The carriage halted, and he opened the door and stepped down, then turned and gave her his hand and helped her down the carriage steps.
The august façade of the British Museum rose before them, a flight of stone steps leading up to the porticoed porch. He steeled himself—there really was no acceptable alternative—and offered his arm, and she placed her hand on his sleeve.
Stacie tried not to focus on the steely strength of the arm beneath the fine fabrics of his sleeves; at least, now they were out of the carriage, she could breathe. As they climbed the steps, she observed, “Now we’ve established that we are, more or less, of the same mind regarding our events, we can devote ourselves to the delights of the special exhibition without distraction.”
Other than the distraction he himself posed, but she’d simply have to make the best—or perhaps the least—of that.
He tipped his head. “Indeed.” And ushered her through the heavy doors and into the ornate foyer.
The exhibition—Musical Instruments and Artifacts of Bygone Ages—was housed in the East Wing. The curator—Frederick’s friend—stood waiting to greet them at the top of the stairs, outside the main chamber.
The curator—Wiggs—was delighted to see Frederick and welcomed them both effusively. When Frederick introduced her, Stacie exchanged polite nods with Wiggs, but his attention immediately reverted to Frederick; she struggled to hide a smile at Wiggs’s near-hero-worship of the rather stiff and distinctly reluctant man at her side.
Until that moment, she hadn’t really thought about Frederick’s standing among his scholarly peers; her focus had been on his musical talents. But judging by Wiggs’s borderline-obsequious behavior, Frederick occupied a position among musical scholars that attracted a similar degree of awe as his reputation as a pianist.
And although he hid it behind an urbane veneer, his uncomfortableness with Wiggs’s near-gushing reached her clearly.
Lord Frederick Brampton was…shy?
That seemed highly unlikely, yet…
Then others came up the stairs, and Frederick seized the moment to excuse them and move into the exhibition hall, and Stacie tucked away her unexpected insight for later examination and gave herself over to the wonders arrayed before them.
She’d seen old musical instruments before, but these were ancient, and most were in exquisite condition. She was fascinated by the delicate ornamentation on lutes and variations of the same, and on the few keyboard-like instruments present. Noting her interest, Frederick called her attention to some of the precise detailing she initially missed; she quickly realized his knowledge was broad as well as deep and bombarded him with questions, to all of which he proved to have the answer.
They circled the cases arranged in the main hall, then passed into the first of the five surrounding rooms also devoted to the exhibition’s displays. The crowd was sparse, with few ladies present; most of those invited to the special showing appeared to be scholars ranging from earnest youths to crusty ancients almost as old as some of the instruments.
Many recognized Frederick, directing polite bows and nods his way; only a few approached to exchange greetings and a comment or two before moving on.
Stacie had long since drawn her hand from Frederick’s arm and become a lone agent in her quest to see everything of note, and over the minutes, her senses had settled, her awareness diverting to all on which her eyes were feasting.
She had her palms flattened on the wooden frame of a case holding an exquisite Persian lute and was leaning over, peering through the case’s glass top, when Frederick appeared beside her—close beside her—and her senses leapt and all but somersaulted.
Before she could straighten, he leaned close, his arms and chest all but caging her, and she lost her breath and all ability to protest.
Apparently oblivious, his face nearly level with hers, he pretended to examine the lute and murmured, “We have company.”
His breath wafted across her cheek, and she set her teeth against a telltale shiver.
“My apologies,” he continued, sotto voce, “but I’ll have to introduce you.”
Their gazes supposedly trained on the lute, they both slowly straightened. Mystified, she turned toward him and searched his face. His features were set, his expression at its most haughtily aloof. His gaze was fixed past her shoulder, and she turned to see who had elicited such a cool reception.
A couple were approaching—a tallish gentleman not quite as tall as Frederick, with a more barrel-like chest and, while quietly well-dressed, lacking Frederick’s ineffable elegance, was escorting a shortish lady, neatly and conservatively gowned in dark-blue twill. Like Stacie, the lady wore no bonnet, and her dark hair was gathered in a matronly knot at her nape.
Arm in arm, the pair came forward and halted a yard away.
The gentleman nodded to Frederick. “Albury. Well met. I believe you’ll
remember my wife.”
“Brougham.” Gracefully, Frederick inclined his head, then half bowed to the lady. “Lady Brougham. Delighted.” Straightening, Frederick gestured to Stacie. “You must allow me to present Lady Eustacia Cavanaugh.”
Stacie smiled and gave Brougham her hand, then exchanged greetings with his wife.
“Tell me, Lady Eustacia,” Lady Brougham said, “do you have an interest in musical instruments?”
“I do, as it happens,” Stacie replied, “although my interest is generally focused on modern-day specimens.”