Page 69 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
The sight of her sent a familiar pang through his heart. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, and he could see her blue eyes were wide with concern even from this distance. In another life, he would be at her side now, planning their future together. Instead, he stood here, trapped by duty and honor, about to be publicly humiliated.
“I told you,” said Henry, “I have—with all due respect, madam—never met the Princess Katarina.”
“Then it is a great mystery as to why her brother has been receiving payments from you and now claims that you have reneged on a financial arrangement made to compensate the princess for certain oversights on your part. Is that not right, Barnaby?” Windermere turned to his companion.
A little to one side, Mrs. Pike looked on, her beady eyes gleaming with malevolence.
“You know I have nothing to hide and that this is pure fabrication.” Henry turned his head, hoping to see understanding in the eyes of the cluster of onlookers that had grown as Windermere’s voice carried across the lawn.
Instead, he saw only the avid interest of those who enjoy a scandal, and the growing disapproval of those whose good opinion he had always valued. Sir William was shaking his head, while Lady Ponsonby whispered behind her fan to the Countess of Lieven.
“Fabrication?” Windermere laughed, the sound cold and triumphant. “I have here”—he withdrew a folded paper from his waistcoat—“a draft drawn on your father’s bank, made out to Count von Esterházy, dated merely three weeks ago. It bears your signature, sir. Do you deny it?”
Henry stared at the paper, confusion washing over him before it was replaced by anger. “It is a forgery! I have signed no such thing and you know it!”
“Yet here it is,” Windermere thrust the paper forward, “for all to see. And when questioned about this payment, the count revealed the most distressing story about his sister’s honor and your broken promises.”
Barnaby stepped forward, his expression grave. “I’m afraid it’s true, Henry. The princess has been quite forthcoming about your… association.”
Henry’s head swam. The forgery was excellent, but forgery it must be. He had never met this princess. Amelia’s investigative work had proved she was an actress, paid by Barnaby to play the part.
But neither Amelia nor Sir Frederick were here to back him up.
“This is unconscionable,” Mrs. Pike suddenly declared, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the growing crowd. “To think that my niece would be married to a man of such low character! A man who trifles with a lady’s affections, only to cast her aside and deny all knowledge when confronted!”
She turned to Venetia, whose face had gone bone white. “My dear child, you cannot possibly continue with this engagement. Not when Mr. Ashworth has so clearly demonstrated his unworthiness.”
“I have done no such thing,” Henry protested, but his voice lacked the conviction it needed. Too many eyes were upon him, too many ears eager to hear his downfall. “This is a conspiracy, designed to—”
“Designed to what?” Windermere interrupted smoothly. “To protect an innocent young woman from a fortune hunter and a libertine? Yes, I suppose it is.”
Mrs. Pike stepped forward, her face a mask of righteous indignation. “Mr. Ashworth, I insist that you do the honorable thing and release my niece from this engagement immediately. Surely even you must see that continuing with this charade would only cause her further pain and humiliation.”
Henry looked desperately at Venetia, who stood trembling beside him, her eyes downcast. He reached for her hand, but she withdrew it slightly, whether from her own doubt or fear of her aunt, he couldn’t tell.
“Venetia,” he began, his voice low, “you cannot believe—”
“I think we have heard quite enough,” Mrs. Pike interjected, taking Venetia’s arm firmly. “Come away, my dear. Lord Windermere has kindly offered to escort us to the supper table.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Burning with shame,Henry watched her leave. He was aware of the opprobrium on the expressions of those who had witnessed the spectacle. No one came to offer support; clearly no one believed Henry.
In the distance he saw Caroline hurrying towards him, a dainty figure in white muslin, her pink sash trailing behind her. She looked distressed and his heart cleaved with longing for the girl who would always support him.
Well, he thought, there is nothing I can do if Mrs. Pike is so determined to discredit me. But if I am free to marry the woman I really love, then surely no public shaming is too great a price to pay.
But as Caroline neared, her mother stepped into her path, gripping her daughter’s arm. A short, intense tussle followed, but soon Lady Weston was joined by Lady Hartfield, and Caroline was forcibly led towards one of the crowded supper tables. And though the sight of her desperation as she looked over her shoulder was some compensation, it was not enough to raise Henry from the depths of despair.
Feeling the greatest pariah, Henry took an awkward step towards the balloon.
The aeronaut, a wiry man whose name he learned was Beaumont, was making final preparations for the ascent. His face was tanned and leathery and Henry noticed his powerfulhands, stained with coal dust and callused from handling ropes, as he checked the moorings. His practical attire of dark trousers and a worn leather waistcoat over a serviceable linen shirt made him look more like a sailor and worlds apart from the genteel society surrounding him.
Beaumont was currently adjusting the wicker basket that hung beneath the magnificent envelope, checking the secure attachment of several mysterious canvas bags tied to its interior. The brazier that would heat the air was already lit, its gentle roar occasionally punctuated by a louder whoosh as the flames caught a new supply of fuel.
The aeronaut glanced up as Henry neared, touching his cap in a rough salute. There was a simple, trusting air about him as he said proudly, “Evening, sir. Come for a closer look at the apparatus?”
“Something like that,” Henry replied, his voice hollow. “Quite an impressive contrivance.”
