Page 1 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

Chapter One

Children, I grant, should be innocent; but when the epithet is applied to men, or women, it is but a civil term for weakness.

— MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN

I might as well be playing hide-and-seek in a circus. Emily Fairchild surveyed the ballroom at the Marquess of Dryden’s country estate, where congregated at least four hundred masqueraders wearing expensive costumes far beyond Emily’s means.

None was Lady Sophie. Where was her friend, for goodness sake? Emily couldn’t leave without finding her; Sophie would be disappointed if she couldn’t obtain the elixir Emily had made up especially for her.

“Do you see her, Lawrence?” Emily asked her cousin in a voice pitched to be heard over the delightful orchestra. “You’re tall enough to spot her.”

Lawrence frowned as he craned his head forward. “She’s over there, engaged in that absurd and pointless activity society considers entertainment.”

In other words, she was dancing. Emily bit back a smile.

Poor Lawrence. He’d come from London to visit her and her father at Willow Crossing for the first time in years, and in return, had been forced to stand in for her father by escorting her to a masquerade ball that Lawrence considered “stupid, wasteful idiocy.”

Well, at least he needn’t be further tortured by having to dance with her. Propriety forbade her from dancing during the final weeks of mourning her mother. Indeed, she was the lone guest wearing black bombazine, with a silk mask her only concession to the masquerade theme.

“Who’s Sophie dancing with?” Emily asked.

“I believe her partner is currently Lord Blackmore.”

“The Lord Blackmore? She’s dancing with him?” A man of some consequence, the Earl of Blackmore was the brother of the Drydens’ new daughter-in-law.

Envy quickly assailed Emily, and just as quickly she banished it.

How silly to envy Sophie what was hers by birthright.

It wasn’t as if Emily would ever have the chance to dance with the earl herself.

Lords of his stature, or any lord for that matter, were tacitly forbidden to a rector’s daughter with no lofty family connections.

She was lucky to be here at all. Lady Dryden had only invited her in payment for a small service Emily had rendered her; the marchioness had no reason to introduce Emily to the wealthy, sophisticated lords and ladies who’d traveled from London for the occasion.

Still, what would dancing with an earl as famous as Lord Blackmore be like?

Nerve-wracking, she imagined, especially if he were handsome.

Was he? She stood on tiptoe and squinted through the slits in her eye mask, but couldn’t see a thing beyond the sea of wigs and odd headdresses that swirled and churned about her.

“Do tell me what’s going on, Lawrence. Are they dancing a waltz? Does Lord Blackmore seem to be enjoying it?”

“How could he? First of all, he’s dancing. Secondly, he has Sophie for a partner. He deserves better.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Lord Blackmore is a man of substance, you know. Despite being one of the youngest members of the House of Lords, he has instituted more reforms for the poor than any other member.”

“Why does that mean Sophie isn’t good enough for him?”

Lawrence shrugged. “It pains me to tell you this, but your friend is a twit, wholly unsuitable for a man of intelligence and experience.”

“She is not! What do you know of her? You only met her yesterday!”

“Yes, and she spent the entire visit snubbing me. I suppose she considered a London barrister far beneath her notice.”

His attempt to sound nonchalant failed so miserably that Emily had to stifle a laugh. “You misunderstood her entirely. She wasn’t snubbing you. She was terrified of you.”

“Why on earth would I terrify a marquess’s daughter?”

She cast a sideways glance at her cousin.

Like many of the young men who hadn’t bothered with costumes, he wore standard evening attire with his mask.

But although the mask covered his straight nose and part of his smooth brow, it didn’t disguise his silky auburn hair or good looks.

Those were precisely the characteristics Sophie found intimidating.

Not to mention that Lawrence was a trifle opinionated, which in itself would cow the timid Sophie.

“Well?” he asked curtly. “Why is she afraid of me?”

“Because, my dear cousin, you are a man. A handsome, bold, and consequently terrifying man.” When he snorted in disbelief, she added, “Trust me, Sophie was only too painfully aware of your presence yesterday. That’s why I couldn’t coax her into mumbling more than a few words until you excused yourself from the room. ”

“That’s absurd. A woman of her situation—pretty, rich, and well-connected—has nothing to fear from anyone. At her coming out, she’ll have numerous suitors clamoring after her inheritance. She’ll make a spectacular marriage and go live in a grand estate with some duke or marquess.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t prevent her from fearing your sex.”

A sudden commotion on the dance floor roused the crowd’s attention. Lawrence peered over their heads, his eyes narrowing. “Well, that put an end to that, didn’t it? Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Put an end to what?” A bald man in a toga blocked Emily’s view. Goodness gracious, what she wouldn’t give for a stepping stool right now! “What’s happening?”

“Sophie’s father just wrenched her from Blackmore’s arms. What a fool Nesfield is.” He leaned forward to survey the scene she couldn’t see. “Now he’s shouting at Blackmore.”

“Poor Sophie must be mortified!”

“‘Poor Sophie’? What about Blackmore?” He adjusted his mask. “Wait a minute. Why, jolly good, Blackmore! That’s the way to handle a fool.”

She rose up on tiptoe again, but could only see a giant Merlin’s hat. “What is it? What’s he doing?”

“He’s walking away, cool as a cucumber. Nesfield is following him, ranting, but Blackmore’s ignoring him, which makes Nesfield look ridiculous.”

“I don’t understand. Why won’t Lord Nesfield let Sophie dance with Lord Blackmore?”

Around her people were murmuring, and they seemed to share Lawrence’s opinion of the Marquess of Nesfield.

“Nesfield is Blackmore’s chief opponent in Parliament.

” An acid tone entered his voice. “The marquess believes in leaving people downtrodden, because helping them might encourage them to rise up and overthrow the aristocracy. To him, Blackmore is the worst of rabble-rousers and thus much too sullied for the pure Sophie.”

“Oh, yes,” she said indignantly. “The marquess has always been suspicious of men where Sophie’s concerned.

Ever since she was a girl, he’s been worried that some blackguard will carry her off.

That’s why she’s so afraid of men—because he hasn’t allowed her to be around boys her age, and she knows only what he tells her about them. ”

Lawrence cast her a skeptical glance. “I thought she had a brother. Surely he taught her better.”

“Her brother ran off when she was eight. He was very young—seventeen, I think—and he and his father had a great row. He lives on the Continent. So without her brother around and her mother dead, Sophie has only her father to guide her, and he has taught her that every man is suspect.”

“I think you’re making excuses for her, though Lord Nesfield is an idiot.

” Suddenly his face grew more somber. “Wait, she’s coming toward us.

While her father was haranguing Lord Blackmore, she slipped off.

Now you can give her that elixir, so we can go.

But if you don’t mind, I’ll absent myself, before she sees me and grows ‘terrified.’” With a sniff every bit as haughty as any he could attribute to Sophie, he stalked into the crowd of dancers.

As soon as he left, Emily saw Sophie burst through the crowd, her face mottled with shame.

The poor dear. And her looking so pretty tonight, too.

Though Sophie’s coming out was soon, and this ball was something of a practice for it, she was not actually out, which was probably why she wore no costume.

But her lavender silk gown was fine and rich, accentuating her petite figure and raven hair.

No wonder Lord Blackmore had wanted to dance with her.

Sophie caught sight of Emily, then hurried to her side in a rush of skirts. “Oh, Emily, did you see?”

“No, but Lawrence told me about it.”

Her face reddened. “Your cousin saw it? Oh, I’ll never live down the shame! It was horrible, simply horrible! Everyone must think awful things about me now!”

Emily embraced her poor friend. “It’s all right, dear. No one will think anything about you. They’ll only blame your father, as well they should.”

Sophie’s small body trembled, and Emily could tell she was on the verge of tears. That wouldn’t do.

She set Sophie firmly away. “Chin up, dear, it’s over now. You must behave as if it didn’t rattle you, or everyone will talk of it in the morning.”

Choking back a sob, Sophie dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “You’re right.” She glanced around. “They’re all watching me, aren’t they?”

“Never mind them.” Seeking to distract her, Emily added, “I brought the calming elixir you wanted.”

Sophie’s face brightened. “You did? Truly?”

“I could hardly resist your begging, could I?” Emily smiled as she drew the glass vial from her reticule. “You wouldn’t have sneaked out to visit me yesterday if you hadn’t been desperate.”

Sophie took the vial from Emily and examined it, her eyes still shimmering with unshed tears. “I can never thank you enough for this, my dear, dear friend. You’ve saved my life!”

“Nothing so spectacular, I’m sure, but I hope it helps.” Sophie’s enthusiasm gave her a moment’s unease. Only once had Emily’s nostrums caused harm …

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Nothing could happen this time. The elixir was mild as chicken soup, a mere diffusion of chamomile, lavender flowers, and balm leaves.