Page 54 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)

L ady Eugenia Townsend sipped her tea slowly, savoring the delicate Darjeeling as she gazed out over her garden. From her favorite spot in the morning room, she could see the rosebushes beginning to bloom, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the pale blue of the spring sky beyond.

“I must say, Eugenia, you appear remarkably composed for a woman who is about to lose a valuable painting,” Lady Pendleton remarked, settling her spindly frame more comfortably in the armchair opposite.

“Do I?” Eugenia responded with a smile. “I suppose I find it difficult to be entirely displeased when the outcome has brought such happiness to Miss Playford.”

Lady Pendleton looked thoughtful. “Quite a transformation from the penniless girl we once knew to one of the wealthiest heiresses in the county!”

Eugenia allowed herself a small smile. “Fortune is indeed a capricious mistress. Who could have imagined that quiet little Venetia would emerge not only wealthy beyond measure but as the heroine of the most dramatic scene ever to grace a comet viewing party?”

“Not I,” admitted Lady Pendleton, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a lace-trimmed napkin. “And certainly not Mrs. Pike, who I understand has retreated to Bath to escape the scandal. Though how one escapes such notoriety when Bath is the very epicenter of gossip is beyond my comprehension.”

The butler appeared at the doorway to announce, “Lord Thornton, my lady.”

Eugenia felt that familiar flutter beneath her bodice—the one she had battled for more than thirty years whenever Thornton entered a room.

She watched him stride in, resplendent in a bottle-green coat that accentuated his broad shoulders.

The silver in his hair caught the morning light, and Eugenia found herself quite unable to look away.

“Ladies,” he said with a bow, his eyes lingering on Eugenia’s face. “I trust I find you well?”

“Very well, thank you, Thornton.” Lady Pendleton gestured to the settee. “We were just discussing the most extraordinary developments regarding Miss Playford.”

“Ah yes,” Thornton accepted the cup of tea Eugenia poured for him, their fingers brushing momentarily in the exchange.

“A most fortunate young lady in more ways than one. It’s not every day one not only comes into a substantial inheritance, but is spared marriage to a villainous kidnapper who is now—I came to tell you specially—ensconced in the Marshals debtors’ prison. ”

“And all thanks to Mr. Rothbury’s timely intervention,” Eugenia added, clapping her hands. “I confess, I did not take proper notice of that gentleman before. So unassuming, yet so decisive when the moment demanded action.”

Lady Pendleton sniffed. “I always thought him a sensible sort. Not given to the excessive displays one sees in younger men these days, but steady. Precisely the sort of man a young heiress might need to guide her through the pitfalls of her new station.”

Eugenia caught the gleam in Thornton’s eye and knew he, too, had detected Lady Pendleton’s shift. How quickly the good lady had adjusted her assessment now that Venetia’s circumstances had changed!

“I wonder,” said Eugenia, setting down her teacup, “if Mr. Rothbury will present himself as a suitor now that Miss Harrington’s circumstances have so dramatically altered.”

Thornton leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.

“That, my dear Eugenia, is the very question I came to discuss with you today. For I have it on good authority that Mr. Rothbury has withdrawn from London society entirely. One rumor has it that he plans to go to sea again. Another, that he intends to take up a post in Italy translating a nobleman’s library of Sir Walter Scott novels. ”

“Withdrawn from society?” Lady Pendleton echoed. “But why would he do such a thing when every door would now be open to him as the hero of the hour?”

“I believe,” Thornton said slowly, his eyes never leaving Eugenia’s face, “that the gentleman fears his motives would be misconstrued should he express any interest in Miss Playford now. Having performed such a service for her, he is acutely aware that any attention might be perceived as fortune hunting.”

“How absurd!” Lady Pendleton exclaimed. “The man saved her from ruination. One would argue that it was at great personal risk, even given the black eye he sported for some time following that unseemly tussle with Mr. Barnaby. Surely no one would question his honor?”

“Society can be cruel,” Eugenia murmured, thinking of the many times she herself had been the subject of speculation.

How many seasons had she endured whispers behind fans about why the wealthy Lady Townsend remained unwed?

How many pointed comments had she weathered about her advancing years making her an object of pity rather than pursuit?

“And Miss Playford?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the present. “How is she enjoying her newfound independence?”

“Like a bird unexpectedly freed from its cage,” Thornton replied.

“She has taken up residence at Harrington Hall and, by all accounts, is reveling in her liberty. I hear she has even spoken of establishing a salon for intellectual discussion, much in the manner you once did, Eugenia. She is very changed from the vivacious debutante I remember from your famed Ghostly Gathering, Lady Pendleton.”

“Changed, indeed?” Eugenia couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. “How delightful to think of Harrington Hall filled with lively minds rather than dusty traditions.”

“Perhaps another bluestocking in the making,” Lady Pendleton observed, though her tone lacked its usual disapproval. “Still, a woman needs a husband, especially with such extensive properties to manage.”

“Does she?” Eugenia challenged gently. “I have managed quite well without one.”

“I dare say,” Lady Pendleton said, dubiously.

Thornton cleared his throat. “Which brings me to the matter of our wager, Lady Townsend.”

Ah, here it was at last. Eugenia straightened. “Yes, Lord Thornton. I hope you are prepared to honor our agreement. Miss Playford did not, after all, wed Lord Windermere.”

“Indeed, she did not,” Thornton agreed, his eyes twinkling with an expression Eugenia couldn’t quite decipher. “Though you cannot claim full victory, as she has not wed Mr. Henry Ashworth either.”

“A technicality,” Lady Pendleton interjected. “The young man clearly had eyes only for Miss Caroline Weston all along.”

“Precisely why I propose an amendment to our settlement,” Thornton continued. “The terms of our wager stated that if Miss Playford wed Lord Windermere, the Persephone painting would be mine. However, as neither of us correctly predicted the ultimate outcome, I suggest a compromise.”

Eugenia leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Compromise, my lord?”

Thornton reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document, placing it on the table between them. “This, my dear Eugenia, is my proposal.”

With slightly trembling fingers, Eugenia unfolded the paper. As she read, her eyes widened, and she looked up at Thornton in astonishment. “You cannot be serious.”

“I assure you, I am entirely serious,” he replied, his expression now earnest. “I have secured passage for two on the Neptune’s Folly , departing for Venice next month. The journey includes stops at several Mediterranean ports, with ample opportunity to explore ancient ruins and historical sites.”

“Venice!” Eugenia breathed, her heart quickening at the thought. “I have long wished to see the floating city.”

“I know,” Thornton said simply. “You spoke of it that day in the balloon.”

“What exactly are you proposing, Thornton?” Lady Pendleton asked.

“I propose that instead of enjoying Eugenia’s Persephone on my wall, that I enjoy Eugenia’s company on this voyage. The painting can remain where it has always been—where it can be appreciated by both of us… on my visits here.”

Eugenia felt heat rise to her cheeks at the curious tone of his voice.

But it was Lady Pendleton who interjected. “Such an undertaking would be quite improper without—”

“A chaperone? I have thought of that,” Thornton assured her. “My sister-in-law has expressed interest in the journey and would be delighted to accompany us. You remember Catherine, I believe?”

Catherine. The cousin of Elizabeth, the woman who had married Thornton while Eugenia nursed her secret love in silence. Never having married, she was to chaperone them on an adventure that promised everything Eugenia had ever longed for?

But no doubt Catherine would be a constant reminder of Thornton’s late wife, for Catherine and Elizabeth had grown up in the same household as sisters rather than cousins.

“I remember her well,” Eugenia managed, her composure strained but intact.

Lady Pendleton leaned back. “Well, Eugenia? Will you accept this most unusual settlement? I’m not sure you would do well in rough swells. Are you not prone to being seasick?”

“Why should you think that when I’ve never been seasick in my life?

” Eugenia challenged, looking down at the itinerary again, her heart racing at the possibilities it presented.

Then she raised her eyes to meet Thornton’s, seeing in them not merely the offer of an adventure, but something deeper—a second chance at what might have been.

And something unfurled within her—a hope she had long ago buried beneath layers of pragmatism and independence.

She had built a life for herself, a good life filled with intellectual pursuits and the freedom to follow her own path.

But how much richer might that life be with a companion who valued that independence rather than seeking to curtail it?

“What say you, Eugenia?” Thornton pressed gently. “Will you accept my terms?”

Lady Pendleton fidgeted impatiently. “For heaven’s sake, Eugenia, you never could make up your mind.”

Eugenia laughed, the tension of the moment broken by her friend’s characteristic bluntness. “Oh, I think I have at least improved since my own experience of floating above London helped me see life through a different lens. And to realize that life is too short not to seize it with both hands.”

Eugenia thought of Venetia, now mistress of her own destiny, free to chart her course just as Eugenia herself had done. She thought of Mr. Rothbury, withdrawing from society rather than risk being seen as pursuing Venetia’s fortune, despite having saved her from a terrible fate.

Perhaps, she mused, they too needed someone to show them that love and independence need not be mutually exclusive—that the greatest adventure of all might be finding someone who cherished both one’s strength and vulnerability.

“My lord,” she said finally, extending her hand to Thornton, “I accept your terms. Though I warn you, I intend to sketch every ruin and marvel we encounter, no matter how long it delays our progress.”

“Bravo!” Thornton’s face lit with delight as he took her hand, pressing it warmly between both of his. “I would expect nothing less, my dear Eugenia. Nothing less.”

Lady Pendleton sighed dramatically. “She will drive you mad, Thornton,” she predicted.

“Why, sketch every ruin when a quick glance would be good enough for me.” With a harrumph, she added, “Anyway, I think the matter of your next matchmaking project is settled, Eugenia. When you return to England, Miss Playford and Mr. Rothbury will require someone with your particular talents to overcome their current impasse.”

“Indeed,” Eugenia agreed, her mind already spinning with possibilities as she gazed at Thornton. “Though perhaps I shall pursue my matchmaking from a gondola in Venice rather than a drawing room in London.”

“A novel approach,” Thornton agreed, seeming to realize suddenly that he was still holding her hand. He dropped it quickly, adding, “But then, you have always taken a novel approach towards life, Eugenia, which augurs well when it comes to being a travel companion.”

Eugenia felt her heart soar like a balloon cut free from its tethers, rising towards limitless skies. Yes, she thought, she would help Venetia find her way to happiness with Mr. Rothbury. But first, she would embrace her own adventure—one that had been thirty years in the making.

Thornton had not proposed. He’d been careful to ensure the proprieties and to couch his suggestion in terms that preserved the friendship between them rather than hinting too greatly at romantic overtures.

But the possibilities were there, she thought, her heart missing a beat.

“To Venice, then,” she said, raising her teacup in a toast.

“To Venice,” Thornton echoed, and Eugenia couldn’t be sure, but she did wonder if the expression in his eyes promised more than merely a journey across the sea.

Outside, spring sunlight danced across the garden, illuminating the roses in a warm, golden glow. Just as the balloon had lifted Caroline and Henry towards their future together, so too would a ship soon carry Eugenia and Thornton towards theirs.

And somewhere in Bedfordshire, a newly minted heiress was discovering the freedom that comes with independence, even as she perhaps wondered about the gentleman who had championed her cause and then disappeared from view.

THE END