Page 44 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
“I believe I shall seek some fresh air on the terrace,” she said. “The heat in here is quite overwhelming.”
“Yes, why not do that?” Lady Pendleton said, just as Lord Thornton arrived and urged Eugenia to stay.
“I don’t think I have ever seen you appear so daring, Eugenia,” he said admiringly. “A phoenix rising from the ashes and a magnificent peacock. I am quite cast into the shade by you two beauties.”
And that was when Eugenia realized the truth. The fiery blush stealing across Lady Pendleton’s cheek told hereverything. Oh, dear Lord—Lady Pendleton’s flirtation was with Lord Thornton.
Lord Thornton, the man who had set Eugenia’s heart on fire thirty years before. A fire that had never been extinguished.
She drained her champagne, and Lord Thornton immediately relieved her of the empty glass. The brush of his fingers against hers sent a familiar thrill through her body. He smiled, and though Eugenia knew there was no collusion in its depths, she felt as if her world was suddenly both full and utterly empty.
Lady Pendleton, with her status and confidence, would always triumph over the Eugenias of this world. If she had set her sights on widowed Lord Thornton, her ineffectual husband would be no impediment, while Eugenia would again be cast into the shadows of her friend’s brilliance. The thought turned the champagne sour in her stomach.
“Why, there is our perfect match,” Lady Pendleton remarked, nodding toward a couple passing nearby.
“Miss Playford and Mr. Ashworth?” Eugenia replied, fighting to hide her disordered feelings. She squinted at the betrothed pair through the crowd—Miss Venetia in fiery-red-and-black cardinal costume, Mr. Ashworth as a highwayman with pistol and tricorn hat.
“Only two weeks remain before their nuptials,” Lady Pendleton observed. “Will you be successful in your second wager, my dear Eugenia? Though I wonder if this terrible scandal might give Miss Playford cause to cry off. She hardly looks joyful.”
Eugenia’s stomach twisted. Could Lady Pendleton and Lord Thornton truly be conducting an affair? The man with whom she had flown over London in a hot-air balloon after winning her first wager two years ago?
She straightened with as much dignity as she could muster. “Miss Playford could not ask for a more noble husband. This scandal has taken on ridiculous proportions. The lady in blue was clearly addled. I am confident there was no impropriety on Mr. Ashworth’s part.”
“Another balloon trip, Eugenia?” Lord Thornton’s eyes twinkled behind his mask. “Did you enjoy it so much?”
“I did,” she murmured, reliving those marvelous hours.
His scrutiny made her hand move self-consciously to her throat—still graceful, not like Lady Pendleton’s turkey neck. A new determination rose within her, befitting her phoenix costume.
“Balloon rides are perhaps an occupation for young lovers rather than those in their dotage,” Lady Pendleton said with a gimlet look. “Too much excitement might wear out one’s heart.”
“Just when I thought I was ready to retire with my pipe and slippers,” Lord Thornton chuckled, tapping his chest, “you, Eugenia, made me realize there was still a lot happening here.”
Eugenia nearly swooned at the gesture’s implication.
“Have you ever spoken to them both?” Lord Thornton asked unexpectedly, nodding toward the engaged couple.
Eugenia had to admit she had not. “But I spoke to Miss Playford frequently during Lady Pendleton’s Ghostly Gathering, and I know Mr. Ashworth by reputation. All reports confirm he is charming and congenial. I am confident my matchmaking has found its mark.”
“Then perhaps you should confirm your instincts,” Lord Thornton suggested, indicating where Miss Playford stood alone by a column.
Eugenia took a sip of her champagne as she considered this. And when Lady Pendleton leaned forward to command his attention, offering Eugenia her back, it was decided.
Approaching the young woman who stood a little apart from her aunt, now watching the dancers, Eugenia was struck by her melancholy expression as she watched the dancers. And more than a little troubled.
“My dear Miss Playford, how splendid you look. The cardinal bird suits you admirably.”
“Thank you, Lady Townsend,” came the lackluster reply.
“Your wedding approaches rapidly. Are the preparations proceeding nicely?”
Miss Playford’s fingers tightened around her fan. “Yes. My aunt has seen to everything.” Her voice was utterly flat.
“And Mr. Ashworth? He must be counting the days.”
At mention of her betrothed, the girl’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. “He says so, yes.” A tear threatened to spill.
“Forgive me, but you do not seem as happy as a bride-to-be should be. Is anything troubling you?”
