Page 78 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
Someone had to ask the obvious question, and Caroline craned her head to see that Lord Thornton had spoken. He stood tall beside Lady Townsend, his hand resting lightly on her arm in a gesture of solidarity.
Mr. Rothbury’s horse snorted and shifted restlessly, but it was his words that cut through the most.
“Ah, yes, for therein lies the very heart of the entire evil plan hatched between Mrs. Pike, Mr. Barnaby, and Lord Windermere.”
Caroline heard Henry’s breath hitch in his throat as he tensed. Yes, this was at the very heart of it. Caroline could scarcely breathe. Mr. Rothbury had raced hell for leather for news that would determine Venetia’s future. News that would hopefully prevent Venetia from being whisked away by Lord Windermere or forced to remain with her aunt.
What had been the outcome?
“I am here to impart the very happy news that Miss Venetia Playford is now an heiress upon the death last night of her great-uncle, Mr. Leonard Harrington.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of exclamations. Ladies clutched their companions’ arms in shock, while gentlemen exchanged shocked glances. Even the normally impassive servants reacted, eyes widening as they absorbed the significance of such an announcement. Harrington was one of the wealthiest landowners in Bedfordshire, his fortune second only to that of John Russel, the 6th Duke of Bedford; and Harrington’s home, Harrington Hall, second only to the Duke of Bedford’s Woburn Abbey.
“No!” shrieked Mrs. Pike. “You lie!”
“Yes, lies! Nothing but an elaborate fabrication!” Lord Windermere snapped, pushing the aeronaut out of his way and leaning out of the basket to untie the rope.
But it was Barnaby’s reaction that elicited the greatest shock amongst the onlookers as he lunged for the rope, his hands grasping for Venetia, his rage, for the moment unchecked as he howled, “You stole my inheritance, you Jezebel! I was his closest male relative! That money is mine!”
“Not so fast!” Henry cried, dropping Caroline’s hand to rush forward. He lunged for Barnaby, pulling him back from the rope just as Windermere was about to sever it.
Mr. Rothbury, however, was faster. He leaped from his horse to deal with Barnaby, the two men struggling on the ground, while Henry battled to dislodge the knife from Windermere’s hand.
The basket swayed precariously, causing Venetia to cry out in alarm. Then finally, with one powerful movement, Henry wrenched the knife from Windermere’s grasp and flung it away, before bodily pulling the man from the basket.
Guests screamed as the two adversaries tumbled onto the grass in an undignified heap. The aeronaut, meanwhile, recovering from his surprise, quickly helped Venetia to safety, lifting her from the swaying basket and setting her gently on solid ground.
Caroline didn’t know where to look: at Mr. Rothbury, who’d just dealt Barnaby an uppercut to the jaw before standing, as if shocked at his actions, while the other man cowered on his knees.
Or Henry in mortal combat with Windermere… before that man, too, seemed to realize his aesthetic physique was no match for Henry, clearly ready to fight to the death, and raised his hands in silent surrender.
The crowd was suddenly silent. Caroline could understand why. She was just as shocked. She glanced about her and saw their expressions: as if they had just witnessed a public execution. Some looked genuinely upset—perhaps those who counted Mrs. Pike, Lord Windermere, or James Barnaby amongst their friends. Others bit their lips, their eyes gleaming as if they had just been treated to the most wickedly delicious scandal of their lives.
Nobody, it seemed, knew how to respond.
Until Lady Townsend stepped forward, balancing herself upon a small step beside the balloon, its basket now empty.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” She clapped her hands to gain their attention. “I promised that this evening would culminate in the ascent of a lucky pair whose names would be drawn from my purple toque.” With a grand gesture, she extended her hand holding the feathered headdress, from which she withdrew a piece of vellum and read in ringing tones, “Mr. Henry Ashworth and Miss Venetia Playford.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd at this unexpected return to the planned festivities after suchdramatic revelations. Some applauded uncertainly, while others exchanged confused glances, unsure if the announcement was in earnest or merely a ploy to restore order to the chaotic scene.
With a gasp, Caroline put her hands to her mouth. She couldn’t believe it. Henry was actually stepping forward and climbing into the basket while half the crowd turned to look for Venetia, who stood frozen beside Mr. Rothbury, her face a study in conflicting emotions.
So… it had come to this? Lady Townsend really was determined to back her original pair?
Caroline’s heart constricted painfully, a hollow sensation spreading through her chest. After all that had happened, after the truth had finally come to light, was she still about to lose Henry to duty and circumstance? She blinked rapidly, determined not to display her distress before the assembled company, though she felt as if the ground might open beneath her feet at any moment.
“Lady Townsend—” Henry, who was now slightly elevated, smiled at their hostess, who looked enormously pleased with herself. “Good fortune has favored me twice tonight, and I feel presumptuous in making this small request, but I truly think that if I at least ask, then I will make Miss Playford very happy, but someone else even happier.” He glanced at Caroline and it was as if he communicated all the love and reassurance with which he’d bolstered her. Closing her eyes briefly, she allowed in hope once more.
Lady Townsend frowned. “Mr. Ashworth, this is a lottery. Your names have been called, and of course, a chaperone will naturally accompany you.” Her smile, however, trembled slightly. “It is the most wonderful opportunity for Miss Playford to see the world from above and to enjoy it in the company of the young man who has proved himself her real hero tonight.”
A ripple of applause greeted her words, and Caroline felt the pain of loss pierce her heart like a physical wound, sharp and sudden, replacing her burst of hope, stealing her breath and clouding her vision with unshed tears.
There was no way out, it seemed.
Still addressing the crowd from the slightly elevated basket of the balloon, Henry went on, “While I am honored to escort Miss Playford—Oh!”
For suddenly, Lady Townsend’s position at the top of the small ladder was being usurped by Venetia, who’d burst across the clearing and was standing on tiptoe to whisper something in Henry’s ear.
