The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

Frederick handed them over. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be—perhaps you’d better take them to the stable.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Frederick rounded the carriage and handed Stacie down. She’d changed her peacock-blue riding habit for a walking dress in a rich shade of garnet, combined with a bonnet with satin ribbons of the same hue.

Together, arm in arm, they climbed the steps, and Frederick pulled the bell chain.

Seconds later, a little maid opened the door. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively bobbed. “Yes, sir?”

Frederick handed her one of his calling cards. “Lord Albury and Lady Albury to see Lord Brougham.”

The maid stared at the embossed card with its coat of arms, blinked up at them, then stood back and waved them inside. “If you’ll wait in the drawing room, my lord, my lady, I’ll see if the master is receiving.”

The maid showed them into a scrupulously neat drawing room. Stacie drew her arm from his and crossed to sit on the chaise. Frederick followed, but rather than sit, remained standing beside her.

Brougham didn’t keep them waiting. He walked in, Frederick’s card in his hand, with a faintly intrigued expression on his face and a question in his eyes. “Albury?” Then he saw Stacie and, if it were possible, pokered up even more. He bowed. “Lady Albury—a pleasure.”

Stacie rose and held out her hand. “Likewise, my lord.” As Brougham advanced and very properly shook her hand, she continued, “When my husband said he intended to visit you, I couldn’t not come.” As if on cue, Lady Brougham followed her husband into the room, and Stacie switched her smile to her ladyship. “I do hope you’ll forgive us for calling like this, out of the blue.”

Lady Brougham’s pleasure appeared genuine as she declared, “On the contrary, we’re delighted to receive you.” Her ladyship and Frederick exchanged greetings, and she touched fingers with Stacie, then waved at the chaise and armchairs. “Please, sit.”

Stacie sank back onto the chaise, and Lady Brougham joined her. Frederick moved to take one of the armchairs facing the ladies as Brougham moved to claim its mate.

Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Frederick fixed his gaze on Brougham. “I’m h

ere about the volume on ancient Egyptian music I recently acquired.”

Brougham pulled a face. “Indeed. I had hoped to acquire it for Kings’ library—quite obviously the subject matter intersects with my area of expertise—but I admit”—he tipped his head to Frederick—“that I can see how the book also has relevance to your area of study.”

Frederick hadn’t expected such an amenable reception or such an immediate opening, but he decided to seize it and risk his hand; Brougham had never been good at pulling off even the most minor deception. “Your interest in and knowledge of the volume is, in part, why we are here. Since the day I took possession of the tome, her ladyship and I have been the subject of a spate of attacks. First, we had a burglar who broke into Brampton Hall in the dead of night, and whom her ladyship inadvertently disturbed—he left those bruises you can see about her neck.” Stacie drew aside the gauzy scarf she’d looped about her throat; the marks were fading, but still stood out against her pale skin.

The horror on Brougham’s face and his wife’s as well told Frederick all he needed to know regarding any association with the attacks. “Subsequently,” he went on, “when driving the gig on a track on the estate, we came upon rocks strewn across the way—the gig was wrecked, but luckily, we escaped unscathed.”

Both Broughams turned to stare at him, astonished and transparently aghast.

“Then this morning, on our early-morning ride in the park, some blighter shot at us.”

“Good Lord!” After an instant more of staring at him, Brougham shifted forward and earnestly asked, “Have you notified the authorities? What did they say?”

Frederick grimaced. “I haven’t brought any of this to their attention as yet. We have nothing to offer by way of evidence as to who it might be—or even a certain motive for the attacks.”

Lady Brougham’s eyes widened. She raised a hand to her throat. “You don’t think…?”

Frederick met her gaze and forced his features to ease into what he hoped was a reassuring expression. “I don’t believe your husband or you are in any way involved.”

Brougham made a choked sound—as if he’d been about to hotly protest being named a suspect, then realized he hadn’t been.

Frederick returned his attention to Brougham. “I did, however, want to ask if, while in researching the book, you learned of anyone else who had an interest in it—anyone unscrupulous enough to not greatly care by what means they laid their hands upon it.”

He and Brougham were both well aware that there were quite a few gentlemen of questionable morals who inhabited the shady edges of the ancient book trade. Consequently, Brougham did not dismiss the question outright but frowned in thought. Eventually, however, he shook his head and met Frederick’s gaze. “No. As far as I know, none of that sort were after this particular tome.”

“You were at the auction—who else was bidding?”

Brougham humphed. “Other than me and your man, there were a handful of flashy, young, would-be scholars—you know the sort, those who fancy themselves as erudite gentlemen, at least for this year—but I didn’t sense they were that put out, especially not when they heard the final price.”

Frederick nodded. “Dilettantes.”

“Precisely. Other than them, there was no one else.”