Page 55 of The Forbidden Lord
Yes, indeed, an ailment calledmen.They were a plague upon women everywhere. Except for her dear Edward, of course.
Ophelia missed Edward. She’d known he wouldn’t approve, so she hadn’t told him of this farce. Still, she wished he’d come to London. This was becoming more complicated with each passing day, and she could use his advice. He was an excellent judge of character—he’d know what to make of St. Clair and Blackmore.
The ride back to Randolph’s town house was so quiet, she could practically hear each hoofbeat of the horses. But the silence failed to dispel the air of suppressed anger between Blackmore and Emily that vibrated like two tines of a tuning fork.
Somehow she would find out what had happened during their absence. Emily would not put her off this time.
When Blackmore’s carriage clattered up in front of the town house, St. Clair practically bounded out, as if in a hurry to escape the tension. Blackmore, however, didn’t move. “I’ll wait here for you,” he told St. Clair as the viscount helped first Emily, then herself from the carriage.
Good riddance. Ophelia was more than ready to escape both thorny men. As soon as they entered the house, she began assuring St. Clair that he needn’t give any more thought to them and could leave at once. Though he hinted broadly at his wish to see Sophie, she ignored him and watched with profound relief as he left, looking tense, discouraged, and more than a little angry.
Although she wanted to talk to Emily before Randolph could corner the girl, Carter approached her before she could even usher the girl into the parlor.
“There’s a Mr. Lawrence Phelps waiting to see you, milady. I thought I would wait until his lordship left to mention it. ’Tis very strange. The young man claims to be Miss Emily Fairchild’s cousin. Of course, I told him that Miss Fairchild will be coming soon to stay with Lady Sophie, but the young man insists that Miss Fairchild is here now and demands to see her. I put him in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Carter,” Ophelia said, dismissing him with a look. As soon as he left, she turned to Emily. “Is this Mr. Phelps truly your cousin?”
“Oh, yes.” Emily sighed. “He’s a barrister here. Papa must have written to tell him I was in town. What should I do? If I talk to him, the servants will wonder. Nor can I tell him what I’m doing. He’s very moral and might tell Papa.”
“Were you unable to elicit the truth from St. Clair or Blackmore? Must we go on with the masquerade?” Ophelia cast a quick glance at the closed door of the parlor.
“You interrupted just as Lord St. Clair was about to confess something important.” Emily whispered. “I’m nearly certain he’s the one. But not certain enough. I need more time.”
Ophelia thought a moment. “All right. I’ll handle your cousin.”
“What will you tell him?”
“You’ll see.” She nodded toward the door that led to the dining room, which adjoined the parlor. “You can listen from in there if you want. Now go on with you. We don’t want the lad to grow impatient and come out where he can see you.”
Emily nodded quickly, then hurried off into the dining room.
Ophelia waited until Emily disappeared, then entered the parlor only to catch the young man in question sifting throughthe letters that sat on a salver on the tea table. He whirled around, knocking the letter opener to the floor.
“Good morning, Mr. Phelps. I’m Lady Dundee. I trust you found our mail in order?”
Chagrin clouded his face. He bent to pick up the letter opener, but when he straightened, all hint of embarrassment was gone. “Good morning, my lady. I merely wondered if my cousin was receiving her letters.”
Secretly admiring his insolence, she swept to her favorite chair, then sat down, indicating that he do the same. “We’re keeping your cousin’s letters for when she arrives. I promise she’ll receive them all then.”
He took the chair she indicated. “I don’t understand. My uncle’s letter stated quite clearly that Emily was in town and staying at Lord Nesfield’s town house with Lady Sophie. I thought to pay her a visit, and instead was fed some Banbury tale about her being en route.”
Impudent puppy. She examined the young man more closely. He was handsome, lacking the sober, pinched look of some barristers, and brazenly returned her gaze. He had the appearance of a man used to rummaging through myriad facts to find the truth. An intelligent fellow, no doubt. This would be tricky.
But Ophelia hadn’t reached her pinnacle of success in polite society for nothing. Spinning tall tales was her special gift. “Miss Fairchildwashere. But she and Sophie left two days ago to visit a country estate. They won’t be back for some time.”
“My uncle didn’t mention anything like that.”
She leaned forward conspiratorially. “May I be frank, Mr. Phelps?”
“Yes, of course.”
“We didn’t tell him. Miss Fairchild feared that her father might not allow her to go, since the woman hosting the visit is …shall we say, more acceptable in my circle than among people of your father’s strict moral code.”
When Mr. Phelps drew himself up in righteous indignation, she added hastily, “The woman is perfectly respectable these days, mind you. But before she married her husband, the earl, she was—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “An actress. And I know how clergymen feel about such things.”
The young man’s eyes narrowed. “You packed your niece and my cousin off to the country estate of some unsavory woman without asking my uncle’s permission? Who is their chaperone? Why aren’t you with them?”
“I’ll be going there in a few days, but my brother is with them. They’re perfectly safe.” Pray heaven Randolph didn’t return from White’s before Mr. Phelps left.
