The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

“Good God, no.” Felicia wrinkled her nose. “That sort of coercion is hardly a prescription for wedded bliss.”

“What I need,” Frederick said, deeming it wise to be specific, “is a campaign of events that will demonstrate the advantages that will accrue to Stacie on marrying me, not in the sense of pressuring her to shift her stance but rather…for want of a better word, seducing her into changing it. The decision needs to be hers alone. All I can do—all we can do—is cast the position of my marchioness in the most appealing light.”

Mary narrowed her eyes at him in considering fashion. “That’s a very clever way forward and might just work.”

Frederick felt a soupçon of relief. He’d come there in the hope of recruiting all three ladies, but Mary especially. Of all the ladies in the ton, few would understand better than she the advantages of being a marchioness, and as she was close to Stacie, Mary was also best placed to know how those advantages would appeal to Stacie—a necessary requirement for the successful formulation of his campaign. He inclined his head to Mary. “I came here hoping that you would advise me as to the most useful avenues and events through which I might advance my cause with Stacie.”

Mary studied him. “What you’re proposing is essentially an old-fashioned wooing.”

He blinked. “I suppose I am.”

“It’s really rather simple.” Felicia shifted her bulk in the chair as if she’d grown uncomfortable. “You need to convince Stacie that marrying you is better than not marrying you.”

“Better for her,” Sylvia put in, “which, in her circumstances, translates to a brighter and better future for her musical evenings.”

“That’s a pertinent point,” Mary said. “Stacie wants for nothing. The only thing she actively wants of life—at least that we’re aware of—is to succeed in becoming a major hostess of musical events. We should bear that in mind in framing your wooing.”

Frederick quashed the impulse to wince at the word. “Another point we need to bear in mind is that Stacie isn’t blind. The longer my campaign to change her mind”—he much preferred that description—“lasts, the more likely it will be that I’ll cross some invisible line, and she’ll sense my true intentions before I’ve progressed my case with her sufficiently well for any rescripting of her attitude to override her ire.”

“Hmm.” He found himself the subject of Mary’s blue gaze. After a moment, she said, in the tone of one making an interesting observation, “You do know that Stacie is a dab hand at manipulation, don’t you? I know, because I am, too. Yet from what I’ve seen of you, Frederick, you could give both me and Stacie a run for our money in that sphere.”

He held Mary’s gaze, not entirely sure what to say. In the end, he ventured, “I’ve been aware of Stacie’s attempts to sway me from the first—when she so artfully endeavored to persuade me to her cause. She was remarkably open about her machinations. In return, I’ve not, to date, sought to hide my attempts to influence her. She recognized what I was doing yesterday morning in convincing her to accept my invitation to the theater and didn’t seem overly exercised. Whether she’s consciously aware of my more-subtle manipulations or not, I can’t say, but I’m certain that, at some point, she’ll realize.”

Mary considered, then tipped her head in acknowledgment. “If she knows that manipulation is a habit of yours…” She shrugged. “Ryder’s even worse than you, yet between him and me, that hasn’t been a problem.” She smiled rather foxily. “Essentially, we expect it of each other and so are never surprised.”

He stifled a laugh.

“So!” Mary sat up. “Let’s put our minds to devising your campaign.”

Frederick kept his lips shut and his expression hopeful.

Felicia stirred. “Why not make a list of all the possible events and select those most useful?”

Mary rang for paper and pen.

Frederick sat back and let the ladies have free rein, occasionally commenting and suggesting events such as a visit to the Royal Academy’s private museum. He watched Mary create a reassuringly long list of events, each with its possible connection to music noted alongside.

Eventually, Mary sat back and, with Sylvia, who had moved to sit on the arm of Mary’s chair, reviewed the list. Then Mary looked at Frederick, eyes narrowed in a considering fashion he’d already learned to be wary of. “We’ve basically created a concerted campaign that should cover the spectrum of advantages that might help in swaying Stacie to accept your suit. However, none of this will work unless your desire to woo her is genuine—unless you’re willing to let her see that, possibly not immediately but at some point.”

He comprehended, none better, what Mary was alluding to—that essential conviction, the genuine passion required to persuade another to one’s cause; indeed, it had been Stacie’s passion for her musical evenings and the potential benefit to local musicians that had drawn him to support her. He also understood Mary’s underlying query—her doubt. When the time came, would he willingly face what he felt for Stacie and own to it?

I will if I have to—if there’s no other way.

Holding Mary’s gaze, he replied, “Speak to anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I am relentless in pursuing anything I decide I want. I’ve decided I wish to have Stacie as my marchioness, ergo, I will do whatever is necessary to secure her hand in marriage.”

Mary searched his eyes, then nodded. “Good. Because I warn you, ‘whatever is necessary’ might, indeed, be what it takes to achieve our now-shared goal.” With a flourish, she held out the list.

Frederick leaned forward and took it, then sat back and ran his eyes down the page.

“Obviously, some events occur on specific dates, but others can be a

rranged to suit,” Mary said. “I suggest you leave Stacie as little time to think and dwell on things as possible—essentially, you need to sweep her off her feet and keep her twirling until her resistance weakens, you seize the moment and lay your revised proposition before her, and she—we all hope—agrees.”

Frederick quashed an urge to make an arrogant retort; he knew exactly what he needed to do. However, with their list, Stacie’s sisters-in-law had, indeed, helped, so with becoming meekness, he nodded and tucked the list into his coat pocket. “Thank you, ladies.” He rose and took his leave of them; as he walked out of the parlor, he wondered what they would say of him after he’d gone.

Mary watched Frederick depart. Only after his footsteps had faded did she allow a slow smile to curve her lips.

“What?” Sylvia asked as she returned to the armchair she’d previously occupied.