Page 42 of The Forbidden Lord
Lady Dundee scowled at her. “Nonsense. Forget your misguided sense of loyalty. I’m sure your father studied hard to warrant the living he receives from Randolph. You owe my brother nothing.”
Lying was hard enough for Emily. Lying to Lady Dundee was like lying to her father, a distinctly unpleasant experience. Yet she must. “It’s not loyalty to Lord Nesfield, but loyalty to Sophie.”
“Poppycock! When you first heard our plan, you refused to participate. You were perfectly willing to let Sophie marry any fool she wanted. You only agreed to it after Randolph spoke to you. What did he say? You can tell me, you know. I can help you.”
No one could help her. If she told Lady Dundee, Lord Nesfield would hand her over to the authorities with lies about Mama’s death that she couldn’t refute. It was as simple as that. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Yes, there is. Tell me, my dear. It’s all right.” Lady Dundee’s tone was that of a woman used to being obeyed. It reminded Emily of Jordan’s attempts to get the truth out of her. Curse all these charming lords and ladies with their commanding voices!
Well, she’d fight the countess as she’d fought Jordan. “You promised me I could have an entertaining time in London and wear expensive gowns and dance till dawn every night. Shall you renege on your promises?”
Lady Dundee’s eyes fairly snapped. “You can play that role with others, but don’t play it with me. Remember, I know you’re not some frivolous laird’s daughter whose only aim in life is entertainment.”
“The frivolous laird’s daughter is part of me. Isn’t that what you said?”
The countess apparently disliked having her words thrown back at her. “Emily?—”
“If you tell Lord Nesfield that I mustn’t do this and I tell him I choose to do it anyway, what do you think will happen?”
Lady Dundee crossed her arms over her ample chest. “You can’t continue the masquerade without me, so don’t even think it. How would it look if Lady Emma’s mother abandoned her daughter in the midst of her coming out?”
“How would it look indeed? Lady Emma’s mother would either have to invent a story to explain, or else tell everyone the truth and ruin the reputations of herself, her brother, and perhaps even her real daughters.” Emily swallowed hard. “Not to mention the reputation of Emily Fairchild.”
For a long moment, the countess glared at her. Then a grudging smile touched her lips. “For a girl sired by a rector, you have an unlimited supply of impudence.”
“I didn’t start this, my lady. You and your brother did. But Iwillfinish it, with or without you.”
“You leave me little choice, do you?”
Emily nearly collapsed with relief. Now that she’d won, however, she must set Lady Dundee’s mind at ease. “Truly, you needn’t worry about me. I can handle myself. Besides, Mr. Pollock was the only one to take liberties. Every other man has been a perfect gentleman in my presence.”
“Even Blackmore?”
The woman’s perception was uncanny. Emily hesitated only a fraction of a second before lying. “Yes, even the earl.”
Now would come the questions about what Mr. Pollock had meant with his accusations. What could she say? How could she explain?
But apparently, Lady Dundee was as reluctant to probe that sore spot as she. “Very well. We shall go on as before.” When Emily started to thank her, she added, “Though I shall be a better chaperone from now on. I don’t want another occurrence like this.”
“Nor do I,” Emily said sincerely. Not even Lord Nesfield could expect that of her.
Chapter Nine
Our opposers usually miscall our quickness of thought, fancy and flash, and christen their own heaviness by the specious names of judgement and solidity…”
— MARY ASTELL,AN ESSAY IN DEFENCE OF THE FEMALE SEX
The language of the note Emily received the day after Lady Astramont’s breakfast was formal. The meaning behind it was not.
For the fourth time since it had arrived yesterday morning, Emily scanned the words scribbled on the back of Lord St. Clair’s card, trying to read between the lines:
Dear Lady Emma,
I would be honored if you would accompany me to the British Museum tomorrow. Lord Elgin’s marbles are on exhibit, and I believe you would enjoy seeing them. I could call for you at eleven a.m. if you decide to join me.
Your friend,
Ian, the Viscount St. Clair
