Chapter One #2
“It was rather a sudden decision,” Venetia admitted, her smile dimming slightly. “After everything that happened in London, there came a point where I suddenly found myself in desperate need of new surroundings. And I succumbed to impulsiveness.”
Eugenia nodded. “Allow me to introduce Miss Catherine Bentley, Lord Thornton’s sister-in-law, who has kindly agreed to act as our companion for this journey. And, of course, you remember Lord Thornton.”
Once pleasantries were exchanged, Venetia’s lady’s maid, Mollie, dispatched, and they were seated with tea and delicate Venetian biscuits, Eugenia turned to their unexpected guest.
“You must tell us everything, my dear. How long have you been in Venice? Where are you staying? And are you traveling alone?” This last question carried a note of concern, for even a woman of independent means would find solo travel challenging, particularly in a foreign city where Italian customs differed so markedly from English.
“I arrived yesterday,” Venetia replied, setting her teacup down.
“I’m staying not far from the Piazza San Marco.
And yes, I am alone, save for my lady’s maid.
” She hesitated, her gaze dropping momentarily to her teacup.
“I thought the events of last season would be forgotten more quickly than they have.”
“Yet I am surprised you chose Venice,” Thornton remarked. “Given its reputation as a playground for characters as disreputable as any in London.”
Venetia’s smile was tinged with irony. “Precisely why I chose it, my lord. In London, I am ‘that poor Miss Playford’ or, worse, ‘the heiress who was entangled with Lord Windermere.’ Here, I am simply another English traveler, anonymous among the crowds that fill the Piazza San Marco each day.”
“Well, you’re among friends now,” Eugenia said brightly. “And you must join us for dinner this evening.”
“That is very kind of you. I would be delighted.” Venetia leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes briefly.
“Excuse me, ladies. Lord Thornton.” Edward Rothbury appeared in the doorway, tall and ink smudged, but handsome in that earnest, appealing way, thought Eugenia as she watched the greeting between the pair.
It promised to be very illuminating.
“Miss Playford,” he managed, with a bow that was a touch too low.
“Mr. Rothbury,” she returned, with a smile a touch too bright.
They were, Eugenia decided happily, perfectly matched.
A biscuit chose that moment to shed a shower of sugar over Venetia’s lap. She laughed—a small, delightful sound—as she brushed it away, and the air lightened.
Smiling, Eugenia surveyed the pair.
There was no doubt that Mr. Rothbury was a handsome man. His features were strong rather than classically handsome, with intelligent eyes that surveyed the room briefly before returning, with that same look of shocked wonder, to Venetia.
For a moment, all eyes were on the young couple, both of whom now, with the silence that followed, appeared unable to speak.
“Miss Playford,” Mr. Rothbury finally said, his voice carefully controlled though Eugenia detected a slight tremor.
“I… did not expect to see you in Venice.” He glanced at Eugenia with a hint of accusation.
“You made no mention of the fact we would be so honored.” Then he flushed slightly, as if aware he had revealed too much.
“I did not tell anyone I was coming,” Venetia said, her own voice steadier than her pallor would suggest. “In fact, I was quite sure Lady Townsend would no longer be in Venice.” She swallowed visibly. “I certainly never expected to see you here, Mr. Rothbury. What an extraordinary coincidence!”
Eugenia reached across the settee to place a reassuring hand on Venetia’s forearm, feeling the young woman’s tension beneath the fine silk of her gown. She tried again to read the expressions on both young faces. The pair’s last meeting had, after all, been fraught and dramatic.
It had been nearly ten months since Mr. Rothbury had plunged Eugenia’s carefully orchestrated comet-viewing event into turmoil when he had arrived, travel-stained and breathless, with the news that penniless Venetia had been named the unexpected beneficiary of the richest man in Derbyshire.
The timing could not have been more dramatic—or more fortuitous—for at the time, penniless Venetia had been on the verge of being all but forced to wed sly, demanding Lord Windermere.
Eugenia wondered if Miss Playford had shown sufficient gratitude toward Mr. Rothbury for his intervention.
Had she even had time to do so before she’d been spirited away while her former fiancé, Henry Ashton, had ascended in the balloon in which he’d asked his childhood sweetheart, Caroline, to instead become his wife?
Eugenia remembered that Caroline had been Venetia’s best friend and wondered if the sudden switching of allegiances might have caused ill feeling between the young ladies.
With a sinking heart and a healthy dose of self-recrimination, Eugenia realized, as she observed the charged silence between the two young people, that there was still so much unresolved.
And that she was, perhaps, to blame for not following through on her matchmaking instincts sooner.
“We were still digesting Miss Playford’s arrival, for she has been here barely five minutes, Mr. Rothbury,” Eugenia said, breaking the silence.
She did not miss the way Venetia looked down at her slippers, a becoming blush spreading across her cheeks, nor the awkwardness Mr. Rothbury displayed when his usual unforced friendliness deserted him, leaving him uncharacteristically tongue-tied.
Eugenia felt a rush of compassion.
These two young people had coincidentally entered her orbit… or was it coincidence?
No, perhaps it was divine intervention, she thought, as she was visited by a delicious impulse. Twice, she had wagered Thornton, the coming together of seemingly impossible unions.
This would be just one more. Suddenly, Eugenia felt ten years younger.
“Mr. Rothbury, we’d be delighted if you’d join us for dinner this evening,” she said, seizing the opportunity.
She felt confident of success. Already the excitement of joining two such worthy individuals was seeping through her marrow like the warmth of a good brandy.
“Miss Playford has just accepted our invitation, and we’d be delighted to include you as well for a dinner of famous Venice squid risotto, if you were so inclined. ”
She waited expectantly. She knew Mr. Rothbury well now, for he’d been a resident at the palazzo for many months, often joining them for meals when his translation work permitted. And it appeared he lacked society other than the staid, elderly group that, she admitted ruefully, included herself.
“You are kind, Lady Townsend, but Count Morosini is eager to have Chapter Four of Ivanhoe before week’s end.
” He lifted ink-stained fingers in evidence.
“If I dine with you, I shall translate until dawn; if I begin now, I may sleep by midnight. Venice has so many temptations—squid risotto among them—but sadly I cannot be drawn.”
He looked at Venetia. “I am glad you are in Venice, Miss Playford.”
His smile was genuine and kind. Then he bowed himself away.
Eugenia was disappointed. But when she saw that Miss Playford’s disappointment clearly exceeded her own, she was filled with hope.
Yes, she thought with satisfaction, this matchmaking mission was going to be much easier than her previous ones.
*
Half an hour later, Eugenia was again gazing out at the Grand Canal in the water salon, seated opposite Thornton.
“I should dress for dinner,” she said, making no attempt to rise. “Miss Playford will join us soon.”
“But not Mr. Rothbury, and for that reason the excitement has drained from the evening,” Thornton surmised, raising an eyebrow.
He leaned back, regarding his old friend with knowing eyes.
“You wish to unite our worthy couple, but have you considered that the divide between them is greater than it ever was?”
Eugenia had once orchestrated a whole comet viewing, only for Mr. Rothbury to turn up with last-minute intelligence that blew every plan sky-high—Lord Windermere’s most of all. Clearly, the universe had found its favorite partner in mischief in her.
Miss Playford had been sent here by some divine intervention for one reason only: so that she, Eugenia, could orchestrate her happily ever after.
“Mr. Rothbury and Miss Playford were meant for each other,” she said decidedly.
“My dear Eugenia, it matters not one jot how worthy Rothbury is; he is penniless—just as Miss Playford once was. But as Miss Playford is now an heiress, you must accept that they are as out of reach of one another as they ever were. No,” he added, his tone decided, “Mr. Rothbury sees matters as they stand, and I applaud his good sense in choosing to withdraw gracefully before you begin meddling, trying to achieve an outcome that will never come to pass.”
Eugenia pushed back her shoulders. “Do you think that hearts do not have their own way of triumphing above such pecuniary considerations? I believe Mr. Rothbury was on the point of offering for Miss Playford a year ago but was held back by honor when she suddenly became an heiress. But she holds his heart. I saw it on his face.”
Thornton smiled indulgently. “It was not so long ago, Eugenia, that you were certain our penniless Miss Playford was the ideal marriage partner for young Henry Ashton. You helped push them together before their real feelings were made known, and Henry pledged his troth to Caroline. You had to concede you were wrong in that instance, and I believe you are wrong if you believe Miss Playford and Mr. Rothbury are suited.”
“Well, in pushing for a match between Miss Playford and Henry, I’ve come to know the young lady’s temperament much better as a result,” Eugenia replied, trying not to sound defensive.
“And she has changed greatly in that money has given her safety and confidence… but it has not changed the way her heart beats. Believe me, Thornton, I saw real hope and feeling in her eyes when she beheld Mr. Rothbury. He was like a haven to her. Besides, you can’t forget that he was the one who rescued her from being whisked off unwillingly by Lord Windermere. ”
“Only by delivering—in a timely fashion—the unassailable fact that she had come into money. He was the messenger only,” Thornton countered, his eyes twinkling with the familiar light of friendly debate.
Eugenia allowed herself an exasperated sigh. “You speak as if hearts do not hold sway over heads, and that is not true. No, Thornton, you are wrong. The pair of them would make each other very happy—”
“I don’t discount that. But at the very least, Rothbury’s pride will stand in the way. To be considered a fortune hunter by offering for Miss Playford is more than his honor will bear.”
“…and if you will humor me one more time, I will stake my Persephone on it,” said Eugenia.
Thornton’s eyes danced. “Madam, you have already won your magnificent painting—”
“And in truth, you won it back,” Eugenia said serenely. “This is my opportunity to have it on my wall where it belongs.”
He laughed. “Very well. If love triumphs, the painting will be hung where it belongs, even if temporarily.”
“Nothing about love is temporary,” Eugenia said, with an arch look.