Page 49 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)

“Y ou’re to go and bear your friend, Miss Playford, company,” Barnaby said, his hand heavy on Charlotte’s shoulder as he gestured towards the supper table.

His fingers pressed through her silk gown—a physical reminder of his control.

“She’s too jittery for Windermere’s liking, and we don’t want a repeat of that nasty business from a few weeks ago. ”

Around them, lanterns strung between the trees cast golden, flickering light, throwing dappled shadows across the manicured lawns.

Charlotte swallowed and tried to steady her voice.

Barnaby had taken to speaking to her in this curt, bullying tone more often, and she felt powerless to stand up to him.

The last time she’d objected—even mildly—he’d gripped her wrist so tightly the bruises had lingered for a week, dark beneath her lace gloves.

And now he wanted her to sit with Venetia and Windermere? The very idea made her skin crawl.

Still, she summoned a modicum of courage. “I’m not sure Venetia really wants to marry Lord Windermere.” Her voice was soft but steady, barely audible above the string quartet playing nearby under the canvas pavilion.

Barnaby’s head whipped around. His voice snapped like a whip. “Windermere is wealthy and powerful. Venetia will want for nothing. And she can’t marry your brother—not after his disgraceful behavior. It’s a lucky escape, I’d say.”

His eyes glittered with a familiar hardness, his cheeks flushed with champagne.

Charlotte swallowed again, resisting the truth that threatened to spill from her lips. “I still can’t believe you really found evidence against Henry—my own brother.”

“You saw it yourself,” Barnaby said, squeezing her shoulder. “The letter. The signed draft. Now go and sit beside Venetia. Keep her at the table. Windermere can’t afford for her to faint or make a scene.” His fingers dug deeper.

“She’d have every reason to faint, after what she’s endured,” Charlotte said quietly, then moved off at the warning in his eyes.

It wasn’t far to the supper table, but she took a detour towards the balloon, fascinated. The massive silk envelope strained against its moorings, billowing gently in the evening breeze. The wicker basket beneath looked absurdly small—fragile, even—for something meant to carry people into the sky.

Could it truly float into the heavens and away from all this?

She imagined herself drifting high above the garden party, all her troubles shrinking into nothing.

When had her life become so entangled with fear and compromise?

Barnaby had seemed charming once—her parents had approved.

When had that charm turned cruel? And how had she let him twist her into someone so afraid, so unsure, so silent?

“Can I help you, miss?”

Charlotte startled. The aeronaut stood beside the balloon, a weathered man with kind eyes and a face browned from the sun.

“Lost your way? Or are you one of the young people I’m meant to take up tonight? Miss Playford, perhaps?”

Charlotte stared. “Miss Playford? Is she one of the people going to the moon?”

The aeronaut laughed warmly. “Not quite. The moon’s a long way off.

But we might reach Gretna Green—that’s only a few hours’ plain sailing, by my reckoning.

Are you excited? Once your young man arrives, I’ll cut the rope, and off you’ll go.

” He gestured to the basket, neatly outfitted with blankets and what looked like a small hamper.

Charlotte’s heart pounded. “There’s something I must do first,” she said, and turned quickly, slippers sinking into the damp grass as she hurried towards Venetia.

At the supper table, Venetia sat like a porcelain doll—still, pale, unreadable. Lord Windermere loomed beside her, casting a shadow despite the dozens of flickering candles. Mrs. Pike sat across from them, ever watchful.

“Barnaby sent me to see if you were feeling better,” Charlotte said, approaching with a bright smile that felt painfully false. “Perhaps a little air would help?”

Venetia began to rise, but Windermere’s voice slithered across the table. “Venetia has all the air she needs. Soon, she’ll have even more.” The silky menace in his tone sent goosebumps across Charlotte’s arms.

“Then perhaps she’ll accompany me to the retiring room,” Charlotte said smoothly. A perfectly acceptable pretext.

She extended her hand. Venetia’s fingers trembled as they closed around hers.

“Don’t be long,” Mrs. Pike snapped.

Once they were out of earshot, Charlotte hooked her arm through Venetia’s and leaned close.

“The aeronaut mistook me for you. He’s been instructed to take you and a gentleman to Gretna Green.

Venetia—Windermere is planning to abduct you, and your aunt is helping him.

Barnaby too. He’s lied about Henry, forged evidence—I know it now.

But if you don’t escape tonight, you’ll be Lady Windermere by morning. ”

Venetia said nothing. She only stared up at the stars.

Charlotte gave her a shake. “You don’t want to marry Windermere. I know you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Venetia said, her voice flat. “But what choice do I have?”

“You have us . Henry will help you escape. I’ll take you to the balloon right now. You can fly away to safety. To freedom!”

Venetia’s expression remained unchanged. “But I won’t go to Gretna Green with Henry.”

Charlotte recoiled. “You believe the lies about him?”

“No. I know they’re lies. And I know he’s a good man. But he doesn’t love me. I think he never did.”

“He’d marry you in a heartbeat if you met him at the balloon and said you would.”

“Yes. Because he’s honorable. But he’s in love with someone else, Charlotte.”

Charlotte blinked. “That’s not true. I’d know. He’s my brother.”

Venetia tilted her head. “Have you not seen how he looks at Caroline?”

Charlotte frowned. “They grew up like siblings. You’re imagining things.”

“I thought so too. Until I intercepted a look between them.” She drew in a shuddering breath and shook her head as she murmured, as if to herself, “How did I miss it before? And yet, it was so… revealing. The tenderness in their expressions—Charlotte, it was as if the world melted away. I saw it in their eyes. True love. And how did I know? Because that is how I have always wanted the man I love to look at me. And that certainly isn’t Henry.

” She drew herself up and her look was sharper this time as she added, “Because Henry is in love with Caroline.”

Charlotte was silent, her mind racing. Could it be true? She pictured Henry with Caroline and remembered the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, the way Caroline lit up in his presence.

“But then… why did he propose to you? Why did you accept?”

“You know why. Because society expected it after the Gascoynes all but demanded it. He saved me from Windermere, and it was the gentlemanly thing to do. And I accepted, because I was grateful. But neither of us loved the other.”

“You never loved him?” Charlotte whispered.

“I admired him. I still do. But my heart has always wanted someone to love me for myself. And I knew Henry’s love was based on something… different. Even if I haven’t admitted it.”

Charlotte reeled. Everything she’d believed—about Henry, about Barnaby—crumbled.

“All this time,” she said slowly, “Barnaby’s been lying. About everything.”

Venetia sent her an enquiring look. “Lying about Henry? Well, I was sure Barnaby was making things sound worse than they were but… I don’t know anything about such matters. Charlotte…? What is it?”

“I’m thinking I’ve been a coward. Henry’s reputation is in tatters because I was too afraid to stand up to Barnaby. But no more.”

She seized Venetia’s hand. “We’re going to find Henry. We’re going to that balloon. You’ll be safe tonight—and tomorrow, I’ll reveal the truth.”

Venetia’s eyes widened. “But what about Windermere? My aunt? They’ll come after me.”

“All the more reason to hurry.” Charlotte’s voice brimmed with determination. “It’s time someone told the truth. And it has to be me.”

She pulled Venetia through the throng of laughing guests, hearts pounding, skirts catching on the grass. Windermere was still at the table, but—

“Charlotte!”

Too late.

She turned—Barnaby was there. His hand clamped onto her shoulder, yanking her back, while his other seized Venetia’s wrist.

“No, Barnaby!” she cried, struggling as never before.

But she knew he would not be persuaded to let her go. Not now.