Page 42 of My Fair Lord

For the duration of Lord Stretford’s visit, Ned remained in his room. No one told him he could not leave but he did not feel inclined to do so. There was a knock on the door half an hour before the party set out on their picnic and fishing excursion. He answered it cautiously to find Dottie bearing a book.

“Miss Wakechild said you might want to read this,” she said, bobbing a curtsey and holding it out.

Ned relieved her of it with thanks and flopped onto the reading couch. It was the book on etiquette she had shown him back when she’d proposed the scheme. He flicked through it, happening upon a folded corner of a page which turned out to be the chapter on picnics and water parties. He scowled, wondering if she had sent it to him to taunt him, or if she had been perusing that chapter herself.

He cast a look out the window. The day was fresh, with partial clouds providing some welcome shade. Walking through the countryside to indulge in a hamper full of pies and pastries would have been a good way to spend the day. He wondered what Miss Wakechild was doing, whether she was enjoying Stretford’s company, and if she was any closer to bagging herself a titled husband. That possibility sent his mood spiralling further into gloom. Miss Wakechild was far too superior a wife for an ass like Stuffy Stretford.

He’d let her down badly, though he could never explain why and that tortured him.

Lord Stretford departed after a late luncheon the following afternoon. Within an hour, a footman brought a note to Ned’s room asking him to attend Miss Wakechild in the Summer Room. Ned freshened up, grimacing as he examined his reflection in the looking glass. He’d suffered a black eye and a cut to the lip, as well as livid bruising across his cheek. He didn’t want to appear bearing the evidence of his shame, but he had no alternative.

The Summer Room was the first room he had entered when he had arrived. It was in the oldest part of the house, with a richly carved oak chimney piece and wood panelling that made him think of medieval times where it would have been the focus of the house. Lady Griggs had done her best to bring it up to date with coral and blue drapes that clashed with the worn tapestries on the walls, and a large mirror facing the narrow windows to maximise the light.

Miss Wakechild was sitting in a comfortable wingback chair upholstered in the same colours. Ned wondered if she would leave him standing, but she gestured to a smaller, less comfortable-looking chair that had been placed at a right angle to hers. He sat down. A pot of coffee and a plate of scones stood temptingly on a small table at her side, but there was only one cup and side plate, making it clear it was for her alone. Ned gave her a mental round of applause for the opening strike.

For a moment she was silent, then she pressed her fingertips together and looked at him.

“Mr Blake, I cannot tell you how disappointed I am with your behaviour. I specifically asked you not to fight and you did it the minute my back was turned. I am paying you handsomely and yet you are treating me with contempt. I cannot begin to understand why you did it.”

She didn’t raise her voice at all. Ned would have preferred it if she had. Her quiet recriminations bored into his conscience, eviscerating him. They were far more effective than any shouting, cutting through to the core of his being and leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I apologise,” he said, meaning it most sincerely. “I have no excuse, nor will I attempt to make any.”

“You ruined my plans to introduce you to Lord Stretford and his sister. It made the party unbalanced and awkward.”

She held his gaze, then her face creased into a blend of anger and distress. “Why did you do it? Why can you not take this wager seriously? Don’t you realise how important it is to me?”

“Is it so important?” Ned asked quietly.

She leapt to her feet and swept past him to the window. “Of course it is! You know how much effort I have put into training you. Why I spend hours on it. Don’t pretend you don’t understand.” Her voice was high.

“I’m starting to wonder if I do understand at all,” Ned said. “Why do you care so much about winning? Yes, I understand your pride will be injured, but you don’t need the money you stand to win, you said that yourself. You’ll most likely barely break even after paying me, clothing me, and feeding me. Even if it does have some kind of stakes attached to it, it should still be treated as more of an amusement than anything else.”

“It isn’t just about the money.” She folded her arms, mouth becoming an angry line.

“What, then? I understand you don’t want to let your sister and brother-in-law win. I do understand the rivalry between siblings, but really, getting angry to this extent is…”

“Oh stop!” Miss Wakechild turned around and stalked towards the dark oak fireplace and stared into the depths. “It isn’t just about proving I’m right. There’s a lot more at stake.”

Her eyelids flickered rapidly as she looked down to her side. The fury seemed to have gone out of her. He nodded slowly as if he understood what was going on inside of her, though in reality he was floundering.

“What?” Ned asked gently. “What haven’t you told me?”

“I told you it was purely a sociological experiment. I lied.”

Ned blinked. “About what?”

Miss Wakechild clapped her hands together, fingertips pressing against each other. She looked at him sheepishly then walked to the table and poured herself a cup of coffee before turning to him.

“We’re recently wealthy and the old families look down on us for it. Daddy finds it unbearable. I told you that my father considers the British aristocracy the height of breeding. Unsurpassable and without imitation thanks to the long line of ancestors stretching out behind them. He believes that marrying into it will elevate his standing back home.” She sipped the coffee. “If I can prove to Daddy that all of what he thinks makes a nobleman superior can be learned from a book and none of it is innate superiority, perhaps he will stop demanding I marry someone with a title.”

“Ah.” The clouds parted on Ned’s understanding. There was a certain logic to what she said. It made sense now in a way that it hadn’t before and explained her urgency. “So you can marry whom you choose? Is there someone waiting back home in America?”

Miss Wakechild glanced down at her hands. Ned looked at her curiously, then daringly asked, “Or a particular friend such as Miss Halliwell has?”

She shook her head. The insinuation didn’t appear to offend her. He’d suspected it wouldn’t. She just took another sip of coffee before answering. “So I don’t have to marry at all.”

“Now you’re jesting,” Ned replied.