The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)
As matters transpired, he couldn’t have planned better. He sat in the dimness of the Albury box, located directly opposite the stage in the middle of the second tier, and for once, the music emanating from the orchestra, the superbly delivered vocal histrionics, and the drama unfolding on the stage failed to capture and hold his attention.
His usual fascination couldn’t compete with the lure of the lady beside him.
Another revelation, one he felt he didn’t need to dwell on.
The important thing was that Stacie was enjoying herself hugely. She sat upright in the chair beside him, her features lit by the backwash from the powerful limelights illuminating the stage, on which the dramatic flair of Pacini’s celebrated “Maria, regina d’Inghilterra” held sway.
Stacie’s absorption was complete; she was utterly captivated by Tarantini’s words, his characters’ dramatic actions, and swept away by Pacini’s glorious music, brought to life by the talented orchestra.
While making their way to the box, threading through the inevitable crowd in the foyer, she’d instinctively clutched his arm tighter and leaned into him, seeking—inviting—his protection. Unwilling to be trapped in conversation, they’d both done their part in glibly deflecting various attempts by members of the ton to detain them, ultimately taking refuge in the box and happily relaxing in their own company.
Now, watching her face, tracking her responses to the soaring music, he not only accepted but embraced the obvious—they were made for each other. No lady he’d ever met came anywhere close to her in terms of shared interest or in terms of his interest in her.
Her family, his mother—the entire ton—would be thrilled if he could convince her to make their faux engagement real and face an altar by his side.
The only person who remained to be convinced of the rightness of a marriage between them was her.
Despite all his advances, he wasn’t sure he was even close to succeeding; he still didn’t know what it would take to change her mind.
The opera came to an end. They didn’t dally but escaped from the box and down a side stair, avoiding any who might have thought to waylay them.
“You do know your way about, my lord,” she remarked as he ushered her through a side door, and they walked through the shadows to the front of the building.
He settled her arm in his and scanned the way ahead. “I wasn’t of a mind to exchange pleasantries.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining.” She leaned on his arm and directed a playful glance at his face. “As you’re very well aware, your dislike of the ton’s jabbering is entirely matched by mine.”
Just as they were well matched in so many other ways. “Jabbering?” he mused. “An excellent word for it.” He looked down into her dancing eyes. “I take it you enjoyed the performance.”
She inclined her head and faced forward. “I did, indeed. It was wonderful! Thank you for arranging the outing.”
He smiled as they reached his carriage. “It was, indeed, my pleasure.”
He opened the carriage door, helped her in, and followed.
As the carriage rattled toward Mayfair and they sat enveloped in soft darkness, he debated whether it was time to speak—to carefully suggest that perhaps they should consider making their engagement real.
But I don’t yet know what’s driving her aversion to marriage.
The same instincts that made him impulsive were currently advocating caution; as he usually did, he listened to them and didn’t speak.
Yet as the carriage rolled on and they both remained silent, unease wormed through him. It was distinctly unnerving to realize that, in this, he, who cared little about anyone else’s opinion and rarely entertained the slightest self-doubt, wasn’t yet confident enough in his ability to carry this particular argument. More, that she now figured so critically in his view of his future that he wasn’t willing to risk proposing to her—laying his proposition before her—while there was the slightest chance she might refuse and, worse, retreat.
Another revelation slid into his mind, one more fundamentally disturbing than all those before it.
In setting himself to win Stacie, he’d embraced the vision of what she and he could be together. He’d envisaged the gamut of what a life shared with her would be like, how satisfying it would be, and in doing so, he’d opened himself to the threat of not succeeding. To the threat of losing her and all that vision promised.
In seeking to win her, he’d made himself vulnerable in a way he hadn’t foreseen.
When she made a comment about the cellist’s performance, he was grateful for the reprieve from his unsettling thoughts and glibly spun out the conversation as the carriage ferried them to her door.
In Green Street, he saw her into the house, thereby ensuring that, with her parlormaid present, he had no chance of bestowing any further inexcusable attention on Stacie. He left her with a bow and a crooked smile.
That smile had faded by the time he reached his carriage, ordered his coachman to drive home, and climbed inside.
Chapter 11
On Monday morning, with no shared outing scheduled until a soirée that evening, Frederick took refuge in his study. Apparently, Mary was hosting some family event at which Stacie would be present; slumped in the chair behind his desk, he decided it behooved him to seize the period of enforced inaction to review where he and Stacie now stood.