Page 52 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)
But the combat was not over. Lord Windermere stood his ground, his hand resting in a savage and proprietorial manner upon Venetia’s shoulder.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pike was still shrieking her defense to the crowd.
Lies, which Mr. Rothbury countered at every turn.
“Everything I claim can be substantiated.” He tapped the leather satchel on the pommel in front of him.
“You are the one who has been telling lies, Mrs. Pike. Yes, telling the world that Venetia Playford was penniless, that she had no dowry, that you cared for her out of charity, out of the goodness of your heart. But there was no goodness in your heart. In fact, that was the very reason Richard Playford switched his allegiance to your younger sister, to Cassandra Pike, who, I hasten to assure everyone, married him on the Continent well before the birth of their only child whom you see before you.” He indicated Venetia with a sweep of his hand.
Silent and in obvious shock, she stood trembling in the basket, her face drained of color yet somehow luminous with hope, while Windermere’s features had hardened into a mask of fury, his eyes darting between Rothbury and the rope tethering the balloon as if weighing his chances of escape.
“All of this has no bearing on the fact that Miss Playford has consented to be my wife,” Lord Windermere now said, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd.
He took her hand and raised it to the sky, turning slightly to smile menacingly at the aeronaut.
“I said, for God’s sake, untether this balloon. ”
“Do not obey, sir, for I have not yet finished.”
Caroline had to admit that Mr. Rothbury was rather impressive when push came to shove.
He had seemed such a mild-mannered man, unwilling to intervene when she and Amelia had first approached him, but clearly, he had worked tirelessly to secure the information that would prevent Venetia’s future being placed into unscrupulous hands.
He raised his voice but the crowd was already quiet.
He had promised them more, after all. As if what had played out was not exciting enough.
“I have news to impart, that as of this very evening—”
“News that pales into insignificance when compared with the joyful fact that tonight Miss Playford consented to be my wife!” Lord Windermere interrupted to a volley of gasps.
“Might I remind everyone that while Miss Playford may have been provided for in her earlier years,” Windermere went on, almost shouting to be heard, “I have nevertheless been prepared to wed a young lady who has no dowry.” He nodded at the quieting crowd.
“Yes, her father’s funds were exhausted after her schooling, but I care nothing for that, as I feel only the greatest love for such an admirable paragon of virtue. ”
“Not true!”
Caroline put her hand to her mouth in shock as her brother, Sir Frederick, materialized amongst the crowd. When had he arrived back from his country estates? He’d all but dismissed Caroline’s assertions as the ravings of a lunatic.
But now he was here and adding his weight to Mr. Rothbury’s claims.
“For reasons unknown, Windermere was determined to wed Miss Playford,” Frederick went on. “And he was, in fact, so determined that he used every means possible to tarnish the reputation of my old friend and neighbor, Mr. Henry Ashworth, in order to sever his betrothal to Miss Playford.”
“Good Lord,” Caroline heard Lady Townsend murmur to her friend Lady Pendleton, who nodded with undisguised satisfaction, her eyes gleaming with the vindication of long-held suspicions. “Even Sir Frederick says it true.”
“My good wife,” Sir Frederick continued, “who is unable to be here this evening for very happy reasons, went herself to quiz the mysterious so-called ‘princess’ who apparently was wronged by Mr. Ashworth. And who do you suppose this supposed princess was? Why, it was an actress James Barnaby paid to create the impression that Henry was a philanderer.” Frederick’s voice rang with righteous indignation.
“And when further scurrilous methods were needed to discredit poor Henry, Mr. Barnaby forged bank records, which he then claimed were in Henry’s hand and at his request. All these efforts were to discredit Henry Ashworth so that Miss Playford would be forced to call off her marriage to him so that Lord Windermere could then take control of the fortune he hoped she might one day inherit. ”
Clenching his fist and shaking it at Mr. Rothbury, Lord Windermere’s eyes were dark as flint. “None of it is true!”
“It’s all true!” Charlotte’s voice cut through the murmurs, clear and resolute as she stepped forward, her face pale, her expression frightened but determined.
“I overheard Barnaby speak about this plot to discredit Henry by paying an actress to pretend she was a maligned Hungarian princess whose broken heart she laid at my brother’s door.
At the time, I believed everything, because Barnaby made life unpleasant if I did not.
” She narrowed her eyes as she raked him with her disgust. “Then he threatened that my brother would face worse if I spoke a word. I was a coward, and for that, I can never fully atone, but I speak the truth now.” Her voice broke and Caroline shivered in Henry’s arms.
Finally, Charlotte had proven herself.
Barnaby’s defamation was complete, his face a picture of thwarted fury as guests drew back from him as if his shame were contagious.
“Why go to such trouble if Miss Playford were penniless and may not have inherited a penny?”
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.”