Page 14 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)

L ightheaded with hunger and the relief of having effected a miraculous escape, it was the smell of cooking food that made Caroline change direction, tacking away from the London road she saw in the distance.

The tantalizing aroma drifted on the breeze, rich and savory, making her empty stomach clench painfully.

She didn’t think she’d ever been hungrier.

Some kind of delicious meat was being roasted over a crackling fire, and as she crested a hill and saw the colorful wagons and the cluster of people gathered in the dell below, she could not divert her path.

The morning mist still clung to the hollows of the landscape, and the dew soaked through her worn boots as she made her way down the slope.

The scene that greeted her was like something from a dream.

Brightly painted wagons formed a loose circle around a central fire, their sides decorated with theatrical masks, moons, and stars.

A man with an impressive gray beard was juggling what appeared to be flaming torches while a woman in flowing emerald skirts practiced a dance, her movements graceful and precise.

Children ran between the wagons, some walking on their hands, others practicing tumbling routines on the grass.

Near one wagon, a young man was rehearsing lines from what sounded like Shakespeare, his voice carrying clearly across the camp, “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!”

A woman’s voice called back from inside the wagon, “More passion, Edgar! You sound like you’re ordering breakfast, not declaring undying love!”

The sound of laughter rippled through the camp, and Caroline realized these were traveling players—a theatrical company making their way between towns and villages, bringing entertainment to rural England.

Of course, they were suspicious when she appeared.

A ragged boy approaching their camp could mean trouble—perhaps a spy sent by local magistrates who didn’t appreciate traveling folk, or a thief looking for easy pickings.

As she approached, the juggler caught his torches and set them aside, while several others paused in their activities to watch her warily.

“Well now,” said the bearded juggler, who seemed to be their leader, “what have we here? A young patron of the arts, perhaps?” His voice carried the trained projection of an actor, rich and melodious even in casual conversation.

Caroline looked around at the group gathering near her.

There was the woman in emerald skirts, now revealed to have intelligent gray eyes and prematurely silver hair pinned back with combs.

The young man practicing Romeo had approached, along with a motherly woman holding a baby and several others whose clothing marked them as performers—bright colors, well-mended but dramatic in style.

“I… I was hoping you might spare some food,” Caroline said, remembering to keep her voice gruff. “I can pay.”

“Can you indeed?” The silver-haired woman studied her with the sharp gaze of someone accustomed to reading people. “And what brings a young lad to our humble troupe with gold in his pocket?”

Pure joy, Caroline thought as the savory meat—seasoned with herbs and cooked to perfection—filled her empty stomach. The troupe had welcomed her to their fire once payment was established, and she found herself surrounded by the most fascinating collection of people she’d ever encountered.

There was Master Aldrich, the gray-bearded leader who was their manager and lead tragic actor.

His wife, Constance, was the silver-haired woman who specialized in grande dame roles and seemed to run the practical side of their operation.

Edgar, the young Romeo, was their romantic lead, while the motherly Rosalind played character parts and served as their seamstress and costume mistress.

“We’re bound for the market town of Millford,” Constance explained as she watched Caroline eat. “Three days of performances at their Harvest Fair, if the weather holds.” She glanced at the sky, where clouds were beginning to gather.

“The boy has excellent table manners for a stable lad,” observed Rosalind, bouncing her baby as she studied Caroline. “And such soft hands.”

Caroline nearly choked on her food. Rosalind had moved closer, ostensibly to offer her more bread, but Caroline caught the knowing look in the woman’s kind eyes.

“Come,” Rosalind said gently, taking Caroline’s arm. “Let me show you our costumes. Young Edgar here is nearly your size. Perhaps we have something that might… suit you better than those travel-stained clothes.”

Inside the costume wagon, surrounded by an extraordinary collection of gowns, doublets, cloaks, and props, Rosalind turned to Caroline with a maternal smile.

“Now then, my dear,” she said softly, “what’s a young lady doing wandering the countryside dressed as a boy? And don’t try to deny it. I’ve costume-fitted enough actors to know the difference.”

Caroline’s disguise crumbled under the woman’s gentle but perceptive gaze. “I… there was a man trying to abduct my friend. I helped rescue her, but now he might be looking for me.”

“Ah.” Rosalind nodded as if this explained everything. “And your friend is safe?”

“Yes, she’s with… with someone who can protect her.” The memory of Henry riding away with Venetia still stung, but Caroline pushed the feeling aside.

“But left you behind to fend for yourself?” Rosalind’s tone sharpened with disapproval. “That doesn’t speak well of your protectors.”

“He didn’t know it was me,” Caroline said quickly, then realized she was revealing too much again. “I was disguised as a stable boy. He gave me this sovereign as payment and rode away with my friend. I…I can pay you for new clothes.”

Rosalind’s expression softened. “For now, you need to get home safely.”

“To London,” Caroline confirmed. “But I don’t know how—”

She was interrupted by voices outside—harsh, demanding tones that made her blood run cold.

“Search every wagon! The boy came this way—someone must have seen him!”

Rosalind’s eyes widened, then narrowed with determination. “Quickly,” she whispered, pulling Caroline deeper into the wagon. “We must get you properly disguised.”

Working with the swift efficiency of a professional, Rosalind stripped Caroline of her boy’s clothes, rummaged in an old trunk, before dressing her in a simple gown of deep-blue wool.

Over Caroline’s golden hair, she placed a cap and veil in the style favored by young matrons, while Caroline rubbed at the dirt and smudges on her face with a damp cloth Rosalind had thrust into her hands.

“There,” Rosalind said, stepping back to admire her work. “You’re now my niece, visiting from the next county. Keep your eyes down and let me do the talking.”

The wagon lurched as someone climbed the steps. Caroline’s heart hammered as the curtain was thrust aside, revealing a rough-looking man in riding clothes.

“Who’s in here?” he demanded, his eyes sweeping the interior.

“Myself and my niece,” Rosalind replied calmly, shifting so that the baby in her arms was more visible. “Is there something you need?”

Behind the first man, Caroline glimpsed a familiar figure that made her blood freeze—Lord Windermere himself, his cold eyes scanning the wagon’s interior.

“We’re searching for a boy—a stable lad who’s run off with something valuable,” Windermere said, his gaze lingering on Caroline. “Small, slight build, fair hair.”

“I’ve seen no such boy,” Rosalind replied smoothly. “We’ve been rehearsing all morning. My niece here has been helping with costumes.”

Windermere stepped closer, and Caroline fought the urge to shrink back. “Lift your head, girl,” he commanded.

Caroline raised her eyes just enough to show her face, praying her disguise would hold. Windermere studied her for a long moment that felt like eternity.

“Pretty little thing,” he murmured, and Caroline felt sick at the predatory gleam in his eyes. “If my business weren’t so urgent, I might be inclined to become better acquainted.”

“My niece is betrothed,” Rosalind said firmly, “to a blacksmith in the next county. A man with a very protective nature and large fists.”

Windermere laughed unpleasantly, but stepped back. “Search the rest of the wagons,” he ordered his men. “The boy’s here somewhere.”

After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, the men concluded their search and departed. Caroline remained frozen until she heard their horses’ hoofbeats fading into the distance.

“There,” Rosalind said, letting out a breath. “That’s done. But you’re not safe here, my dear. Men like that don’t give up easily.”

“Will you… can you help me get to London?” Caroline asked, hardly daring to hope.

Rosalind and Master Aldrich, who had appeared in the wagon’s doorway, exchanged glances.

“We’re heading in the opposite direction,” Aldrich said slowly. “But…” He studied Caroline thoughtfully. “You’ve got a good ear for voices, haven’t you? I noticed how you changed your accent when you spoke to that brute.”

Caroline nodded, confused by the direction of his questioning.

“We’re short a player for our Millford engagement,” Constance said, appearing beside her husband. “Our ingénue ran off with a traveling merchant last week. Young Edgar here has been forced to play all the romantic scenes with himself, which is rather less than effective.”

“You want me to… to act?” Caroline stared at them in amazement.

“Why not?” Edgar grinned, clearly delighted by the prospect. “You’re the right size, you’ve got a lovely speaking voice, and after watching you fool those ruffians, I’d say you have a natural talent for performance.”

“Three days in Millford,” Aldrich mused, “then we head toward the London road for our winter engagements. We could have you back in town within the week.”

“But I’ve never acted before,” Caroline protested, though excitement was beginning to bubble up inside her.

“Nonsense,” Constance said briskly. “You’ve been acting all morning. Besides, most of our audiences are more interested in the spectacle than the subtleties of performance. A pretty face and a clear voice will suffice.”

Rosalind placed a gentle hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “It would keep you safe,” she said quietly.

Caroline thought of Henry, possibly even now making arrangements to marry Venetia to preserve her reputation.

Oh, dear Lord, no! She thought of her mother, expecting her home for dinner and completely unaware of the adventure her daughter had undertaken.

She thought of the conventional life waiting for her in London—balls and morning calls and eventual marriage to some suitable gentleman.

Then she looked around at these remarkable people who had taken her in, fed her, protected her, and were now offering her something she’d never dreamed possible: the chance to be someone completely different, if only for a few days.

“What sort of plays do you perform?” she asked.

Master Aldrich’s smile was answer enough.

“Oh, my dear girl,” he said, his voice warm with approval, “I do believe you’re going to fit in perfectly.”

Outside, she could hear Edgar beginning to rehearse again, his voice carrying on the morning air. “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”

For the first time since this whole adventure began, Caroline found herself smiling with genuine anticipation. Perhaps fortune really did favor the frivolous—or in this case, the theatrical.