The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)
Stacie smiled, and for the first time that day, the gesture felt genuine. She grasped Ernestine’s hand and pressed her fingers. “It wasn’t your fault—it wasn’t you who made me fall, and you didn’t make Frederick try to catch me.” When Ernestine continued to look uncertain, Stacie added, “Neither I, nor Frederick, nor you, nor Lady Hernshaw, nor Mrs. Meethe intended any of this to happen. It was just…” She gestured.
Ernestine nodded. “Fate. It was Fate. Yes, I see.” She paused, then added, “I believe I’ll lie down for a short nap before luncheon.”
Stacie tipped her head. “I’ll see you at the table.”
Leaving Ernestine climbing the stairs, Stacie made her way down the corridor to her private parlor. She paused on the threshold, eyeing the chaise, then closed the door, crossed the room, and dropped into one of the armchairs.
She felt significantly more confident than she had earlier that morning.
Her gaze shifted to the armchair Frederick had occupied. It didn’t take much imagination to conjure the image of him sitting there. The longer she studied the mental image, the more her resolution—her resolve never to marry and especially not him—hardened.
Having come to know something of the man behind the mask—the pianist, the scholar, the nobleman prepared to arrange clothing for three young musicians not of his class—the very last thing she would ever wish to do was to set the stage for him to be harmed. Hurt. Emotionally tortured.
Because no matter the situation, regardless of whatever happened, at base, nothing had changed—and nothing ever would. She was her mother’s daughter, after all.
Chapter 7
That afternoon at precisely three o’clock, Frederick halted his curricle with its team of matched bays outside Stacie’s house.
He tossed the reins to his tiger, Timson, leapt down to the pavement, strode up the steps, and plied the knocker. He suspected he was in for a fight, but he was well-armed with arguments and felt confident he would prevail.
The parlormaid recognized him and showed him into the drawing room. Too restless to sit, he stood by the window, watching his horses and the passing traffic.
Stacie joined him moments later. “What is it?” she asked.
He glanced at the door she’d left open, then walked across and shut it. He turned back to her and caught her eye. “Engaged, remember?”
She pulled a face. “That will take some getting used to.”
He nodded. “I’m aware. Apropos of that, I’m here so we can go driving in the park, that being one of those things that affianced couples are expected to do.”
She looked pained. “Must we? We had twenty and more ladies call here this morning—we’ve only just caught our breaths.”
He spread his hands in a what-would-you gesture. “You know the rop
es better than I, and we need to keep in mind that in order to make our eventual crying-off believable—meaning unremarkable and, therefore, unscandalous—we need to do everything required to signal to the ton that we are, indeed, happily engaged. We can’t afford to miss a beat and raise eyebrows and, ultimately, suspicions.”
She pulled a face and sighed. “I know you’re right, but this seems an awfully steep price for both you and I to pay, all because of an innocent fall.”
The result of which hadn’t been quite so innocent. He held back that observation and waited, his eyes on her.
Eventually, she sighed even more deeply and turned toward the door. “Let me fetch my bonnet and cape.”
He nodded and swung back to the window; he didn’t allow his lips to curve until she’d left the room.
She returned several minutes later. By then, he was waiting in the front hall, the better to admire the teal carriage gown she’d donned; he wasn’t so enamored of her fashionable bonnet, the brim of which would interrupt his view of her face.
She was carrying a military-style cape in a slightly darker shade of teal. When she stepped down to the hall tiles, he reached for the cape and held it for her. “Did you have any trouble with the ladies this morning?”
“In truth, it was a trifle overwhelming—their curiosity was boundless. Indeed, I don’t know that Ernestine and I would have coped if it hadn’t been for Mary, Felicia, and Sylvia—they arrived and rescued us.” After tying the cape’s gold cords at her throat, she met his eyes and arched her brows. “Shall we?”
He gave her his arm and escorted her out to his curricle.
She took his hand and gathered her skirts, ready to climb in, then met his eyes. “Incidentally, as I intimated I would, I’ve told Ernestine, Mary, Felicia, and Sylvia the truth, and while we can be sure they won’t spread the news to all and sundry, I suspect my brothers will have heard by now.”
“Duly noted.” He helped her into the curricle, then rounded the horses’ heads and took the reins from Timson. “Wait here until we return.”
Timson saluted. “Yes, m’lord.”