Page 41 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
“I do not know,” Caroline said. “I think I must ask Mr. Ashworth.” And without waiting for final permission, she nodded at Mrs. Watts and slipped into the crowd.
She’d find some sop to appease the woman later.
Quickly, Caroline made her way through the crush, careful to keep her pace measured despite her urgency. As she drew closer, she saw the moment Henry sensed her presence. His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn, his profile sharp against the brightly lit painting.
“I must say, Mr. Ashworth,” she said, pitching her voice to carry just far enough, “Turner’s technique is incomparable. Such dramatic light effects.”
He turned then, and she saw the flash of pleasure in his eyes before he schooled his features into polite interest. The strain of recent events had left shadows beneath his eyes, but his smile was genuine. “Miss Weston. How unexpected. Are you enjoying the exhibition?”
“Indeed.” She moved to stand beside him, tilting her head back to study the painting. Their shoulders nearly touched, the proximity sending a flutter through her stomach. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Watts had found a companion of her own—Mrs. Bellworth, another determined art enthusiast. They were deep in discussion over their catalogs, heads bent together like conspirators.
“The way Turner uses light here,” Caroline continued, keeping her voice low, “creates the most wonderful illusion. Just like what happened last night. I suspect your mysterious lady in blue is not a foreign princess, after all.” The murmur of the surrounding crowd provided a shield for their conversation.
Henry’s hand tightened on his catalog. “Is that what you think?” He swallowed, his throat working. “Just as long as you don’t think she is anything to me, Caroline.”
“Indeed not, Henry. No, I believe last night was someone’s very concerted attempt to embroil you in scandal.” Caroline pretended to consult her catalog, the printed words swimming before her eyes. “And, of course, Lord Windermere is behind this entire charade. He means to destroy your reputation so he can step in as Venetia’s savior.”
“But where do I find proof? And why does he want to wed penniless Venetia?” Henry’s voice was tight with suppressed anger. Then he sighed, his breath warm against her cheek as he leaned closer. “And why tell me this when surely you’dprefermy engagement to Venetia be broken?”
“Not at the expense of your good name.” Caroline turned a page, though her eyes saw nothing. “Last night I studied the man when he didn’t think he was being watched. I saw who he spoke to—Mrs. Pike, amongst others—and I saw how Windermere looked at Venetia. Like a predator eyeing prey. Venetia is my dearest friend. I would not sacrifice her only to save you. Both must be achieved. You who are caught in the middle of this horror which unfolded so recently must be reeling. But I have more distance and the time to consider the matter. Yes, Lord Windermere is behind this—with Mrs. Pike’s collusion—and we must find a way to expose him while preserving your reputation and ensuring Venetia’s safety.”
“The difficulty being that any attempt I make to defend myself will look like exactly that—mere defense against truth.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, betraying his frustration.
They moved to the next painting, maintaining their facade of artistic appreciation. The canvas before them depicted a stormy seascape, the turbulent waters mirroring their own tumultuous circumstances. Caroline noticed Mrs. Watts glancing their way and dutifully raised her catalog, pointing to a detail in the corner.
“What we need,” she said, “is for the false princess herself to confess,” she whispered.
“And how would we do that?” Henry asked. “If, as you suspect, Windermere is backing her, he’s paying her.” A gentleman nodded to Henry as he passed, and Henry returned the greeting with admirable composure.
“Then offer her more.” Caroline smiled, a plan forming in her mind. “I’ve petitioned my sister-in-law to pay the woman a visit. She will first need to seek out Mrs. Pike, who, I am sure, would like to deny all knowledge, but I suspect she cannot.” She shrugged. “If Amelia can locate her, then surely we can discover who is putting her up to this. And why? And then we still have to speak to Mr. Rothbury.”
“And then there’s Barnaby.” Henry’s voice dropped even lower. “His claims about financial irregularities trouble me deeply. Charlotte is torn between us. I truly cannot believe it.”
“One step at a time,” Caroline murmured. “First the actress, then we follow the money. That talk of you taking money from your father’s accounts to pay this woman’s brother was surely just that… Talk!”
“Caroline—” Henry checked himself, because they were still in public. “Miss Weston. I don’t know how to thank you.” His eyes held hers for a moment longer than propriety allowed, conveying what words could not.
“Then don’t. Just be careful. Windermere is dangerous, and Mrs. Pike is firmly in his pocket, though wewilldiscover why.” She closed her catalog. “I should rejoin Mrs. Watts before she notices our conversation has lasted rather longer than a proper discussion of Turner’s technique might warrant.”
“Of course.” He bowed slightly, the gesture bringing him momentarily closer. “I thank you for your artistic insights, Miss Weston. They’ve been most… illuminating.”
Chapter Twenty
Caroline paced beforethe drawing room fireplace in her brother’s house, her mind racing. “And this mysterious woman in blue? Once you ran her to ground, she admitted it? Just like that?”
Amelia reclined on the chaise, watching her sister-in-law with amused patience. “Not ‘just like that.’ I had to employ considerable tact and a small measure of… persuasion.”
“Persuasion?” Caroline stopped pacing, her eyes widening. Amelia was so good, and transparent, she couldn’t imagine her doing anything underhand.
“Nothing improper, I assure you. Merely a suggestion that Mr. Barnaby might not be as stalwart as Miss Barrett believes him to be. That he might, in fact, be preparing to depart for the Continent should the schemes in which she is a key player be discovered, leaving her to face the consequences of her falsehoods alone.” Amelia’s tone was light, but her eyes held a calculating gleam.
Caroline gasped. “Is that true? What do you know about Barnaby’s role in this?”
“Only that—after speaking to Miss Barrett—I give you far more credence than I did before that something havey-cavey is going on, and that Henry is being maligned for reasons as yet unknown.”
“So do you believe me now about Venetia being kidnapped—?”
Amelia held up her hand to stop her. “I believe that everything you say, while entirely possible, should never be discussedin publicif either you, or she, are to hold your heads up high.” She made a noise of disapproval, her hands resting protectively over her slightly rounded belly. “I’m not saying that is right. I’m just cautioning you to be discreet until the evidence is irrefutable. Now, back to Barnaby and why he should wish to blacken Henry’s name. You suggest a possible connection with Lord Windermere, to whom no whiff of scandal has, as yet, been attached. So, you must, again, keep silent until someoneelsepoints a finger.” She shrugged, then added, “And maybe Barnaby will take the bait and manage what I do not believe you or Venetia are capable. Barnaby, and men of his sort, rarely stand firm when confronted. In any case, my polite questioning had the desired effect. Thisactress, Miss Barrett, became quite agitated and admitted that Barnaby had approached her at the theater where she is performingThe Taming of the Shrew. She was to come to the ball, play the part of a jilted lover and create a public scene to smear Henry.”
