Page 17 of The Forbidden Lord
I’ll hold you to that vow, my lord, she told herself fervently as he stalked back into the hall and called for Lady Dundee.Don’t think that I won’t.
Chapter Four
LONDON, MAY 1819
Minute attention to propriety stops the growth of virtue.
— MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, ENGLISH FEMINIST WRITER,A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN
Emily shivered and gathered her fur-edged pelisse more tightly about her. Beyond the frosted window of the Nesfield carriage, London’s streets glimmered beneath their dose of spring fog. As a child, she’d visited the city only once with her parents, leaving her with vague memories of pinnacled towers and jam tarts.
This week, however, London had left a more distinct impression. Hesitant young ladies and their preening mamas in a long succession of millinery and seamstress’s shops. Endless trips in the carriage through muddy, people-choked streets. And everywhere, the task of pretending she was Lady Dundee’s daughter newly come from Scotland.
Why had she ever thought Willow Crossing dull and uninspiring? How she missed the pale yellow wash of morning sun on their little garden, the patchwork of open fields, the neat lanes and walks. What she wouldn’t give for a glimpse of home.
Idly she rubbed a circle in the frost on the window so she could peer at the grand houses lining the streets. This was what she was—an onlooker, an outsider. No matter how Lady Dundee presented her, she’d never be part of this world.
Tonight the kind and forgiving moon was absent. There was only the feeble glow of oil lamps that transformed everyday objects into hulking shadows, serving to further lower her spirits. A long sigh escaped her.
“You’re not nervous, are you?” Lady Dundee said at her side.
“A little.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about, child. After last night, the worst is over. You weathered the presentation at court with the proper amount of modesty. I couldn’t have been more pleased if you’d truly been my daughter.”
The praise warmed Emily. At first, she’d wanted to hate Lady Dundee, but that had soon proved impossible. Though the countess did say outrageous things, she was also friendly and engaging—the ideal companion. She was as different from her brother as sweet cherries from lemons.
Thankfully, Lord Nesfield rarely joined them. He and his sister had decided it would be better if he kept out of sight most of the time, especially since he and “Lady Emma” were supposedly at odds.
“Last night was easy,” Emily said. “You told me when to walk, when to hand my card to the lord-in-waiting, when to curtsy, and when to withdraw. Even a mere rector’s daughter can manage such things. But tonight won’t be so orderly. There will be more chance for error.”
Lady Dundee drew up her long gloves. “Pish-posh. I’ve been watching you, my dear. You have the natural grace and confidence that comes from good breeding, unlike some of these chits pretending to gentility because their merchant fathers have the wherewithal to keep two carriages. You were raised with the moral precepts that underlie all civilized behavior.”
“Oh, yes, the moral precepts,” she said bitterly. “Like deceiving good people into thinking I’m someone I’m not.”
“Why did you agree to help us if you find it so distasteful?”
Emily cursed her quick tongue as she averted her gaze from her companion. “I’m doing it for Sophie, of course. What else?”
“What else indeed?”
“Don’t mind me. I’m merely anxious about this evening. There are conventions of behavior peculiar to your station that I fear I’ll omit in my ignorance.”
There’d been so much to learn—a thousand little nonsensical rules.Don’t say “my lady” and “my lord” too much, or you’ll sound like a servant. Never put your knife in your mouth.Apparently, although country manners allowed it, people of high society thought it gauche.Never overimbibe, for liquor’s effects lead to a woman’s ruin.
She and Lady Dundee had repeated the order of precedence in rank so many times that she had nightmares about some great bishop recoiling from her in disgust because she gave a mere viscount precedence over him. And who could have ever guessed that learning the newly touted waltz would be so difficult?
“Don’t concern yourself overmuch with the rules,” Lady Dundee told her. “I can always gloss over some error by explaining that you’re nervous. It’s only true vulgarity that I can’t hide, and I needn’t worry about that with you.” She patted Emily’s leg. “Indeed, I may have to prod you to be less refined. Remember your role: you’re my rebellious child. Otherwise, noman will believe you’d go against your mother and uncle to aid your cousin.”
Emily fidgeted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position in the tight corset she’d been forced to wear, the one that pushed her breasts up so shamefully. She’d never worn a corset at home, nor gowns of such rich elegance. Right now, she’d trade them all for her sprigged muslin.
And discomfort made her cranky. “I’m still uncertain what you want me to do. Should I be forward? Flirtatious? Such things are not in my nature.”
“You can’t know what’s in your nature until it’s been tried, can you? If I understand Randolph correctly, you haven’t been much in society. You may find you enjoy flirting with men. I certainly enjoyed it in my day.”
“But you’re more flamboyant than I. And Papa always says?—”
“Forget your father and his strictures. Do what you want, Emily. Enjoy yourself.”
