The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

Frederick thought, then said, “Possibly the most useful advice I can impart is to ignore the audience when you walk in. Don’t look at them, and shut your ears to their whispering, because they will whisper, and titter, and sigh, and make every other noise imaginable. They will not be a well-behaved audience. Once you’ve completed your piece and take your bow, if you wish, you may look at them then, although I will admit, I don’t. I keep my gaze just above their heads, nod politely, and walk off.”

Brandon had been dismissed and replaced by Phillip. After joining George by the door, his expression puzzled, Brandon asked Frederick, “But isn’t the audience why we perform? Don’t we need to gauge how they respond to our performance?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Frederick assured him. “All you’ll need to do to assess their reaction is to use your ears. Even before they applaud, you’ll know if you’ve hit the mark—the first clue is in that instant of silence that follows the end of the last note. The more profound that silence, the longer that instant stretches, the more captive your audience was. If your playing held them and captured them, you’ll know it then. In addition to that, there’s the quality of the applause—is it enthusiastic and heartfelt or merely polite? Worse, is it stiff or reluctant? And that’s quite apart from any calls of bravo or comments that carry to your ears.”

The expressions of the three young musicians had eased. Brandon and George were nodding; Phillip had his chin tipped up as Moreton measured his neck.

When, finally satisfied, Moreton released him, Phillip said, “While earning money enough to live on is nice, ultimately, our success is that, isn’t it? What we bring to our audience and how successful we are in delivering the joy of the music to them.”

George took Phillip’s place. “That’s the moment that’s most uplifting—that instant you spoke of when you realize that, yes, you’ve done your job and shared the music with those listening.”

Phillip looked down the room and caught Frederick’s eyes. “We were talking on our way here, and we want to thank you—you and her ladyship—for giving us this opportunity to perform before a more exacting audience. If we succeed in this sphere…well, it’s what we’ve been training for all these years. To share our God-given talents and what those can make of the music with an audience who appreciates that.”

The other two murmured their agreement.

Frederick inclined his head in acknowledgment of their words, even while he pondered the fact that, in the matter of playing before any audience, he’d taken the exact opposite stance.

He’d been hiding his talent, hoarding it away, for more than a decade.

From the mouths of babes…

It was somewhat chastening to realize that, in reaction to the ton’s over-avid interest, instead of confronting it and overcoming the hurdle, he’d instead run away and withdrawn his talent from the world.

Moreton was finally finished. He dismissed George, rolled up his tape measure, consulted with Thomas, then faced Frederick. “I believe we’ll be able to deliver within the specified time frame, my lord. Where do you wish the garments to be sent?”

Frederick glanced at the three young men, then said, “Package each set separately, address each to the relevant gentleman, and send all three packages to the Music School at St Martin-in-the-Fields, Trafalgar Square.”

George nodded. “We can pick them up easily from there.”

“Indeed. I’m sure the good Mrs. Withers will keep them safe until you do.” Frederick turned to Moreton. “Thank you for rising to the occasion, Moreton. You may send the account to me.”

“My lord.” Moreton bowed. “And can I say that while this commission is somewhat different, we at Moreton and Sons will be happy to execute any such commissions in the future.”

Frederick dipped his head. “Thank you, Moreton. I believe you and Thomas know the way out.”

With a nod to his three new clients, Moreton quit the room, followed by Thomas.

Frederick waved the three younger men to the door; they filed out, and he joined them. As they walked slowly along the upper gallery and down the main stairs, the three asked, and Frederick explained the rationale behind his choice of pieces; in doing so, he realized he’d brought his knowledge of the ton very much to bear.

After seeing the three men on their way, he retreated to his study. Slumping into his favorite chair by the fireplace, he reviewed the insights generated during the past hour courtesy of his interaction with the youthful trio.

With the benefit of hindsight, he could admit that his reaction to the ton’s fawning had been driven more by selfish self-interest than any other cause. He might abhor the over-avid lauding and the smothering attention to the point of outright rejection of the activity that gave rise to it, yet he doubted any serious musician—like the three he’d taken under his wing—would regard his abraded sensitivities as sufficient cause to withhold his, as they’d termed it, God-given talent from the world.

He sat and considered that proposition—contrasted his life and its lack of meaningful hurdles with those of the three young musicians.

All in all, it was difficult to avoid the charge that, in the matter of sharing his talent, he’d been acting in a cowardly manner.

From that, it was a short step to a newfound appreciation of the impact of Stacie on his life. She hadn’t accepted his initial lack of interest but had held to her purpose and convinced him to put his talent to good use in introducing worthy musicians to the ton. But en route to gaining her objective, she’d succeeded in persuading him to, once again, accept the responsibility that came with a talent such as his—namely, to sit before an audience and let the music he truly revered speak through his fingers.

That afternoon, Frederick called on Stacie in Green Street. On being welcomed into Stacie’s private parlor—a cozier room than the formal drawing room—he greeted Stacie and her cousin Ernestine, then moved to the armchair Stacie waved him to, opposite hers and angled toward the chaise where Ernestine sat stitching.

He sat and said, “Now that we have our first three protégés selected and the music they should play at our first event decided and have arranged for appropriate raiment”—he met Stacie’s eyes—“is there anything else we need to determine before we decide on a date?”

After the revelations of the morning, he felt re-energized, with his commitment to Stacie’s enterprise reinforced. A certain impatience prodded him; he was eager to see how the musical evening would pan out, for himself as much as for their protégés.

Stacie lightly frowned, her expression suggesting she was consulting some mental list, then she shook her head. “Nothing I can think of.” She refocused on his face. “But of course, in deciding on a date, we need to consider who we wish to invite and what other entertainments are slated for the same night.”

Frederick drew a list from his pocket. “These are the events during the next three weeks for which I’ve seen invitations. Not that I’ve accepted any, but the events are scheduled.” Glancing at the list, he added, “The coming week isn’t crowded, but the week after that is already event-heavy, and the week after that looks ridiculously crammed.”