Chapter Twenty
Eugenia hesitated in the marble corridor, hands trembling with fury.
Deep breaths, she counseled herself.
The sight of dear Venetia being led away like a common criminal had stirred every protective instinct she possessed. But it was Catherine Bentley’s venomous performance that truly ignited her rage.
To witness such calculated cruelty from a woman she’d known for twenty years, to see Catherine’s obvious satisfaction at Venetia’s downfall, shook Eugenia’s faith in her own judgment.
The Catherine she remembered had been sharp-tongued, certainly, but this display of malicious pleasure suggested depths of spite she’d never suspected.
Or Catherine has been compromised? By someone?
Lord Thornton emerged from the drawing room where he’d been speaking with agitated guests. His expression was grim as he took in Eugenia’s distress.
“My dear,” he said quietly, “you look ready to commit murder.”
“Not murder, though the thought occurred.” Eugenia took a steadying breath. “Thornton, you must speak with Catherine immediately. What she did to that poor child was unconscionable.”
“I witnessed the exchange. Catherine was…” he frowned as if he couldn’t reconcile his sister-in-law’s actions before settling upon, “extraordinarily harsh.”
“Harsh?” Eugenia’s voice rose. “She systematically destroyed Venetia’s character with lies that would shame a fishwife! That girl is innocent, and Catherine knows it. Her behavior wasn’t justice—it was revenge.”
Or something worse. Something orchestrated.
Thornton’s expression grew troubled. “Revenge? Against what injury, do you suppose?”
“She raised concerns with Captain Rizzi, then pointed him toward Venetia at the very moment she and Mr. Rothbury were finally embracing. The very moment for which you and I were colluding!” She frowned.
“Catherine twisted those circumstances into a criminal conspiracy because it suited her purposes.”
But whose purposes? Catherine’s? Or someone else’s?
“Eugenia, your loyalty does you credit, but I’m sure the situation can be resolved. We can all attest that Signorina Sofia loaned Miss Playford her tiara—”
“But can we attest that it already contained the stolen gems?” Eugenia’s voice rose. “No, and Catherine’s meddling made everything far worse. She’s been circling that poor girl like a vulture since we arrived, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Tonight she found it.”
Or tonight she was given it. By someone who knew exactly how to manipulate her.
Thornton seemed at a loss. “What possible motivation could Catherine have for incriminating Venetia?” His chest rose and fell as he tried to control his breathing, warring between decency and duty.
“Catherine is family, and I’ve no doubt she believes she acted appropriately, though she occasionally speaks thoughtlessly. ”
“She’s either a fool or being used as someone else’s tool.” Eugenia met his gaze. “Please—speak with her. Tell her to reconsider her statements. Publicly.”
Thornton nodded. “Of course. Though I fear Catherine’s opinion of Miss Playford was formed long before tonight.”
Eugenia swung round. “You’ve never said so before! What do you mean?”
“Nothing specific,” Thornton replied evasively. “Merely that Catherine has, in the past, expressed reservations about Miss Playford’s circumstances. About… unfairness in the entirety of such a fortune going to Miss Playford.”
Reservations that emerged when? After meeting the count?
Before Eugenia could press further, approaching footsteps announced Catherine’s arrival. She swept toward them with triumphant bearing, her mask of concern replaced by unmistakable satisfaction.
That’s not the look of someone acting on conscience. That’s victory.
“Eugenia, Thornton,” she said with false warmth, “what a dreadful evening. Though I confess I’m not entirely surprised.”
“Not surprised?” Eugenia had trouble controlling her voice. “A young woman we’ve known for months stands accused of theft, and you’re not surprised?”
Catherine’s smile was regretful. “Surely you can’t be so na?ve as to believe sudden wealth guarantees virtue? Some people remain essentially common, regardless of circumstances.”
Common. She’s never used that word about Venetia before. Never.
“Common?” Thornton interjected with warning.
“Should I pretend Miss Playford’s behavior was anything other than what one might expect from someone of her background?”
Eugenia’s temper snapped. “Her background? What are you implying?”
“I’m stating plainly that Miss Playford has shown her true nature. The grasping creature who would steal jewelry and compromise herself with fortune hunters.”
“That’s a vile lie!” Eugenia’s voice was strangled. “Venetia Playford is one of the most genuinely kind young women I’ve encountered. You’ve always treated her as a friend. You’ve shown no indication you bore her ill will. If you had concerns, why not speak to us? Why tell Captain Rizzi—”
“How dare I speak truth?” Catherine’s laugh held no warmth. “Your charitable nature blinds you to what should be obvious.”
“And what should be obvious?” Thornton asked, his tone carrying a warning.
“That Miss Playford has been performing since inheriting her fortune. The grateful innocent overwhelmed by good fortune? The sweet girl needing guidance? Performance designed to make us overlook her inadequacies.”
Inadequacies. Since when does Catherine use such language?
Eugenia stared in growing horror. “Catherine, what’s possessed you to speak so cruelly of someone who’s shown you nothing but sweet deference?”
Catherine’s expression shifted, revealing something raw beneath her polish. “Sweet deference? When someone flaunts undeserved fortune while others who’ve earned their positions through sacrifice watch from the sidelines?”
“Others?” Eugenia’s instincts sharpened. “What others?”
Here it comes.
“Do you think it escaped notice how Count di Montefiore attended to her every word tonight? How he sought her company exclusively while dismissing the rest of us as provincial?” Catherine’s voice grew bitter.
“A distinguished Continental gentleman, wealthy, titled, sophisticated—and he had eyes only for the golden heiress who stumbled into fortune.”
There it is. The count.
Eugenia saw it now—Catherine’s particular attention to the count since his arrival, her eagerness to impress him, her satisfaction when introducing him to their circle. Her increasingly detailed discussions of Venetia’s wealth and circumstances.
And lately, Catherine had begun repeating, almost word for word, the count’s little maxims about money and character—how “sudden wealth bred temptation,” how “men of honor had a duty to protect families from unsuitable heirs.” Eugenia had dismissed them at the time as mere Continental philosophy.
Now they sounded more like instructions.
Oh, Catherine. What has that man done to you?
She recalled now the way the count had bent his dark head toward Catherine two nights ago, his voice low and earnest as he praised her “rare discernment” and “English integrity,” while his gaze never quite reached his smile. Catherine had glowed for hours afterwards.
“You had hopes there?” Eugenia surmised, watching Catherine’s face carefully.
“Hopes?” Catherine laughed bitterly. “A mature woman of breeding and accomplishment should naturally interest a cultured gentleman more than some provincial child whose only recommendation is inherited wealth. But no—one smile from our golden girl, and he was utterly captivated.”
Captivated. Or pretending to be. To feed your jealousy.
“Catherine,” Thornton said gently, though Eugenia caught the sharp intelligence in his eyes—he’d seen it too. “Surely you can’t blame Miss Playford for the count’s attentions—”
“Can’t I? She arrives with her fortune and her youth and her wide-eyed innocence, and suddenly every gentleman in Venice is competing for her attention. What chance does any other woman have against such overwhelming advantages?”
The naked envy in Catherine’s voice revealed everything. Not ancient grievances, but present humiliation—the pain of being overlooked for someone younger, richer, more beautiful. Pain that someone had clearly cultivated and weaponized.
“You speak of Miss Playford’s worthiness,” Eugenia said carefully, “yet the count seems to have taken remarkable interest in the details of Miss Playford’s circumstances. Almost as if he had particular reasons beyond mere attraction.”
Catherine flushed. “He’s a gentleman of culture! Naturally he’s curious about how English law differs from Continental customs. I was simply providing information—” Catherine hesitated, something flickering in her expression. A realization that she’d said too much?
Thornton raised an eyebrow. “You provided very clear details of her inheritance. The unusual conditions of the will. The nephew who was disinherited. How vulnerable Miss Playford—and keeping her inheritance—was to scandal—”
“I said nothing that wasn’t true!”
“A gentleman of noble birth would not pursue such a discussion,” said Thornton. “He would find it rather vulgar…unless he had specific interest in exploiting such information.”
Catherine’s face went white, then red. “The count is a true gentleman—”
“With no hand in tonight’s devilry?” asked Eugenia. “For I would stake my life on the fact that Miss Playford had nothing to do with the theft of the Contessa’s emeralds.”
“Yet you all but handed her over to Captain Rizzi.”
At last, Thornton. You needed to be the one to say it so plainly.
Catherine drew herself up. “Captain Rizzi specifically asked me to keep an eye on Miss Playford,” Catherine said sharply.
“He spoke of…certain rumors regarding English visitors and missing trinkets. She was already under suspicion. I only reported what I observed. He said there had been…small discrepancies…with other guests,” she added defensively.
“He suggested that, as someone of unimpeachable discretion, I might notice what others overlooked.”
Eugenia glanced at Thornton, who said, “And did your Count di Montefiore plumb you for more information than that which you were so eager to impart to him in our hearing not so long ago? Did you not wonder that a younger, handsome man paying marked attention to a mature woman of ‘breeding and accomplishment’ might have ulterior motives beyond admiration. Particularly if that man then encouraged loose talk of a wealthy young heiress.”
“That’s absurd!” But Catherine’s voice wavered. “The count is genuinely interested in—”
“In what, precisely?” Thornton asked. “Your company? Or your knowledge of Miss Playford’s vulnerabilities?”
The moment of truth.
Catherine’s expression grew calculating. “The count has been nothing but attentive and respectful—”
Eugenia cut her off. “Do you not find it odd that a mysterious Continental nobleman appears from nowhere with letters of introduction no one has verified. He cultivates your company. He asks detailed questions about a wealthy young woman’s legal vulnerabilities.
He encourages your resentment. And then, conveniently, that young woman is accused of theft using evidence planted by someone with intimate knowledge of her movements. ”
Catherine’s face worked through several emotions. “The count is a gentleman of honor—”
“Is he?” Eugenia asked softly. “Or is he precisely what he appears to be—someone with specific interest in destroying Miss Playford’s reputation and claim to her fortune?”
Someone who knew exactly which vulnerable woman to target with flattery.
The silence stretched. Catherine’s triumph had curdled into something approaching panic.
“I am sure that if I spoke to him, he’d be able to prove himself entirely above your slurs,” Catherine declared. “Miss Playford stole those gems. They were found in her tiara. She nearly got away with it, but she is guilty. And if she is not guilty, she will be exonerated.”
“And what motive might Miss Playford have for stealing two emeralds, supposedly around the very night she arrived in Venice?” Eugenia asked.
“Do you not think that odd, Catherine? That a young heiress who has all the wealth in the world would commit a crime that would put that wealth in jeopardy?” She paused.
“I do not think you have told us everything about the count’s interest in our Miss Playford.
And I don’t think you have even begun to consider the horrors that she is now undergoing as she is being questioned by Captain Rizzi, whose information was supplied, in large part, by you. ”