The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

She stepped nearer, still clapping herself, and eyes bright with appreciation, said, “That was a tour de force.”

A deeper satisfaction gripped him; for one instant, he stared into her periwinkle-blue eyes, then he returned his attention to the audience, swept them with his gaze, and held up a hand.

They quieted somewhat eagerly; he suspected they hoped he would play another piece. Instead, he announced, “Like most of you, I had no idea of the supremely talented musicians this city has spawned and continues to produce. As a group, in our search for performers of musical excellence, we’ve been guilty of falling into unquestioning habit and assuming that all those worthy of our attention must, necessarily, come from the great music schools of the Continent. Given what you’ve heard tonight, given the thousands of venues that put on musical performances every night these days, our decades-old assumption is patently absurd. When next you think to host an event with musicians, I urge you to consider the graduates of local music schools, whether the one attached to St Martin-in-the-Fields or the other known music schools in the city. Those schools exist for a reason, namely to foster and train musicians worthy of our notice. I commend their graduates to your attention.”

When he dipped his head and ceased speaking, applause once again broke out, but ladies and gentlemen both also turned to their companions and commented, many falling into eager conversations; Frederick hoped those conversations were more about Miller, Carpenter, Goodes, and their ilk than him.

Stacie touched his arm. “That was very well done.”

Frederick turned to her as Protheroe came up.

“On behalf of our graduates, I cannot thank you enough, my lord,” Protheroe declared. “Your words, your support—and Miller’s, Carpenter’s, and Goodes’s experiences here today—will give all of them heart.”

Frederick stopped himself from shrugging. “They deserve every advantage that comes their way—I merely drew this audience’s attention to the quality that your graduates have achieved through their own devotion.”

“Nevertheless, on their behalf, I thank you.” Protheroe bowed, then was forced to give way as a surging tide of ladies and quite a few gentlemen pressed forward to laud Frederick—which he considered entirely unnecessary—and also to congratulate Stacie as well. As Stacie deserved every accolade—it had been her idea after all—Frederick reined in his instinctive dismissiveness and directed the gushing ladies and over-congratulatory men toward her as deftly and quickly as he could.

Within a minute, he and she were besieged; in many ways, this was his worst nightmare. He didn’t possess a shy bone in his body, yet he hated—hated—the cloying effusiveness and the over-enthusiastic, sometimes even rhapsodic praise his playing incited from people who were normally as coldblooded as he.

He’d never understood why people’s responses got under his skin and itched so horrendously, yet they always had. Inevitably, he would start to feel smothered, and his lungs would slowly seize…

Thankfully, Stacie proved an unexpected rock, and as he’d warned her, he wasn’t above clinging to her skirts. She knew everyone and, as if she sensed him pokering up in the face of the worst of the gushing, was quick to step in with a distracting question and divert attention from him.

With her beside him, he weathered the first rush, after which his mother, Emily, his sisters and their husbands, and various connections vied with Stacie’s brothers and their wives, and her even more varied and more scarifying connections to offer their congratulations.

Then came a stream of his more scholarly acquaintances, including Brougham and his wife; in this instance, Frederick found Brougham’s stiff reserve a welcome breath of fresh air.

On the Broughams’ heels came the second wave of those who didn’t know better than to overenthuse. Frederick gritted his teeth and prayed that supper would soon be announced.

The press of those seeking his attention and Stacie’s split their focus. He was pretending to listen to Lady Morecombe, who seemed to think he needed to be made aware of her nephew’s “quite exceptional” playing, when he heard old Lady Lannigan, who was rather deaf, assure Stacie, “Your mother would have been so very proud of you, my dear.”

He would have paid the comment no heed except, with him and Stacie standing close, hemmed in on all sides, he sensed her stiffen. He glanced at her face—making Lady Morecombe lose track of her recitation—but could see nothing in the calm set of Stacie’s features to give him a clue as to the cause of her reaction.

An even older lady, one Frederick didn’t know, jostled Lady Lannigan on and declared, “Your mother would have killed for success such as this, my dear Stacie, and what with you being her spitting image, it does take us back, you know.”

Although Stacie’s answering smile remained bright and relaxed, Frederick glimpsed something more like recoil or rejection in her eyes. It was such a change to the joy that had been there before—that he and his fellow musicians had put there—that he wanted to step in and chase the darkness away, but Lady Morecombe had the temerity to poke his arm and recall him to her account of her nephew’s dubious talents.

Another surge of impatie

nt ladies made him step back; in short order, he found himself behind the piano, surrounded on all sides. He raised his head and looked for Stacie, but she’d been surrounded and pushed the other way.

That unnerving feeling of not being able to breathe rose inexorably.

He held against it, but the sensation of people standing too close built until he fixed the nearest ladies with a steely eye and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to our other performers.”

Without waiting for even an acknowledgment, he pushed through the circling crowd and escaped around the piano and into the morning room. It was less crowded there, but there were still ladies wanting to waylay him; he pretended not to see and strode for the door into the hall.

Speaking of those other performers, they’d followed him when he’d left the parlor and had listened to his performance from the morning room, but at its end, had slipped away.

He found them sitting and quietly talking in the parlor. They turned to him with wide, shining eyes. He nodded and shut the door. “Now you know what awaits you if you’re of a mind to pursue musical performances for the ton.”

“But none of us are of your caliber,” Brandon said.

“Yet.” Frederick dropped into a vacant armchair. “All three of you have the potential to command similar respect from those who truly know music. As for the others, they are more fickle, but they will spread your name, and that’s what builds fame.”

Frederick looked at the three faces turned his way, then frowned. “Have they fed you yet?”

Phillip blinked, and George said, “They’re going to feed us as well?”