Page 33 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
Still, Lady Pendleton did allow herself a small smile when Lord Thornton said mildly, “But it generally does lead to one. One of the parties would either have to renege, and if that was young Henry, the fear of being sued for breach of contract would be very real, especially given the fact that Miss Venetia could hardly do better given her own parlous situation in life. But if Miss Venetia were to renege, then her reputation would probably not withstand such damage. Indeed, being penniless, she might find she had just squandered her last opportunity for marriage. So I will give credit where credit is due and say congratulations, Eugenia. Your prediction has all but earned you your heart’s desire.”
“Her heart’s desire, indeed!” scoffed Lady Pendleton. “I don’t think we progressed beyond the ridiculous notion Eugenia put forward when wagers were last discussed. Permission toaccompany Lord Thornton on one of his diplomatic missions disguised as his secretary, indeed? I have never heard of anything more preposterous.”
Eugenia smiled. Of course she’d not been serious at the time they’d discussed wagers and heart’s desires, but Lord Thornton had responded with a twinkling in his eye. She’d definitely felt a fizzle of connection before Lord Admiral Bennett had claimed his attention. The terms had not been discussed since.
Now Eugenia—with a shrug of her shoulders, and another smile for Thornton—said teasingly, “I think I should make an excellent secretary. However, perhaps it won’t be possible since you claim that your diplomatic days are over, Thornton.”
“It won’t be possible because you are not a man,” said Lady Pendleton. She frowned as she stared across the room towards the young couple in question.
Eugenia sighed. How delightfully demure Miss Venetia looked this evening, dressed in pale cream silk that complemented her fair coloring. A world away from the giggly debutante in her first season out. But those impulses were now well restrained. She was the perfect example of maidenliness.
And how much more sober young Henry appeared, she observed as she studied the young man who was standing with his sweetheart, both of them holding refreshments. His usually animated features were composed into a mask of propriety.
Obviously, the matching of their hearts had instilled a recognition of the sanctity of their union. Her heart soared. Yes, she had all but won her wager. In a few weeks, young Henry would walk his bride down the aisle, and then Eugenia could claim her prize from Lord Thornton.
“They don’t look very happy, do they?” Lady Pendleton remarked in dampening tones. “Venetia looks as if she’s attending a funeral, while Henry looks as if he has swallowed a lemon. No, Eugenia, I think you have made a mistake. I donot believe this pair will make it to the altar. Knowing both of them as I do, albeit not well, I don’t believe they are at all well matched.”
Eugenia shrugged. “I think they make the perfect match.” And she truly did. “Time will prove it.”
*
Languidly, Caroline fannedherself on this hot summer’s evening as she stared miserably about the room. How extraordinary to think that less than three days ago, she’d been dressed as a boy and hiding in a trunk on the back of Lord Windermere’s carriage.
Knowing that he was here this evening was terrifying, so she was glad that any signs of fear she might exhibit—such as excessive sweating or too-rapid breathing—could be put down to the oppressive heat.
She hadn’t wanted to come out this evening. She’d wanted to exercise her mind with every single possibility she could tease out regarding Lord Windermere’s motivations for wanting Venetia. However, her mama had insisted.
And, besides, Henry was here.
“You claimed a megrim yesterday and the day before that, yet I have seen no real evidence that anything other than sullenness afflicts you,” her mama snapped. Caroline noticed that her mama appeared to be enjoying herself this evening. She often appeared bored when accompanying Caroline, but now she suddenly said, “I must say, I am not one for gossip, but there is plenty of it this season. Lord Windermere has bought a grand estate thanks to his success on the Stock Exchange. Of course, we’d all heard rumors that he’d cast his eye in the direction of your friend Venetia—prepared to overlook the factshe is penniless—but of course, Henry proposed before Lord Windermere had an opportunity to make Venetia the richest young lady in this room.” She paused, fixed a gimlet eye on her daughter, then said, “Perhaps you, Caroline, might be his chosen bride if you play your cards right.”
“Mama, can you even be serious?” Caroline shuddered, and her face must have shown the extent of her horror and disgust, for Lady Weston said with mild disapproval, “You are in public, Caroline. I was just beginning to congratulate myself on a daughter who was not the tearaway Society has called her these last two years that you have been out. I had thought that, without Henry’s bad influence, you had found the decorum which I have spent my life trying to instill in you.”
“Henry has never been a bad influence,” muttered Caroline, turning away to see her old friend at the very moment he, too, turned from speaking to Venetia. A flash of something difficult to interpret crossed Henry’s face, but even from this distance, it reflected the pain in Caroline’s heart—and in the misery reflected in Venetia’s countenance as well.
“And there is Henry! Doesn’t he look serious for a change? Come, let us go over and speak to them. I don’t believe you’ve even congratulated Miss Playford since her betrothal to Mr. Ashworth was announced.”
“You want to speak to Henry after you were so rude about him, Mama?” demanded Caroline, with a mutinous tilt to her chin.
Her mother looked surprised. “My tone has hardly changed about the young man. He was forever getting into scrapes as a boy, but now he is maturing, as I had hoped you were until you gave me that filthy look after suggesting Windermere might make a suitable husband. But I have always had a soft spot for young Henry, as you know. Now, come along, Caroline. I don’t know what has got into you this evening.”
Caroline was lost for words. How could she ever begin to tell her mother of Lord Windermere’s crimes without compromising herself?
“Ah, Henry, Venetia, how delightful to see you this evening,” said Lady Weston, having sailed up to the pair, forcing her daughter along in her wake. “Only three weeks until the happy day. Your aunt was telling me how delighted she was to see her only relative so well situated. And your sister, Charlotte, is over the moon to call you her new sister, my dear Venetia. What a happy state of affairs all round.”
Caroline stared gloomily at Henry, who stared gloomily back, managing a weak smile that failed to reach his eyes.
Nevertheless, she made a brave attempt to keep her voice light. “Are you well, Henry?” she asked as they stood at the edges of the ballroom, watching the dancers perform their steps while Venetia was claimed in conversation by Caroline’s mama. “You do look rather… preoccupied.”
“Oh, and you think I would not when the woman I love appears to have blindly accepted that I wed another,” he ground out, his voice low but intense.
Caroline swallowed and sent a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Of course that is not true! But what else can we do but accept the situation until we uncover what’s at the heart of Lord Windermere’s crimes, past and, no doubt, present. We agreed that we—”
“No, you said that we would have to be silent until Mr. Rothbury returns to London and we can hopefully learn something about Venetia’s family history. But inaction is not natural to me, Caroline. As it is not natural to you.” He shrugged helplessly, his fingers tightening around his glass. “Of course I appear distracted. I am nearly wrung out with distraction.” He lowered his voice. “I love you, Caroline. I cannot act as if my heart belongs to another.”
“No, well, you’re not doing a very good job at it, I’m pleased to note.” Caroline managed a wry smile while it took all her willpower not to cup his clenched jaw in the palm of her hand. “But in the meantime, you can’t renege, and neither can Venetia, without a scandal. We just have to wait until we’ve spoken to Mr. Rothbury.”
“Of all the inconvenient times to leave London,” Henry muttered before sending Caroline an almost desperate look. “Do you think there really might be truth in your maid’s claims that Mr. Rothbury was bailiff to Venetia’s father and grandfather? And that he might know something that would help? As you yourself said, Mr. Rothbury would have been but a boy. What would he know after all this time?”
