Page 15 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)
H enry stared up at Windermere’s hunting lodge, gray and forbidding in the cold light of morning. Mist clung to the stone walls like ghostly fingers, while a solitary raven perched on the chimney, watching his approach with predatory eyes.
He really didn’t know where to start. He just knew that he could never live with himself if he did not do everything in his power to rescue Caroline.
How could he have not recognized his dearest friend?
She’d been pressed close against him on his horse, her slight form fitting perfectly against his chest, and he’d spoken to her for miles.
Yes, there’d been that jolt of familiarity—something that had made his pulse quicken in a way he hadn’t understood.
But she’d been dressed as a boy, playing her part with such conviction that even her voice had fooled him completely.
The foolishness of her quest. The breathtaking bravery of it.
That was so like Caroline—rushing headlong into danger for someone she loved—consequences be damned. If she were here right now, he’d shake her for taking such risks.
And then he’d probably kiss her senseless.
The thought struck him like a physical blow. He’d never kissed Caroline before, but suddenly the idea seemed not just appealing, but inevitable. When had his feelings for his childhood companion shifted into something so much deeper, so much more dangerous?
He’d never felt such overwhelming concern for anyone’s safety before. The very thought of Caroline in Windermere’s clutches made his blood boil.
Now he had to decide how to approach this carefully. Windermere had nearly put a ball through his chest last night and would probably shoot first and ask questions later if he recognized Henry on the premises again.
Which was why he’d found new clothes and borrowed a horse, intending to make his investigations without Windermere’s knowledge. Hopefully, he’d not be recognized by anyone in the stables as the man who’d had an altercation with the master. Only the household staff would have seen him.
“You there, lad!” He hailed a groom who was leading a limping horse from the stables. Windermere’s carriage was conspicuously absent, which suggested the master was not currently in residence. Still, Henry couldn’t afford to be complacent.
The boy looked up, his expression sullen and wary. A large red welt across one cheek suggested a recent and violent encounter, and Henry’s stomach tightened. “That looks painful. How did you come by it?”
The lad said nothing, pushing past Henry to lead the horse toward the mounting block. Henry followed, noting the careful way the boy moved. As if his ribs pained him.
“You should put some salve on that cheek before it festers,” Henry said conversationally. “Trouble with the other stable hands?”
The lad stopped and turned, his eyes narrowed with the suspicious wariness of someone accustomed to harsh treatment. “I dunno what business brings you here, but the master ain’t about, which is jest as well, since he’s in a right foul temper.”
Henry weighed his options. He needed information, but direct questions might make the boy clam up entirely. Still, he had to try.
“The truth is, I’m looking for someone.” He pulled out a coin, watching the groom’s eyes fix on it with hungry interest. “A stable lad who might have passed through here recently.”
“No!” The response was so fierce it made Henry start.
“No?” he prompted gently.
The lad touched his swollen cheek gingerly. “You see this? That’s what I got for letting the prisoner escape.”
Henry’s blood chilled. “Prisoner?”
“Aye. Master had a lad locked up in the tack room overnight. Said he was a spy what needed questioning. But I felt sorry for him—couldn’t have been more than fifteen, though small as a child—so I brought him some water and bread.
” The boy’s voice dropped. “Door weren’t locked proper after that, if you take my meaning. ”
Relief flooded through Henry so intensely he nearly staggered. Caroline had escaped on her own. “And the boy got away?”
“No problems as soon as he realized the door would open. Headed across the fields toward the London road.” The groom eyed the coin hopefully. “Master took off after him with half his men, but that were hours ago. Long gone by now, I’d wager.”
Henry handed over the coin without hesitation. “You did the right thing, helping him.”
The boy pocketed the money quickly. “Don’t much matter now. Master’ll probably dismiss me when he gets back, anyway.”
“There’s another shilling in it if you can tell me anything else,” Henry said. “About the young lady who was here last night.”
The groom’s expression darkened. “Poor little miss. Crying and carrying on something fierce when they brought her in. Master kept saying she’d thank him later, that her aunt had arranged everything proper-like.” He spat in the dirt. “Didn’t look much like a willing bride to me.”
“But she got away too?”
“Aye, the gentleman what came calling took her away safe. Caused quite the commotion, he did. Master was ready to shoot him, but then someone started throwing things through the windows. Rocks and logs and such. In all the confusion, the gentleman got the lady to his horse and away they went.”
Henry smiled grimly. “And Lord Windermere went after the stable boy instead?”
“Aye, that he did.”
“Thank you,” said Henry, tossing the boy another coin. “If anyone asks, you never saw me.”
Henry rode hard toward the London road, his mind racing. He’d assumed Windermere’s interest in Caroline was simply revenge for her interference, but what if there was more to it? What if Caroline was in even greater danger than he’d realized?
He questioned farmers and travelers along the way, following the trail of a “lad in rough clothes” who’d been spotted heading south.
With each mile that passed without finding her, his anxiety grew.
It was near midday when he spotted the traveling theater company’s colorful wagons camped in a grove beside a stream. The sight of their painted sides and theatrical banners should have been cheerful, but something about the subdued activity around the camp set him on edge.
“Good day,” he called to a silver-haired woman who appeared to be in charge. “I’m looking for someone. A young person who might have passed this way.”
The woman’s eyes sharpened with interest and wariness in equal measure. “And you are?”
“A friend,” Henry said simply. “Someone who’s very worried about a brave but foolish young person who may be in trouble.”
“Ah.” The woman—Constance, she introduced herself—studied him with the penetrating gaze of someone accustomed to reading character. “And this young person… would they be traveling in disguise, perhaps?”
Henry’s heart leaped. “You’ve seen them?”
“We may have.” Constance exchanged a meaningful look with a motherly woman holding a baby. “The question is, are you here to help or to harm?”
“To help,” Henry said earnestly. “To take them somewhere safe. My name is Henry.”
The motherly woman—Rosalind—stepped forward. “She spoke of you,” she said quietly. “Henry, eh? Said you were a hero, always doing the right thing.”
“She’s here?” Henry looked around desperately.
“Was,” Constance corrected. “We offered her work if she wanted to stay. But when she said she had to be back in London before she were missed, we helped her on her way after some unpleasant men came looking. But I’m afraid she may have fallen into other hands.”
They told him about the farmer who’d offered Caroline a ride towards London, their suspicions about the man’s true intentions which had filtered back to them, and the direction they’d headed.
Henry’s blood ran cold as he learned Caroline might have escaped one danger only to fall into another.
He thanked the theater company and rode off like a man possessed, following their directions towards the main road, his horse’s hooves thundering against the packed earth as he pushed both himself and his mount to their limits.
It was the sound that reached him first. A girl’s cry of distress carried on the wind, and he spurred his horse toward it.
He crested a hill and saw them: a farmer’s cart pulled to the side of the road, a young man pursuing a girl in colorful skirts who was running desperately across an open field. Even at this distance, there was something familiar about the way she moved, the set of her shoulders as she fled.
“Caroline,” he breathed, and then he was thundering down the hill, his only thought to reach her before her pursuer did.
The young man was gaining on her, his longer legs eating up the ground between them. Caroline stumbled on the uneven terrain, her borrowed skirts hampering her progress, and Henry saw her glance back in terror.
He launched himself from his horse while still at full gallop, tackling the young man with enough force to send them both rolling across the grass. They fought viciously, Henry’s gentleman’s boxing skills pitted against the other man’s brute strength and desperation.
“You’ll not touch her,” Henry snarled, landing a solid blow to the man’s jaw.
“She owes me,” the man spat back, wiping blood from his mouth.
Henry’s fist connected with the man’s solar plexus, doubling him over. “The lady owes you nothing.”
The man scrambled away, apparently deciding Caroline wasn’t worth a prolonged fight with an obviously superior opponent. Henry watched him retreat toward his cart, then turned to where Caroline stood watching, her chest heaving with exertion and relief.
“Caroline,” he breathed.
She pushed back the loose curls that had escaped her headscarf, golden strands catching the light. “Henry.” Her voice broke on his name, and he heard a world of emotion in that single word. Relief, gratitude, and something deeper that made his heart race.