As she followed the balloon’s flight, she tipped farther back, then felt hands—Frederick’s hands with their long, strong fingers—close gently about her waist, steadying her.
Her senses no longer skittered at his touch; instead, they all but purred.
She told herself not to imagine that, on his part, the action meant anything at all—he was merely being protective—but she wasn’t sure she believed that.
She wasn’t sure she cared.
Caught up in the moment, oh-so-aware of Frederick immediately behind her, his long legs just behind hers, her skirts brushing against his trousers, his chest mere inches behind her shoulders, the warmth of his body a caress down her back, she felt that his hands and his hold were anchoring her not to the ground but to this moment of simple pleasure.
Simple happiness. Yesterday, today—he seemed to know just what outings would deliver that blessing to her.
Later that afternoon, Stacie found Frederick in her front hall again, this time to join her in an outing she had suggested on their way back from the park. They’d strolled to Green Street, trailing George and Percy, and had parted outside her house; while she’d gone inside to lunch with Ernestine, Frederick had headed to the Athenaeum with his friends.
As she emerged from the corridor leading to her parlor, he arched a brow at her. “Ready?”
She nodded and accepted her cape, which he held for her, then allowed him to escort her out of the door to his waiting carriage. He handed her in, then called to his coachman, “St Martin-in-the-Fields,” then climbed inside and shut the door.
They spent the minutes to their destination reviewing what they wished to say, then over the next hour, they met with Protheroe and the three young men they now termed their initial protégés. Frederick favored all three with a critical assessment of their performance, a paean that nevertheless carried suggestions for improvement, minor though those were. His report reduced Brandon, Phillip, and George to a blushing and tongue-tied state; the three stammered out their thanks, patently valuing Frederick’s critiques
and thrilled to have earned his approbation.
Stacie then reported on the social aspect—how the ton had taken not just to their performances and presentation but also to the notion of such musical evenings introducing unknown local musicians. “As well as numerous inquiries about hiring you for individual events, several hostesses have asked if there is a need for more opportunities for musicians such as yourselves, and I’ve encouraged them to consider hosting similar events.”
Smiling delightedly, Protheroe nodded. “We’ve already had several inquiries from ladies wishing to hire Brandon, Phillip and George, or other young musicians of similar caliber.” He glanced approvingly at the three young men. “The lads suggested, and I agreed, that we should wait to discuss such requests with you before accepting. You will know if the ladies’ events will be…well, suitable in the sense of advancing your protégés’ reputations.”
Stacie exchanged a glance with Frederick. “That was very wise. There may well be some events that would be less than suitable when assessed in those terms.”
Frederick agreed, and he and she spent a good fifteen minutes poring over the list of inquiries received to date and explaining to Protheroe and the three musicians why some of the proposed events would be excellent venues at which to show off their skills, while others would be better avoided.
“Never, ever, accept an invitation to play out of doors.” Wielding a pencil he’d pulled from his pocket, Frederick put a line through one inquiry. “The lack of acoustics will frustrate you and, ultimately, defeat you. So any request with the words alfresco, picnic, summer party, or the like is to be avoided.”
“And when a lady says ‘conservatory,’ she generally means one filled with plants, not a musical one,” Stacie added. “That said, some conservatories will function perfectly adequately as venues for musical performances, but those packed with plants won’t.” She pointed to another entry on the list. “You would need to see the space before you could safely accept.”
Frederick nodded. “Dense foliage eats sound.”
Protheroe received the winnowed list Frederick handed him with obvious gratitude. “Thank you—your explanations will help us enormously.”
Stacie listened as Frederick reiterated an invitation she gathered he’d already issued to the three young musicians to call on him for advice whenever they felt in need of it.
She gave a similar assurance to Protheroe, that she would always be available for consultation on any question regarding musical events in the ton.
“Speaking of musical events”—Protheroe looked at her hopefully—“have you given any thought to hosting another of your own?”
Stacie glanced at Frederick. “I originally planned on four events spread throughout the year, which would mean at least one if not two more during the Season.”
Frederick plainly thought, then offered, “I would suggest we hold off for a time before scheduling another event.” He met Stacie’s eyes. “Your first event garnered a great deal of attention, both before and after, purely because of its exclusivity. Holding events too close together makes them seem…not so special. Perhaps look to hold another late in the Season, then assess how the ton receives that before settling on the timing and structure of more events to be held later in the year.”
She arched her brows, weighing the obvious merits of his argument, then met his eyes. “My only concern is that other hostesses will copy the pattern and dilute the very exclusivity you mentioned.”
He held her gaze, his golden-brown eyes twinkling. “As I have no plans to play for any other hostess, I have difficulty imagining how any other lady is going to steal your thunder.”
The others chuckled, and she had to battle a grin; he was too charmingly arrogant for words. “There is that, I suppose.” She inclined her head in acceptance. “Very well. Shall we assume we’ll be holding another musical evening later in the Season—perhaps toward the end of May—and leave any further organizing for later?”
Protheroe and the three young men nodded in agreement.
Frederick stirred. “Now we have some idea of our audience’s capacity for sitting still and listening, I believe we can add a third introductory act. Either another soloist or a small group. We can leave any decisions until later, but”—he looked at Protheroe—“that’s something to bear in mind.”
Stacie and Frederick left the master and the three musicians happily revisiting the list of inquiries for their services.