Page 60 of The Forbidden Lord
“You don’t say!”
“Yes. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t tell me why.” He stopped counting. “You haven’t discovered anything more, have you? Other than what you told me this morning about when Lady Dundee and her daughter arrived in London?”
“Actually, I have. It’s not much, but perhaps you’ll know what to make of it. It seems Lady Sophie is not in residence. She hasn’t been for some weeks. They say she’s ill and had to go home, but they’re not supposed to tell people where she is.”
“That’s curious.” Did Emily’s masquerade have to do with Sophie and her illness? But how?
“Something else, milord. When I asked about Miss Emily Fairchild, they said she’s coming for a visit soon. They’ve been told that she’s traveling and can’t receive mail, which is why they’re holding her mail for her, but they all think it a mite odd that her father would write her so many letters when she can’t yet answer.”
“Thatishelpful, Hargraves. I’ll wager that her father doesn’t know about this masquerade. I can use that.” He didn’t want to threaten to tell Emily’s father yet—she’d never forgive him. But he would if he must. Somebody had to look out for her.
“Nesfield has a hold over her,” he mused aloud. “I don’t know what it is, but I want you to find out. That’s why I’m sending you to Willow Crossing. You haven’t found anything here, so you might as well see what you can find there. You don’t mind a trip to the country, do you?”
“Indeed not. I’ve been itching to escape the city, milord.”
“Good. I want you to leave today. Spend a few days there, ask questions. But be discreet. Don’t tell anyone you’re working for me, all right? Just find out what you can about the Fairchilds and Nesfield. It shouldn’t take long in a small town like that.”
“I’ll take care of it, milord. You can count on me.”
“I always do.”
And while Hargraves was in Willow Crossing, Jordan would find some way to discover the truth here. No matter how much she protested, he wouldn’t let Emily go on like this alone. Not any longer.
Chapter Twelve
“Going to the opera, like getting drunk, is a sin that carries its own punishment with it."
— HANNAH MORE, ENGLISH WRITER, REFORMER, PHILANTHROPIST, LETTER, 1775, TO HER SISTER,THE LETTERS OF HANNAH MORE
Emily had never attended an opera. Willow Crossing had an ancient orchestra that played at assemblies, and a traveling troupe of actors that sometimes presented Shakespeare. But no operas, to be sure.
The Marriage of Figaroby Mozart was entirely beyond her ken. Thankfully, although it was an Italian opera, this production was in English. Not only could she understand the story, but she was enjoying it beyond anything, drooling over the music like the country fool she truly was. The voices rang so clear, so perfect! The orchestra actually knew all their notes, even the high ones!
Her enjoyment was enhanced by the fact that Lord St. Clair had shown no signs of having learned any dark secrets about her that afternoon. When he’d come in behaving like his usual self, she’d relaxed, especially since he’d come without Jordan.
Perhaps everything would be fine after all. Perhaps Jordan would be satisfied with proving to himself that he’d been right about her identity. For the first time since the Merrington’s ball, she felt free to enjoy herself.
The character named Cherubino, a woman playing the part of an adolescent boy, launched into an aria, and Emily strained forward. How could such lush sounds emerge from such a tiny woman? Emily’s musical abilities were tolerable at best, but she did love to listen. By the end of the second act, she’d smiled so much her face hurt.
The chandelier with its hundreds of candles was lowered for the interlude, and Lady Dundee rose from her seat. “I see that Lady Merrington is here tonight. I believe I’ll go speak to her.”
“I’ll join you,” Lord St. Clair said as he also rose. “These chairs aren’t made for men with long legs.” He held out his arm to Emily. “Are you coming, Lady Emma?”
The soft, elegant strains of a violin wafted up to their box, and she sighed with pleasure. “Would you mind very much if I stayed here and listened to the music?”
Lord St. Clair chuckled. “It’s just the interlude.”
“Yes, but it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
Lady Dundee cast her an indulgent smile. “Indeed it is, my dear. Come along, St. Clair. Let her have her fun.”
Emily smiled gratefully, then returned her attention once more to the stage where the musicians were playing a duet for violin and harp. She so loved the harp. The schoolteacher in Willow Crossing owned a harp, but it wasn’t as pure or sweet as this one. Yes, there were advantages to living in the city. She would miss this.
Faintly, she heard the door open behind her and assumed that Lady Dundee had come back for something she’d left behind. Then a husky male voice said, “Good evening, Emily.”
She froze. Jordan. He was here.
Her pulse raced and her heart fluttered. Oh, foolish, foolish heart—to be enamored of such a man.
