k lashes, combined with chiseled cheekbones, a strong aquiline nose, and a square chin—although the firm yet sensual line of his lips didn’t quite match the rigid austerity of the planes of cheek and brow.
He was on the tallish side, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long, lean legs, and was impeccably attired in a black coat of the finest superfine worn over pristine ivory linen, a pale-gray-silk waistcoat, and well-fitted buckskin breeches. He had, apparently, just driven up from the country, yet not a speck of dust marred the glossy surface of his black boots.
All the above created a visual distraction, but it was the intensity in his gaze and the sense of a powerful personality behind his light-brown eyes that transfixed her senses; his very presence captured her attention in a way she’d never before encountered.
But she’d worked and schemed to get this meeting. She couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity, especially as, judging by the icy reserve that now cloaked him, she wouldn’t get a second chance.
“Lord Albury,” she began.
“Lady Eustacia,” he immediately responded, in an aloof and utterly bored tone that all but screamed she was wasting her time.
But she wasn’t a lady easily cowed; she seized the opening. “Please—call me Stacie.” She held his gaze and relaxed her lips into a charmingly inviting smile. “Everyone does.”
He didn’t blink. “I’ve rarely thought of myself as ‘everyone.’”
So he’s determined to be difficult. Her smile deepened; two could play that game. “Indeed, you are quite unique, my lord”—from the corner of her eye, she saw his mother battle to stifle a snort—“which is the primary reason I’ve sought this meeting, so that I may lay before you a proposition that I believe will appeal to your musical interests.”
He cast about for some sharp riposte, but what could he say? In the end, he arched a languid brow, inviting her to proceed.
“As you’re doubtless aware, for many years—decades, in fact—ton hostesses have made a point of hiring foreign musicians to perform at all their musical events throughout the Season.” That wasn’t what he’d expected her to speak of; she detected faint confusion surfacing behind his eyes. Holding his gaze, she continued, “Those musicians come from France, Italy, Spain—even Germany and Russia. Indeed, many of the current crop of musicians lauded on the Continent were, as they say, ‘discovered’ here. They arrived in England as mere hopefuls and, through becoming the protégés of powerful hostesses, built a following here and, eventually, returned to their own country with money, experience, and a reputation they wouldn’t otherwise have gained.”
He was frowning faintly. “I’m aware of how the world of music operates, Lady Eustacia.”
“Stacie,” she reminded him. “And I expect you are. But have you ever considered the consequent plight of our local English musicians?”
He blinked, and she went on, “Consider, if you will—our musicians do not travel to the Continent. Even if they made the journey, while there are similar musical events—salons, musicales—held in all European capitals, the performers for those are drawn from the ranks of local musicians who have returned after making their name in England. London—and Edinburgh, admittedly, but given the sheer number of events, London most especially—is the crucible in which musicians’ fortunes are forged.”
He nodded somewhat curtly, but he was listening now. When she’d appealed to his mother, her companion, and his sisters regarding her scheme, all had agreed the idea was brilliant, but that it was impossible to get Albury to do anything he did not wish to; apparently, he was one of those men who was highly resistant to being managed and, conversely, always insisted on getting his own way.
However, his cooperation was vital for the achievement of Stacie’s goal and her pursuit of the purpose in life she’d crafted as her own—an undertaking that suited her perfectly, given her longstanding appreciation of and devotion to classical music performances.
In light of that, she’d elected to view recruiting Albury as a challenge to her manipulative wiles, a legitimate use of the innate talent she’d inherited from her mother. At least in this, she could put that native skill to good use.
“As I’m sure you’ll agree,” she went on, “we English are not devoid of musical talent—your own ability gives that the lie.” She didn’t dare shift her gaze from his eyes; she was still feeling her way with him, trying to gauge his reactions via his irritatingly impassive countenance. “However, exceptional musical talent is not in any way linked to wealth or social rank. Consequently, while through a handful of long-ago performances in your mother’s and sisters’ drawing rooms, you attained fame”—his face abruptly hardened, and she held up a placating hand—“a fame I accept you did not seek and have little use for, but that, nonetheless, you easily gained, worthy English musicians from less-exalted social ranks find the hostesses’ doors are closed to them, and therefore, the ton’s eyes are shut to them. They have no opening—no stage on which they might prove themselves and so achieve the standing of soloist. No matter how wonderfully talented they are, the best our local musicians can hope for is a position in one of the theater orchestras or as one of a group of chamber musicians, playing hidden away in alcoves at the lesser balls.”
From the corner of her eye, she could see his mother and Mrs. Weston avidly following the exchange, but there was no point appealing to them for assistance. Her plan—her purpose—would live or die on her ability to convince Albury to throw in his lot with her.
After several seconds of holding her gaze—with absolutely no sign of softening in his face—his lashes flickered, and he tipped his head. “I’m aware the situation is as you describe.”
But what do you propose to do about it? hung in the air between them—precisely the invitation she’d angled for.
She tipped up her chin and met his unvoiced challenge. “It’s my ambition to advance the prospects of local English musicians by using my social standing to create opportunities to display their talents before the haut ton.”
Real interest—an arrested sort of interest—flared in his eyes; she’d broken through his walls—or at least found a chink in his armor.
“In short,” she went on, “I propose to host musical evenings, featuring as performers the best local musicians one of the premier music schools in London has to offer.”
When she paused, his eyes slowly narrowed, signaling that, in envisioning such an event, he perceived the obvious weakness in her plan.
Meeting his increasingly suspicious gaze, she gently smiled. “Of course, not even my name and the backing of my supporters would be enough to fill my rooms for a program featuring only unknown local performers.”
The penny dropped; he straightened, resistance and rejection flashing across his face.
Before he could say no, she ruthlessly pressed on, “And that, Lord Albury, is why I wished to lay my plan before you and, in the name of our best local musicians, appeal to you to support my endeavor by agreeing to perform as the essential drawcard for such events.”
Frederick wanted to say no. To simply refuse and…move on to discussing something else with the surprisingly engaging—attractively confounding—Lady Eustacia. Stacie.
Instead, he stared at her as the realization sank in that he honestly didn’t know how he wished to respond to her invitation.