Page 32 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
“Yes, I just told you,” Caroline began, but her brother rounded on her.
“Do you really expect us to believe such nonsense? Why, you must have sucked this out of your thumb, my girl.”
“No! Venetia’s Aunt Pike is an evil woman, and she conspired with Lord Windermere to kidnap Venetia. I tried to rescue her—in fact, I did rescue her—”
Frederick laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “Well, that excuse is the lamest I ever heard. Venetia is in no danger whatsoever.” He turned to his wife. “Perhaps, my dear, you would like to tell Caroline what you learned in the course of your frantic investigations.”
Caroline looked between them, her chest tight with dread. Her brother truly believed she was a liar? And Amelia supposedly had proof Caroline had fabricated everything? Her throat burned with unshed tears, and her hands trembled as she realized how completely she had miscalculated this homecoming.
“Your friend Venetia is in no danger from Lord Windermere,” Frederick went on, for it appeared Amelia had not the energy to speak. She was leaning back in the chair, a pained look on her face, one hand placed gently on her swollen belly.
“Oh no, your Venetia is in fine hands, for word is all over town that she is to marry Henry Ashworth.”
Caroline blinked stupidly. “But I saw Henry only—” She stopped herself and went on carefully, “I saw him very recently, and he made no mention of it.”
“No?” Frederick cocked an eyebrow. “It appears his behavior has left something to be desired. A certain Mr. and Mrs. Gascoyne discovered the pair of them in a compromising situation. Of course, Mrs. Pike is trying to put the best face on it that she can, but she has ever been disappointed in that girl, as she is so ready to tell us all—”
Amelia finally seemed to find the energy to speak. “Venetia is a lovely girl. I am sure there has been a terrible misunderstanding to see her name maligned as it appears to be.”
“That’s only because Lord Windermere—”
“Will you stop this nonsense regarding Lord Windermere!” Her brother all but shouted, causing Amelia to put out her hand and say in soothing tones, “Please, Frederick darling, I know you have been worried to death about Caroline and that you’re shocked to hear the news about Venetia. I think perhaps we should let Caroline go to her room. There is plenty of time to talk about this later.”
“But there is no time to talk about it later!” Caroline cried, desperation making her voice crack. “Henry cannot marry Venetia because…”
This time, she was not cut off, but rather let her words trail into silence as Frederick and Amelia looked at her inquiringly. She took a deep breath and swallowed. This was not the time to tell them that she had, in fact, spent the previous hours in Henry’s company and that he was going to marryher. Not Venetia.
No, Caroline needed to make them understand that Venetia was the victim of a grave plot by Lord Windermere and that she and Henry greatly feared he would not rest until he had made her his wife.
But when she opened her mouth for one final attempt to be heard, Frederick simply put up his hand. Closing his eyes in the attitude of one whose patience has been tried beyond endurance, he said, “Do as Amelia says and go to the blue room where you can reflect on what has been said, Caroline. I have no more patience with you and your childish flights of fancy. We will talk about what you havereallybeen up to later. Thank goodness your sister-in-law has managed to mitigate the severest of damage to your reputation.”
Caroline gasped, but remained silent. She turned toward the stairs, her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall.
So! She and Henry really were on their own in this fight to save Venetia.
Chapter Seventeen
It was anunseasonably warm summer night as Lady Townsend idly fanned herself, seated in her usual corner of Lady Huntington’s ballroom.
Had it been the previous season, she would not have found the enthusiasm or fortitude to have bestirred herself sufficiently to attend, knowing her chief companion would have been Lady Pendleton.
However, now, with Lord Thornton’s return, a whole new world of excitement beckoned.
And the fact that she had all but won her wager was as good a reason as any for her to look forward—with heightened anticipation—to the arrival of the gentleman who had made her heart race for the past thirty years.
So, when Lord Thornton did indeed stride through the doors that led from the card room before turning, with a smile, in Eugenia’s direction, Eugenia’s heart gave more than just a little lurch.
Lady Pendleton had been absent for several minutes. Hopefully she’d be delayed, returning from the ladies’ mending room.
Eugenia sighed, for, out of the corner of her eye, she could see her friend gliding through the ballroom, her crimson turban bobbing among the crowd like a warning flag.
But with a quickening of her pulse, she calculated that Lord Thornton would arrive seconds before. All she could hope for was that Lady Pendleton’s love of gossip might see her waylaid as some juicyon ditwas relayed to her en route. There had been no shortage of that lately.
But her hopes were in vain, for Lady Pendleton arrived at the very same moment as Lord Thornton, who immediately offered congratulations on Eugenia’s acuity in correctly determining what neither he nor Lady Pendleton had observed—despite it being right in front of their noses.
“I cannot believe it! Miss Venetia Playford and Mr. Henry Ashworth? The latest match?” Lady Pendleton exclaimed, sinking into a chair at right angles to Eugenia. Quickly, she added with a frown, “However, a betrothal is not a marriage.”
Eugenia knew how much her friend disliked not being right in all matters. As she had also not been the one to predict the match, she’d naturally do all in her power to throw cold water on Eugenia’s excitement.
