Stacie was left to conclude that either the parlormaid was a new addition to the household, or the staff had never known the identity of the gentleman who had, in the not so distant past, called on their mistress.
Lady Halbertson didn’t keep her waiting; she swept into the room mere minutes later, a pleasant and intrigued smile on her face. “Lady Albury.” Her ladyship curtsied, then gracefully rose. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Nothing in Lady Halbertson’s face suggested Stacie’s visit wasn’t the pleasure she’d termed it. Stacie drew in a breath and opted for blatant honesty. “Lady Halbertson, I hope I may be frank with you.”
Her ladyship’s gaze grew a touch wary, but her features remained relaxed. “I take it you’ve heard that I was Frederick’s mistress—as far as I’m aware, his last mistress prior to him marrying you.” She waved Stacie to the chaise and moved to claim an armchair. “And indeed,” she went on, as Stacie sank onto the chaise, and her ladyship sat as well, “I would prefer frankness between us. I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, and as I owe Frederick a genuine and ongoing debt of gratitude, I sincerely want nothing but the best for him. So whatever questions you may have, ask, and I will answer as best as I can.”
Stacie studied Frances Halbertson’s face; she would take an oath that every word her ladyship had uttered had been the absolute truth—that reality shone in her fine eyes, in the helpful eagerness that infused her. Stacie replayed her ladyship’s words, then tilted her head and inquired, “A genuine and ongoing debt?”
Lady Halbertson nodded. “Over his continuing advice and his efforts on Connor’s behalf.”
“Connor?”
“My son.” Lady Halbertson’s face transformed; no Madonna had ever looked prouder. “He’s just nine years old and has a burning ambition to become a great violinist. Frederick’s advice—to both Connor and myself—has been”—her ladyship raised her hands in an expansive gesture—“invaluable. He counseled Connor that he should finish school before exclusively devoting himself to his music and explained why in terms a nine-year-old could understand.” Her ladyship caught Stacie’s eyes. “If you’ve ever had to manage a nine-year-old boy, you’ll know how imperative that is.”
Stacie nodded. “I remember my younger brother at that age. You couldn’t get him to do anything unless you could explain its purpose. ‘Why’ was his favorite word.”
“Exactly. And Frederick has gone further and spoken to his friends at the Royal Academy, and when Connor leaves Eton, if he still wishes to pursue what he insists is his calling, then the Academy has agreed to assess him and, if he makes the grade, take him in on a scholarship.” Her ladyship’s eyes shone as she said, “I cannot tell you how much Frederick’s su
pport and help have meant to Connor and me.”
Studying her ladyship’s face, Stacie suspected she understood.
Under her gaze, Lady Halbertson sobered. “I should make it plain that Frederick didn’t have to do what he did—I never asked it of him. His actions, first to last, were made out of the goodness of his heart. He called one afternoon—purely to check if I would be at some ball that evening—and heard Connor practicing. Nothing would do but for Frederick to climb to the schoolroom and put Connor through his musical paces.” Her ladyship seemed to reflect, then confessed, “I must say, I found Frederick’s commanding attitude rather terrifying, but Connor lapped it up. He was in alt after Frederick left.”
Stacie couldn’t help smiling. “One does not get between Frederick and music. I’ve already learned that lesson.”
Lady Halbertson tipped her head, her gaze on Stacie. “Would it be appropriate to offer you refreshments?”
Stacie read the question in her ladyship’s eyes—Could they be friends?—and smiled. “I don’t see why not.”
Frances Halbertson beamed, rose, and crossed to the bellpull. After giving instructions to the parlormaid, she returned to her armchair. “Now, I hope I’ve set your mind at rest as to the cause of any lingering interest in this household on Frederick’s part. We agreed to speak frankly, so in that vein, allow me to assure you that any more personal connection between Frederick and myself is very definitely in the past.”
When Stacie tilted her head, asking an unaskable question with her eyes, her ladyship readily volunteered, “I’ve decided I’m not cut out for the role of nobleman’s mistress. Indeed, I don’t think I ever was—my husband left me sufficiently well provided for, and of course, Connor will eventually come into his own—but something in Frederick called to me and…” She shrugged. “He was persistent, yet in matters such as that, once the pursuit is ended and the prize won, for the gentleman, the excitement tends to wear off.” For the first time, her ladyship openly studied Stacie. “That said, I would suggest that, with you, he will remain constant. Given the way he looks at you, I would say that you and he have a chance at a match made in heaven.”
Unsure what to say in reply, Stacie inclined her head and was glad when the maid reappeared with the tea tray and the delicate moment was at an end.
Over the teacups, Lady Halbertson inquired as to Stacie’s plans for future musical events. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her ladyship displayed a genuine interest, and as she inhabited a position of knowing music well enough to appreciate it yet wasn’t any sort of aficionado, she proved an excellent sounding board for Stacie’s ideas of how to develop her evenings.
They were soon on first-name terms, and when she heard the distant squeak of a violin, Stacie caught the hopeful glint in Frances’s eyes and asked whether Connor might be persuaded to play for her.
Connor was duly summoned, and the question put to him; like many a confident nine-year-old possessed of a loving and encouraging mama, he was very ready to demonstrate his skills.
When he finished and bowed, Stacie clapped as loudly as his mama.
After Connor left the room, she answered the question in Frances’s eyes. “He definitely has the vital spark. I can see why Frederick supports him.”
They continued to chat, mostly about music, but also touching on other ton matters. By the time Stacie rose and touched fingers with Frances—and both agreed that while it might be inappropriate for Frances to call at Albury House, there was no reason Stacie couldn’t confound any busybodies and call in Farm Street—Stacie was convinced that Frances wasn’t in any way connected to the attacks in Surrey. Aside from entirely lacking in duplicity, let alone malevolence, Frances had revealed via various comments that she thought Brampton Hall lay north of Farnham rather than south of Guildford, and Stacie was quite sure Frances hadn’t been lying.
Once back in the Albury carriage, Stacie directed the coachman to drive on to Raventhorne House. Leaning back against the well-padded seat, she smiled. She’d enjoyed a much more pleasant afternoon than she’d anticipated and had made a new friend in the process.
Because of her mother, she’d never had true friends—no close girlhood companions. Other parents hadn’t wanted to chance their daughters’ reputations by allowing them to associate with the household of a lady, no matter how high-born, who lived her life poised on the brink of major scandal.
Yet Stacie’s years under her mother’s wing had left her with well-honed skills that allowed her to feel utterly confident that she’d read Frances and her feelings accurately.
“But Mama is long gone, and now, I’m in charge of my life, and the attacks aside, I’m really very pleased with the way that life is evolving.”
That realization had come to her in Frances Halbertson’s drawing room. Her life now was one she actively wanted, and she would do whatever was necessary to cling to what she now had.