood in the middle of her front hall, greeting her guests and directing them into the drawing room, where the earliest arrivals were milling. While, outwardly, she maintained her customary polished façade, inside, she was on tenterhooks.
When she’d sent out the invitations, she’d had no idea the ton would respond with this much avidity. She’d expected Frederick’s name to capture attention and draw the required crowd, but she’d assumed the members of that crowd would display the usual level of ton curiosity, not…this! This hugely amplified anticipation, as if each guest had been invited to witness some major, possibly shocking, certainly tantalizing happening.
To her mind, the extreme interest bordered on the bizarre. She could only hope the entertainment they’d planned would satisfy such elevated expectations.
Frederick had arrived early, bringing the three younger musicians with him. The four had taken refuge in her parlor, with Frederick declaring he had no intention of appearing until it was time for him to play.
Stacie had been somewhat surprised at that, but had accepted his decision without quibble.
Those guests she’d most wanted to attend arrived within the first half hour—a telling success. By the time the clocks struck nine o’clock, her rooms were packed, and she felt justified in quitting her position in favor of moving among the guests, stopping here and there to chat, and fielding inquisitive questions on all sides, most of which pertained to Frederick, but some bright-eyed young ladies—who, she suspected, viewed Frederick as far too old to be of interest to them—inquired as to the three younger musicians.
She halted beside Ryder and Mary in an attempt to catch her breath.
“This,” Mary informed her with a smile, “is what wild success looks like.”
Ryder arched his brows cynically. “It’s amazing what tweaking the gossipmongers’ noses will do. One could almost believe people were here to listen to the music.”
Stacie pulled a laughing face at her half brother, then turned as her brother Rand and his wife, Felicia, who was expecting the couple’s first child, joined them. Her other brothers, Kit and Godfrey, as well as Kit’s wife, Sylvia, were chatting nearby.
Felicia squeezed Stacie’s arm. “This is an amazing turnout. You must be thrilled.”
“I am,” Stacie assured her. Thrilled and increasingly nervous. To Mary, she said, “Thank you for getting all the Cynster ladies here. Even Helena and Lady Osbaldestone have come out.”
“I couldn’t have kept them away.” Mary nodded at the crowd. “Given the incentive to attend, I can’t imagine anyone you favored with an invitation wouldn’t have made every effort to be here.”
Another thrill of nervousness skittered through Stacie. “I think I’d better check on the performers.”
“To make sure they don’t bolt?” Rand grinned at her. “I know how persuasive you can be when you set your mind to it, but even I was shocked that you’d managed to get Albury to agree to a performance. His resistance is legendary.”
“Yes, well—I’d better go and check that he hasn’t changed his mind.” Stacie laughed as she said the words, but as she wended her way through the crowd, leaving hostess duties to Ernestine, ably seconded by Mary, she found herself wondering just how deeply entrenched Frederick’s refusal to play before the ton truly was—and whether it might throw up last-minute hurdles.
She reached the front hall, nodded to Pemberly—Ryder’s butler on loan for the evening, who was stationed there—then slipped into the corridor that led to the parlor.
As she approached the door, she heard the plucking of strings and the rumble of male voices. She opened the door, whisked inside and shut it, and met the arrested, questioning glances directed her way.
Frederick was lounging in one of the armchairs, while the three younger musicians were standing in a group by the fireplace, Phillip and George with their instruments in hand.
“From the noise out there,” Frederick observed, “I take it we have an audience.”
“The music room is going to be packed,” she confirmed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we have rather more bodies than the one hundred and fifty we invited.” She’d been so right in choosing to pursue Frederick as her principal performer; he was the attraction that was going to make the evening an even bigger success than she’d imagined.
She studied the three younger men. They looked a touch pale, unsure and distinctly nervous.
In contrast, Frederick appeared almost preternaturally calm. When she glanced his way, he waved a languid hand. “Don’t worry about them—or me. All of us are ready and will perform in exemplary fashion.”
She found a smile and directed it toward the three young musicians. “I have to say, you all look the part.” And they did. Frederick had seen to that; in their severe black coats, charcoal waistcoats and trousers, and ivory linen, with their hair neatly groomed and shoes polished to a high gloss, the three looked entirely worthy of being his protégés, sartorially as well as musically.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s almost nine-thirty. Pemberly, who you’ve met, will come and fetch each of you at the appropriate time and lead you through the dining room and morning room to the music room. His presence will ensure no one tries to distract you.”
“Which,” Frederick added, “some will otherwise try to do, just when you want to remain focused on your music. So stick with Pemberly and don’t lag behind.”
The clock struck nine-thirty, and Stacie’s nerves jangled. “I need to get out there—Ernestine and the staff should have everyone seated by now.” She turned toward the door, but flung a last, bracing smile at the three young men. “Good luck!”
Frederick had risen and followed her to the door; she opened it and glanced at him. He grasped the doorknob. “Stop fretting. You’ve done your part—now, it’s our turn.” His smile was cynically amused. “Go and introduce us, then sit back and relax.”