Page 10 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)

W ith the wind whipping through his hair and the cold biting at his cheeks, Henry could only imagine the discomfort Venetia was enduring. The night had grown bitter, and the earlier rain had left the air damp and penetrating, chilling them both to the bone.

She was barely clinging onto the horse’s mane as they thundered over the rutted road, the animal’s labored breathing creating plumes of vapor in the frigid air, visible whenever they passed beneath the scattered moonlight filtering through the racing clouds.

But the fear of Windermere making enough ground to intercept them was greater than any worry about Venetia’s comfort.

A murderous villain wanted to kidnap and make her forcibly his wife.

If there had been any objection to Henry whisking her off like that, she’d have made it clear.

No, she did not want to be Windermere’s wife, and if Henry could only ensure she was safely under chaperonage before daylight, her reputation would be safe.

Lord, if he was caught with her in the middle of the night, her reputation would certainly not be safe, he thought with a stab of fear that twisted in his gut. Honor might require him to—

He forced the thought away, focusing instead on the road ahead. In the distance, thunder rolled across the hills, promising more foul weather to come. The land around them seemed eerily empty, the occasional farmhouse dark and shuttered against the night.

He closed his eyes briefly as he went over the enormous risks he was taking. For a good cause, of course. And doing the only thing a gentleman would do.

But the thought of what might be required of him if they were discovered under such circumstances could not be dismissed.

Granted, he liked the girl enormously. She was delightfully entertaining.

Well, that’s how he remembered her from Lady Pendleton’s house party, though she had grown extremely subdued lately.

And he remembered that they shared a sense of humor.

But he did not want to marry her. He didn’t want to marry anyone.

Well, maybe he’d make an exception if Caroline decided she wanted to make an experiment of it. But perhaps that would be making a grave error of judgment and confusing the easy camaraderie of youth with the more serious business of forging a life together.

There wasn’t much time for thoughts like these in between avoiding the potholes and treacherous ruts while trying to put ground between them and Lord Windermere.

A man as determined as he would have someone only a few minutes behind them as they saddled a horse and struck out in pursuit.

Even now, Henry could almost feel their pursuers’ presence like a shadow at their backs, driving them forward into the uncertain night.

Every few minutes, Henry twisted his head to look over his shoulder at the road behind them, the darkness seeming to shift and move with imagined threats.

Each time, he was relieved to see it empty, though the moon’s inconsistent light made it impossible to be certain.

The open paddocks on either side were tempting in order to shear off into the woods in the distance, the dark silhouettes of trees offering the promise of concealment, but the danger of uneven ground in the poor light was too great a risk. One misstep could spell disaster.

“Argh!” Venetia screamed as the horse stumbled on the uneven ground, and she was nearly dashed out of Henry’s protective arms. Her cry pierced the night, seeming to echo across the empty landscape, and Henry instinctively tightened his grip around her waist.

“Do you want me to stop?” Henry shouted, but couldn’t hear her answer above the sound of thundering hooves and his own thundering heart. The wind carried her words away, leaving only the urgent rhythm of their flight.

So he kept going. And when he saw a wood to the north with a narrow path off the main road, shadowy and uninviting but promising secrecy, he changed course at the last minute, unsure if they were being observed but believing this the safest course.

The horse balked momentarily at the sudden turn, sensing perhaps the uncertainty of the path ahead, before responding to Henry’s firm guidance.

He wished Barnaby had decided to come after all. At least one of them could have got Flash to safety, but he supposed the lad was used to the dark and couldn’t be too far from his home. He’d hitch a lift on a wagon if he were lucky.

Still, Henry did feel bad. There had been something about the boy—something oddly familiar that nagged at the edges of Henry’s consciousness, though he couldn’t quite place it.

Now that they were off the main road, the urgency didn’t seem as great and, with an easing of his high tension, Henry slowed his mount.

Tree branches reached overhead like grasping fingers, occasionally scraping against his shoulders as they passed beneath.

He wasn’t quite sure where they were, but from the top of a hill a little way back, he’d seen the lights of what he suspected was an inn or hostelry.

If he could rouse someone, they’d have a comfortable bed for the night.

Henry could ensure Venetia’s safety while he scouted around for some solution to their plight.

As the horse’s canter turned to an easy gambol, Venetia straightened her position upon the pommel, twisting her body to look up at Henry.

The moonlight caught the tear tracks on her face, silvering them against her pale skin.

He thought she was about to ask him to set her down, but her face was twisted with anguish as she cried, “You’ve got to go back there, Henry! ”

A terrible fear gutted him, cold and sudden as a blade. “You wanted to marry Windermere? You were really eloping?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

“No, no!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Nothing fills me with greater fear than that prospect, but—”

Her words were cut short by the sound of a pistol shot ringing through the night, the report echoing through the trees with frightening clarity. A rough voice cried, “Put the lady down or I will shoot your horse from under you!”

Venetia’s scream nearly deafened him, her body tensing against his chest as if trying to make herself smaller. Henry’s heart lurched painfully as a dark figure materialized on the path behind them, the moonlight glinting off what could only be the barrel of a pistol.

But there was no earthly way Henry was going to do what the villain demanded.

He had to rely on his speed and agility together with the gamble that their pursuer was not going to risk putting a bullet through the lady’s heart.

If Windermere were so desperate to have her as his bride, he was not going to be too happy to have her dead before he got her down the aisle.

“Hold tight!” he shouted to Venetia, whipping up his horse once more when he’d assured himself she’d gripped the pommel tightly in preparation for another bracing race across the countryside. The animal responded magnificently, surging forward with renewed energy despite its earlier exertions.

His horse was fleet; he had to give him that. It wasn’t his usual mount, and he’d only saddled up a borrowed horse on the spur of the moment that evening. He’d have expected it to have tired by now, but it appeared to relish the chance to have its head. It was a plucky beast.

Plucky, like Venetia. Lord, what other lady would have managed to hold on so long and so uncomplainingly?

Her gown was surely ruined, her hair a nest of tangles from the wind, and yet she hadn’t uttered a single complaint about her discomfort.

Only concern—for what, he wasn’t certain, as her words had been interrupted.

Perhaps anyone who knew that the alternative was a fate married to a monster would show similar fortitude.

After what seemed like an age, but which perhaps was only another ten or fifteen minutes cantering over hills and dales, the muddy road led them through a small valley.

The sides rose steeply on either side, dark and imposing in the night, funneling them forward as if by design.

At the bottom was nestled a small hamlet, its buildings huddled together as if for warmth against the encroaching darkness.

And there was a light burning bright. A hostelry where they would surely be able to seek shelter, its windows glowing with the promise of warmth and safety.

Henry just hoped they hadn’t been seen. Though of course, if their pursuer came this way, they’d see it as the only alternative Henry could have taken. Perhaps it wasn’t so wise.

But what else could they do? He couldn’t put Venetia through any more. She mightn’t have the strength besides. He could feel her trembling against him, whether from cold or fear or both, he couldn’t tell.

“Is anyone awake?” Henry shouted as he trotted into the stables behind the hostelry. The smell of hay and horses was a welcome change from the damp night air. “A shilling for your pains.”

That brought a sleepy-looking lad from amongst the hay bales in the loft.

Climbing down the ladder, the lad lit a lantern, its golden glow illuminating the weathered beams and casting long shadows across the straw-strewn floor.

He regarded them with heavy-lidded eyes which widened when he took in Venetia’s finery, now sadly bedraggled but still unmistakably that of a lady of quality.

“Road to the north’s that way,” he said, stubbing his thumb in the direction of the road they’d left, his expression knowing and a little sly.

“We’re not eloping,” Henry said quickly, for clearly the lad assumed they were on their way to Gretna Green.

“In fact, I’m rescuing the young lady from someone who is pursuing her for that purpose.

That’s why I need to find the young lady somewhere comfortable to sleep and would ask that if anyone comes after us, you could put them off the scent.

You haven’t seen us, all right?” Henry fished in his pocket for a couple of coins which he handed to the lad.

“And you’ll get double if you ensure that the villains who are after us are headed in the wrong direction. ”

The lad’s eyes widened as he pocketed the coins, the silver gleaming briefly in the lantern light. He headed towards the inn as he said over his shoulder, “I’ll find Mrs. Snicket. Sure, she has a room.”

“Two rooms!” Henry called after him before he turned his attention to Venetia.

She looked like a wilting flower, her golden hair flecked with mud, her face pale in the moonlight, her lips tinged with blue from the cold.

Despite her disheveled appearance, there was a quiet dignity about her that he couldn’t help but admire.

“Oh, Henry!” she all but wept. “You saved my life and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me. But—”

“M’Lord! M’Lord! The lad just told me of the terrible trouble that’s been visited upon you!” An outraged voice cut the still night as the door to the inn was flung open, a rectangle of warm light spilling out into the yard. “Elopement! Abduction! My, my, words cannot express—”

“Your kindness does you credit, Mrs. Snicket. I take it that is who I am addressing,” Henry began as the large, voluble speaker surged down the stairs towards them, her words loud enough to wake the dead, her substantial form casting an equally substantial shadow.

“But really, all we need is a couple of rooms for the night—”

“And you shall have them! My finest, for it is not every day that I am honored to accommodate guests of such high station as yourselves. Viscount Roxingham, to be sure!”

Confused, Henry glanced between the stable lad and the woman who was dabbing at her perspiring cheeks with her apron, clearly tied over her nightgown, her gray ringlets falling beneath her night cap, which sat askew on her head.

“I’m not the Viscount Roxingham.”

“Not the Viscount Roxingham? Then his son,” said Mrs. Snicket comfortably, sending a meaningful look at Henry’s signet ring that caught the light as he helped Venetia down from the horse.

“And a true hero, I’m told! Now, come this way, follow me, young things.

Mrs. Snicket will take you to the most comfortable bedchamber in the village. ”

“Henry! We can’t stay here!” Venetia said, gripping his sleeve then putting her hand to his cheek to make him attend. Her touch was ice cold against his skin, her eyes wide with some unnamed fear.

“Mrs. Snicket, we need two bedchambers,” Henry said, understanding Venetia’s concern and feeling his cheeks burn as he ushered Venetia ahead of him while he ducked to follow them inside the inn.

Ahead, her candlestick sent a feeble glow that barely illuminated the passage, casting grotesque shadows on the walls as they proceeded.

The floorboards creaked beneath their feet, and somewhere in the darkness, a clock ticked.

He saw Mrs. Snicket stop, turn the doorknob, and give Venetia a gentle push into the room, which he continued past as Mrs. Snicket said loudly, “And his lordship shall have the room two doors along. No one shall say Mrs. Snicket doesn’t ensure propriety at all times with you young things in such fearful straits and not yet married. ”

“We’re not eloping.” Henry tried ineffectually to interrupt her, but she wasn’t listening as she pushed open the door to his room, the hinges protesting with a long, low squeal.

“Breakfast is at your convenience.”

Outside, the wind continued to moan around the eaves, and in the distance, another roll of thunder suggested the storm had not yet finished with them.

Henry stood for a moment in the darkness, lit by a single candlestick, listening for any sound of pursuit, but heard nothing beyond the ordinary creaks and sighs of an old building settling for the night.

For now, at least, they were safe, but for how long?

And what of poor Flash, left behind in the darkness?