Page 33 of The Forbidden Lord
“Nothing at all, blast her. Who danced with you? Did anyone ask for Sophie?”
“Let me see. I danced with Mr. Pollock, Lord St. Clair, Lord Wilkins, Lord Radcliffe, Lord Blakely, and Mr. Wallace.”
How odd that she didn’t mention Blackmore, Ophelia thought. Hadn’t she danced with the earl, too? Ophelia wasn’t entirely certain.
“All expressed their condolences for Sophie’s illness,” Emily went on, “but only Lord St. Clair and Mr. Pollock seemed overly interested. Both of them asked repeatedly when Sophie would beattending social events again. And as you know, Lord St. Clair called on her yesterday.”
“Yes, I know. And I do find it curious. St. Clair is something of a mystery. I heard he was estranged from his father for some secret reason no one will discuss. Indeed, he left England for several years, and no one knows why. He only returned last year. But I’ve heard dreadful stories of what he did on the continent.”
And of course Randolph believed every word. His own son had run off to the continent, so he was suspicious of any other young man who’d done the same.
Randolph began to pace, stabbing his cane into the Aubusson carpet every few steps. “Anyway, he and I had a chat once, and I told him rumor had it he was not fit to marry any young woman. I let him know I would not countenance any union between him and my daughter. You know what the impudent scoundrel had the audacity to say? That Sophie was the only person whose opinion he cared about.” He snorted. “As if a girl of that age knows what she wants. A pretty lad—that is all a girl of eighteen looks for.”
“That’s not true,” Emily retorted. “I think your daughter has more sense than to choose a man simply because he has nice features.”
Ophelia wasn’t so sure herself, but said nothing on that score. She didn’t know her niece that well. “We set a trap for St. Clair,” Ophelia told Randolph. “We told him we’d be at the breakfast and that Sophie would be here alone. If he comes here?—”
“If he comes here,” Randolph put in, “I shall be on the lookout. We will see how he acts and if he goes snooping about the house without permission. That would certainly tell us he was the one.”
“Do try to control yourself,” Ophelia said. “We mustn’t scare away the prey or show our hand prematurely. If word of what happened to Sophie leaks out because you approach some mantoo soon, it’ll ruin her chances in the future. St. Clair may behave quite innocently, in which case you mustn’t approach him.”
“I think I can be trusted to show caution.” Randolph halted his pacing, then peered through his lorgnette at Emily. “What about Pollock?”
“I’m not sure. He seemed only moderately interested.”
“Pollock has a fortune, but is merely a mister,” Randolph said. “He knows I would never accept the suit of any man with rank less than a viscount. Sophie deserves the best.”
Sophie deserved to be paddled for putting them to all this trouble. Yet sometimes Ophelia sympathized with the girl. Having Randolph for a father couldn’t have been easy.
“What if one of these men really cared for her?” Emily ventured. “What if Sophie were in love with one of them?”
“Trust me, love makes no difference,” Randolph said. “It soon vanishes, and then, if you have chosen the wrong partner, you find yourself unhappily yoked with someone who causes you only shame.”
Heavens, Randolph was alluding to his own disastrous marriage! Apparently fancying himself in love, he’d married a girl much beneath him who’d turned out to be a vulgar and outspoken little twit prone to embarrassing him with great frequency. She’d given him a son who’d been a constant disappointment. But she’d had the decency, in Randolph’s words, to die giving birth to Sophie, thus sparing Randolph a lifetime of mortification.
Unfortunately, with no one else around to garner Randolph’s attention when his heir ran off, Sophie had become the center of his domain, the only one he could control. It was killing him to have her out from under his thumb, which was why he was going to all this trouble.
“In any case,” Randolph blustered on, “what Sophie wants is immaterial. I know what is best for the girl. Neither Pollock norSt. Clair is acceptable. We must focus our attention on those two, since both are likely candidates. But was there no one else? No one who paid particular attention to you even if he said nothing of Sophie?”
When Emily colored, Ophelia waited for her to mention Blackmore. But the girl only murmured, “No one,” as she cast Ophelia a pleading look.
Ophelia debated keeping the girl’s secret. But that was pointless. Randolph would find out one way or the other about Blackmore’s interest in her, and there would be hell to pay if they had kept it from him. Besides, Ophelia wanted to see how Emily would react to mention of the rapscallion.
“What about the Earl of Blackmore?” she said, acting as if she misunderstood Emily’s look. “He spoke to you at length before we left.”
As the color crept across Emily’s face until even her ears were red, Randolph pivoted to face the young woman.
“Blackmore?” Randolph punctuated the word with a loud rap of his cane. “That scoundrel approached you? How could you forget to mention him after what happened at the Drydens’ ball?”
Very interesting. “What happened at the Drydens’ ball? Do tell.”
“The blackguard danced with my Sophie, that’s what. Him with his reputation, presuming to touch a pure girl like Sophie! It was an outrage, and I told him so when I wrested her away from him!"
Ophelia could easily imagine the awful scene her brother had made.
“Lord Blackmore spoke to me only briefly last night,” Emily protested. “And he didn’t even mention Sophie.”
“He wouldn’t,” Randolph growled. “That one is a fox, too clever by half. But he is a more likely candidate than the other two, I promise you.”
