Page 4 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
“But what if he is not?” Venetia closed her eyes, not looking reassured at all.
“Then you have to marry someone else, and quickly,” said Caroline, forcing herself to focus on Venetia’s predicament. “You’ve been saying you wanted to get away from your Aunt Pike—well, let us consider the options in this room. What about Mr. Benson? He is a pleasant, unobjectionable young man.”
“Whose breath smells like onions,” muttered Venetia.
“Sir Roland?” suggested Henry, stepping slightly closer to Caroline as he surveyed the room. The nearness made her skin tingle with awareness. “He belongs to my club and has a certainflair when it comes to tying a cravat. Now, I know that’s not everything—”
“Indeed, it is not,” said Venetia darkly. “I have heard he spends a great deal longer at his toilette than most ladies.”
“Yes, and he uses blacking on his sideburns,” Henry conceded with a grimace. “Ah!” he said, obviously alighting upon another candidate. “Sir Reggie Molesworth.”
“Heaven help us,” said Venetia. “He sneezes every time he gets nervous. Which is often.”
“And he lives with his mother who interviews every young lady who crosses his orbit.” Henry wrinkled his nose. “Maybe not, now I think of it.”
Caroline scanned the room, still searching for a suitable candidate, before her eyes fell on a gentleman observing their group with obvious interest. “What about Mr. Edward Rothbury?” she suggested. “I hadn’t noticed him before, but he’s watching you now, Venetia.”
As Venetia glanced in the gentleman’s direction, Caroline noticed how quickly Mr. Rothbury averted his gaze. There was something refreshingly genuine about his interest, highlighted by the observable reddening above his cravat.
“Mr. Rothbury has a very pleasant face, and I have been struck by his smile,” said Caroline, warming to her own suggestion. “I believe his grandmother was Italian—hence his magnificent eyes—and I have heard he is very considerate of his sisters, which I think a jolly good endorsement. Don’t you, Henry?”
She smiled at her old friend. “I know you do because you are so very good to your sister Charlotte, who I see is dancing with Mr. Barnaby. I hear that marriage bells are in the wind.”
“Quite possibly,” said Henry. His eyes were dark in the candlelight, fixed on her face with an intensity that made herbreath catch. “It’s time for her to settle down—she’s as flighty as you are, Caroline.”
“You are terrible, Henry!” Caroline gave him a playful swat, her fingers lingering against the fine fabric of his sleeve longer than propriety dictated. The contact sent fire racing up her arm, and she found herself unable to pull away. Henry caught her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a caress so subtle she might have imagined it—except for the way his breathing seemed to deepen.
Their eyes met and held, the ballroom fading around them until there was nothing but the space between them, charged with possibility and longing. Caroline felt her lips part slightly, her pulse thundering so loudly she was certain he must hear it.
“Caroline,” Henry said softly, her name sounding different on his lips somehow—intimate, precious.
The spell was broken by Venetia’s sharp intake of breath as she repeated Mr. Rothbury’s name. Caroline jerked her hand free, heat flooding her cheeks as she remembered where they were, while Henry stepped back, running a hand through his hair in obvious agitation.
“Well, it is decided,” Caroline said with forced brightness, her voice only slightly unsteady. “Venetia will marry Mr. Rothbury, meaning there’ll be no need to rescue her from Lord Windermere’s evil clutches.”
The words came out more breathless than she intended, and she saw Henry’s jaw tighten at the reminder of the danger facing their friend. Or perhaps it was something else entirely that made his expression grow so dark.
Catching sight of Mr. Rothbury approaching, she put her hand to her mouth, saying with a sly smile, “Goodness gracious, Venetia! Mr. Rothbury is coming in our direction, and I don’t think he is about to ask me to dance!”
Venetia steeled herself, straightening her shoulders with a determination Caroline admired, before suddenly observing Mrs. Pike through the press of dancers and the haze of candlelight. The woman’s gaze was fixed on her niece, her fan tapping impatiently against her palm, and Caroline felt a fresh surge of protectiveness toward her friend.
“Smile,” she whispered to Venetia. “I am sure Mr. Rothbury is very nice. Indeed, I have heard—”
She broke off as a tall figure cut through the crowd, moving with unsettling purpose. “Ah, Lord Windermere—” Caroline stepped forward instinctively, placing herself between the approaching baron and her friend. She was conscious of Henry close behind her, his presence both protective and distracting, while she attempted to draw Windermere’s attention, pretending she assumed he had come to askherto dance.
But with very little finesse, Lord Windermere all but ignored Caroline, bypassing her—indeed stepping in front of her—and bowing over Venetia’s hand. The dismissal stung, not for her pride’s sake but because it rendered her attempt to shield Venetia utterly ineffective.
“Miss Playford, I see you are alone and that Mr. Henry has claimed Miss Caroline as his partner in the next quadrille,” Windermere said smoothly, his presumption breathtaking. “I cannot bear to see you left out. Would you do me the honor?”
Caroline sensed Henry stiffen as the baron’s words registered. They had made no such arrangement, yet Windermere’s bold fiction made refusal impossible without creating a scene. She caught Mr. Rothbury’s troubled frown as he halted several paces away, clearly uncertain. The poor man looked as if he wanted to intervene but knew not how without causing a scandal.
“Actually,” Henry said, his voice carrying a warning that made Caroline’s pulse skip, “Miss Caroline and I—”
But it was too late. Caroline watched helplessly as Lord Windermere caged Venetia’s hand upon his forearm and forcibly steered her away, cutting off Henry’s objection. Their eyes met briefly, Venetia’s panicked gaze seeking reassurance that Caroline wasn’t sure she could honestly provide.
“We must do something,” she whispered urgently to Henry, grasping his arm without thinking. The muscle beneath her fingers was rigid with suppressed anger. “I cannot bear to see her so distressed.”
Henry covered her hand with his own. “We will,” he promised, his voice low and fierce. “But we must be careful not to make matters worse.”
