Page 9 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous (Matchmaking Mischief Makers #2)

T hey rode in tense silence for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes, keeping the coach’s lights just in view. The terrain grew rougher as they moved deeper into Windermere’s lands, the path narrowing between dark stands of ancient oak.

When the coach slowed to navigate a particularly steep incline, Henry seized the opportunity to gain ground and Caroline had to cling to the saddle as their mount surged forward, Henry’s arm around her waist.

“When we reach them—” Henry raised his voice to compete with the thundering hoofbeats of his mount, his breath warm against her ear. “—I want you to stay back. Do you understand, Flash? These men won’t hesitate to harm a boy.”

Caroline nodded, though inwardly she bristled at the command. She had come this far for Venetia—she would not abandon her friend at the critical moment.

Through a break in the trees, she could now see the hunting lodge itself, a low stone building with light spilling from its windows.

The coach had pulled up before it, and even from this distance, Caroline could make out the figure of Lord Windermere emerging from the carriage before extending an arm to help his prize out onto the gravel driveway.

Henry guided their horse off the main path, and Caroline squinted to see Venetia being ushered towards the stone steps to the hunting lodge, her posture rigid with resistance.

“Now, Miss Playford, there’s no need for such theatrics,” Lord Windermere’s voice carried through the night air. “Your aunt has given her blessing, and by tomorrow evening, you’ll be my wife and the envied mistress of one of Gloucestershire’s finest estates.”

Henry’s jaw tightened at these words. “You wait here with the horse,” he instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“What are you going to do?” Caroline asked.

“I’ll go in and demand that he release her.”

Caroline screwed up her face, though he couldn’t see her in the dark. “That don’t sound a clever idea, beggin’ yer pardon for being frank.”

“And why not? What do you know about Lord Windermere that I don’t, lad?” Henry asked. “I gathered you only had the misfortune of making his acquaintance this evening.”

“Oh, I know him, all right!” Caroline burst out, adding as she warmed to her role and relishing the freedom to express her true feelings, “Begging your pardon, sir, but ’e’s naught but a pudding-headed looby, if you ask me.

Strutting about the stables like ’e owns every ’orse in England, but can’t tell a fetlock from a forelock, if you take my meaning. ”

Then, fearing she was getting too carried away with this deliciously forbidden slang that was so necessary to remain credible right now, she added, “Er… that’s what the other stable lads say, sir.”

“Rather strong opinions for a stable boy.” The amusement in his voice was plain, and Caroline, unable to resist, shot back, “You ain’t seen ’im ordering the grooms about, sir.

All airs and graces in ’is fancy coat, but we all know ’e’s just a pudding-headed fop with more gilt than wit.

” She’d been storing this one up for months, wondering if she’d ever get an opportunity to use it—much less in such a setting.

Oh, how she missed those days of pitting wits with Henry.

There’d been many a time when they’d playfully sparred with words in the days following sticks as pretend swords.

It occurred to her for a brief second that she could quit the pretense and reveal herself now, but realized that would only delay matters when time was of the essence.

Henry shook his head. “No, Flash, I intend to handle this like a gentleman. Windermere has got carried away, but he’ll soon be made to see reason and, if I can arrange for Miss Playford to be returned to London before daylight, no reputations will be hurt, I trust.”

Caroline shot him a dark look. Her view of the world might not really be as brutish as that of a stable lad confronting authoritative masters, but she had a fair idea that Henry’s optimism was mightily misplaced.

“Oi! He’s got her in the front room!” she whispered suddenly. “I’ll make a noise to divert them, and when the servant comes to the door, you can knock ’im down. Or you can climb through the window.”

It took a few seconds of silence for Caroline to realize he was laughing at her.

“Flash, lad, that might be the way matters are conducted where you grew up, but I am a man of honor. And so is Lord Windermere. No, I shall knock on the door, wait to be admitted, and then calmly ask Miss Venetia if she wishes to remain with Lord Windermere, which is tantamount to agreeing to elope with him to Scotland, or if she wishes to come with me.” Henry calmly dismounted, clearly expecting Flash to make his own way off the back of the enormous horse.

Lord, Caroline hadn’t leaped from such a height since their tree-climbing days as children.

And even then, Henry would have his arms outstretched and waiting to break her fall.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let herself slide, landing with a thud on her face when her legs buckled beneath her.

“Not very accomplished for a stable lad. No doubt you’re glad there was only me to see your clumsiness.

Now—” Henry took a few steps towards the front stairs, adding in a whisper over his shoulder, “I shall settle this in a civilized fashion, gentleman to gentleman. Just wait here in the meantime. I should only be gone a few minutes. I’m quite sure Venetia will be only too delighted to come with me. ”

Caroline wasn’t sure what to say. It certainly seemed a waste of breath to dissuade him. Well, she knew it was. Could Henry truly believe this could be conducted in a civilized manner?

Fearfully, she tiptoed up the steps and put her face to the window. To her surprise and relief, there was a gap between the curtains, which afforded her a clear view of the interior.

And within a second, she observed the surprise on Lord Windermere’s face as a servant announced his visitor.

She saw, too, the relief on Venetia’s face, whom she was gratified to see sitting on a chair by the fireplace, her pale countenance suddenly filled with hope.

Poor Venetia. She was a bold young woman, and Caroline had taken to her enormously when they’d met at Lady Pendleton’s Ghostly Gathering two years before, but the years after Venetia had left the ladies’ seminary to return to her aunt’s house to live had taken its toll.

Aunt Pike had grown more erratic and cruel with the years, Caroline gathered, making Venetia increasingly subdued.

Mrs. Pike’s obvious plan to rid herself of Venetia by allowing the much older Lord Windermere to elope with her had confirmed that Venetia had absolutely no say in her future.

Caroline pushed her shoulders back as she was assailed by the enormity of the plan in which she was currently embroiled. Yes, her reputation was at stake, but with no one else to help Venetia, Caroline simply had to step up and help her best friend.

Fortunately, in company with Henry. Caroline could always depend on her wonderful playmate to come to the rescue.

The help he offered wasn’t always what was needed, but his heart was good.

Why, he didn’t even know Flash was Caroline, and yet he’d treated the “stable lad” with far more respect than Barnaby treated his own horse.

And now he was playing the knight in shining armor because he knew Venetia and wanted to help her. In just a few minutes, surely Windermere would have no choice but to admit that the game was up and to let Venetia walk away with Henry.

Caroline had just glanced down at a scurrying noise near her foot when a piercing cry shattered her complacency that all was going to plan. Jerking up her head, she saw that Venetia had risen to her feet, a look of pure terror upon her face, and that Windermere was brandishing a pistol.

A pistol pointed right at Henry, who was unarmed.

Dear Lord, how had that happened? How had they underestimated Lord Windermere’s determination to have his way? Surely he was not a murderer? After enjoying Aunt Pike’s collusion, surely there was a point at which he would realize he had no other choice but to concede?

Like a gentleman?

The hackles rose on the back of Caroline’s neck. Yes, that’s what it felt like!

Holding a pistol at poor Henry, who’d walked in believing he could talk reasonably to the nobleman, was just not on.

Fury banished any hesitation as Caroline took in the scene.

There was the servant standing impassively by the door, his face a blank mask as if it didn’t surprise him in the least that his master was behaving lower than the murderous ruffians who slunk in and out of London’s dankest, most dangerous slums. Not that Caroline had first-hand experience of that, but she’d heard whispers that life wasn’t as genteel as her experience of it.

And Lord Windermere was speaking—snarling, actually, because when Caroline put her ear to the glass, she could just make out what was being said—to Henry, warning him that he really would put a ball through his chest if he tried to wrest his avowed bride-to-be from his tender care.

Yes, this really was too much! Once her brother Frederick got wind of this, he’d be outraged.

Unfortunately, Frederick wasn’t here. He and Amelia were on a sojourn to one of his houses in the Cotswolds where he was looking at the tenant farms with a mind to making improvements.

Her brother was a king among men. A gentleman and a war hero.

His reputation might have suffered from his younger days when Caroline had heard whispers he’d been associated with several women who were married.

But they must have tricked him into believing an untruth, for Caroline knew that her brother was the noblest of noblemen.

Not like that scoundrel Windermere.

Glancing about in her desperation to find some inspiration that might assist in the current dangerous impasse—for Henry really could do nothing while Lord Windermere had a pistol pointed at his chest—her eye alighted upon the stones bordering the nearby rose garden. Perfect!

Closer, and half-hidden in shadow, was a heavy iron boot scraper, though she wasn’t sure she could easily wield that.

And, a short distance away, was a neat stack of firewood.

Caroline’s heart thundered in her chest as she formed her plan. She’d have to time this perfectly.

Gathering her courage, and the other physical resources she needed, she first seized a nicely sized stone.

The weight of it steadied her nerves. Inside, Windermere was still pontificating about his rights, his voice growing increasingly unhinged.

As if he’d bought Venetia like a chattel and had already paid for her.

“Now!” Caroline whispered to herself, and with all her might, she hurled the stone through the window.

The crash of breaking glass was spectacular, sending Windermere spinning toward the sound.

In that split second of confusion, Caroline grabbed the boot scraper and sent it sailing through the new opening.

Her aim was true—it struck Windermere’s hand, sending the pistol flying.

But Caroline wasn’t done. Seizing a log from the woodpile, she launched it through the window with a wild cry. The heavy piece of oak caught Windermere square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward into an ornate side table.

“Run, Venetia!” Caroline shouted in her natural voice, forgetting herself entirely in the chaos.

Henry didn’t waste a moment. As Windermere wheezed and cursed, trying to regain his feet, Henry seized Venetia’s hand and pulled her towards the door. The servant, showing his true colors, had already fled.

Caroline melted into the shadows as Henry and Venetia burst out of the house, her heart soaring to see them safe, even as something twisted painfully in her chest when Henry lifted Venetia onto his horse with such gentle care.

This was what she’d wanted—Venetia’s rescue—so why did watching Henry’s protective tenderness towards her friend feel like a blade between her ribs?

“Flash!” Henry called out into the darkness. “Flash, where are you, lad? I owe you my life!”

Caroline stepped forward just enough for him to see her outline.

“I’m sorry, lad, but I must get Miss Playford to safety. Here—” He tossed something that glinted in the moonlight. Caroline caught it—a sovereign. “Get yourself home, Flash. I won’t forget what you’ve done tonight.”

Then they were gone, horse’s hooves clattering down the drive, leaving Caroline alone with her sovereign, too triumphant at the success of their mission to rescue Venetia to fully comprehend her own dire situation.

For the moment, she simply stood in the drive, staring after Henry and Venetia on horseback, disappearing into the darkness.

Behind her, she could hear Windermere bellowing for his men.

Dear Lord, so he wasn’t going to give up without even more of a fight? Why did he want to wed Venetia so much? She wasn’t an heiress, and she had made her dislike of the idea of marriage abundantly clear.

Caroline didn’t have time to think any more about this, for the next moment, the heavy studded oak doors to the lodge had been thrown open wide, and Lord Windermere, now dressed in a heavy black cloak and hat pulled down over his ears, was striding out, his big black boots clattering over the stones.

Hurrying towards a large elm tree, Caroline tried to melt into the shadows. Oh, why hadn’t she taken cover deep within the gardens and allowed herself to be swallowed up by the dark?

Because she’d been too afraid of being swallowed up by the dark. Instead, she’d planned to slip into the house when, presumably, Lord Windermere departed and find refuge somewhere warm and safer than the great outdoors.

But of course, Lord Windermere would need to satisfy himself as to how three great heavy projectiles could have been flung into the room in quick succession.

“There he is! Get him!” his lordship barked, stabbing his thumb in Caroline’s direction.

The baron didn’t even bother to move, for his minions reacted so quickly and with such stealth that as Caroline sought to disappear into the shadows, one of them snatched her roughly by the arm before dragging her, struggling and whimpering in pain, to his master.

And as Caroline lay in a heap at Lord Windermere’s feet, his shadow falling over her like a dark promise, she had to wonder how tonight’s adventure—for her, at any rate—had gone so terribly, catastrophically wrong.