Rather like a snake might trouble one. If the snake wore expensive tailoring.
Perhaps it was the way his dark eyes seemed to catalog and assess every detail of their surroundings, or the calculated manner with which he deployed his considerable charm. Eugenia had met manyContinental gentlemen during her travels, and while they were often more demonstrative than their English counterparts, this count’s attention felt somehow predatory rather than merely appreciative.
“My dear count,” she heard Catherine say, “how discerning of you. Indeed, I would say it is perfectly correct to say that Miss Playford’s extraordinary elevation is a romantic tale of unexpected fortune!”
Had Catherine been twenty years younger, she’d no doubt have been trying to ingratiate herself into the count’s good graces for her own purposes.
But now Eugenia observed with growing alarm the alacrity with which Catherine responded to the count’s interest with more than necessary detail regarding Miss Playford’s finances.
“You see,” Catherine continued, moving forward to speak to him as he reclined in the seat opposite, “dear Venetia was quite penniless until last year—living under the guardianship of a most disagreeable aunt who treated her little better than an unpaid companion. But then, in the most dramatic fashion imaginable, she inherited the entire fortune of her great-uncle, Mr. Leonard Harrington, who was reportedly one of the wealthiest men in Derbyshire.”
Catherine. CATHERINE. Stop talking.
Count di Montefiore’s expression remained politely interested, though Eugenia noticed his posture had subtly shifted, as though Catherine’s words had captured his attention in a distinctly unsettling way.
And little wonder. Catherine was preparing their dear young friend on a platter, as if she were an heiress in need of a husband—or a fortune hunter in need of a target.
This was not edifying talk. But what could Eugenia do beyond clear her throat very loudly, try to interject and—when that failed—observe, very closely, how such information was received?
No, she really did not like or trust Count diMontefiore. Not one bit.
“How fascinating,” the count now murmured in his beautifully accented English. “Such sudden elevation must have been quite overwhelming for a young lady of modest background.”
“Oh, that’s only the beginning of the tale,” Catherine replied.
“Catherine!” Eugenia tried to catch Catherine’s eye, but the woman went on, “The inheritance came with the most unusual conditions—you see, Mr. Harrington had originally designated his nephew as heir, but apparently grew concerned about the young man’s moral character. The old gentleman was obsessed with preserving the family’s reputation, and he included the most extraordinary clauses in his final will.”
Eugenia’s chill of apprehension increased as she observed the count’s reaction to this revelation. His fingers, which had been casually drumming against the arm of his chair, suddenly stilled, while something flickered in his dark eyes that looked suspiciously like hunger.
“What manner of conditions?” the count inquired, his tone remaining neutral despite the intensity of his focus.
Catherine visibly preened at his attention. “The most dramatic provisions imaginable! The entire inheritance—every penny, every property, every investment—was left to dear Venetia on one very particular understanding. Mr. Harrington stipulated that if, within three years of his death, his chosen heir should be reported to the trustees as having engaged in ‘persistent moral turpitude’—that is, any pattern of public scandal, notorious impropriety, or conduct unbecoming a lady of honor—then her interest would immediately cease and the whole of the estate would pass instead to the nephew—this Mr. Greene.”
The count’s brows lifted a fraction.
Catherine leaned forward, delighted by his interest. “It is all spelled out in the most meticulous fashion. There is to be no quibbling. The trustees are empowered—indeed obliged—to treat any formal reportfrom the proper authorities, here or in England, as sufficient proof that Mr. Harrington’s misgivings were justified. If they receive such a report describing a pattern of dishonorable conduct, they must consider the conditions of the will breached and hand everything over to Mr. Greene. Mr. Harrington was absolutely determined that his fortune should never rest with anyone whose name might be linked to public disgrace.”
“What a… comprehensive set of conditions,” the count observed.
“But here’s the most remarkable part,” Catherine continued, oblivious to any undercurrents in the conversation. “Mr. Harrington became so concerned about his original heir’s character that he secretly changed his will just weeks—if not days—before his death. The nephew—a Mr. Greene, I believe—knew nothing of this alteration until after the old gentleman’s death. Can you imagine the shock? One day expecting to inherit a fortune, the next discovering it had all gone to a penniless niece he’d probably never even considered! And yet, should she be convicted of any such offense before those three years are up, all would fall back to him. It is like one of those horrid melodramas one only reads about.”
The count inclined his head. “How unfortunate for the nephew,” he said quietly. “Such a dramatic reversal of fortune must have been… devastating.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Catherine agreed with cheerful callousness. “Though from what I understand, Mr. Greene’s subsequent behavior rather vindicated the old gentleman’s change of heart. There was some sort of scandal involving an attempted elopement and considerable debts. Really, Mr. Harrington showed remarkable prescience in recognizing his nephew’s unsuitability.”
Lord Thornton, who had arrived for the last of this exchange and had been listening with apparently growing discomfort, cleared his throat diplomatically. “Perhaps we shouldn’t dwell overmuch on the misfortunes of absent parties. Such matters are surelyprivate to the families involved.”
Thank you, Thornton. Voice of reason as always.
“Nonsense!” Catherine declared with a dismissive wave of her jeweled hand. “It’s hardly gossip when the story was reported in all the London papers. Besides, it only serves to emphasize dear Venetia’s remarkable transformation. From penniless ward to one of England’s wealthiest heiresses! And the dear girl has handled her elevation with such grace.”
Eugenia glanced toward Venetia, out of earshot near the supper table, her fingers worrying nervously at the intricate gold bracelet that adorned her wrist—a piece that Eugenia recognized as part of the spectacular jewelry collection that had been part of Venetia’s inheritance.
Wearing a fortune on her wrist while Catherine advertises her vulnerabilities. Marvelous.
Where was Mr. Rothbury?she wondered. Or, more to the point, why was he not bearing her company when she clearly needed protection from Catherine’s enthusiastic indiscretion?
The count smiled. Perfectly polite. Utterly chilling. “How remarkably… thorough of this… Mr. Harrington. One can only admire such attention to preserving family honor.”
