Page 60 of My Fair Lord
Electricity.
The word leapt to his mind. He had no idea how it worked—few did—but he understood it was invisible to the eye yet still gave heat and light. It came from burning coal, but as Ned floated back to his own cabin in a trance, he could well believe that an undiscovered source was desire.
ChapterSeventeen
Dottie arrived at Ned’s door a little after ten the following morning bearing a note. Ned had eaten a breakfast of fried kidneys, two boiled eggs, and toast, and drunk two cups of strong tea, so was feeling considerably heartier than any morning previously. His mood sank when he read the note Florence had written.
It was disappointingly brief, apologising for a headache and suggesting they delay any meeting until the late afternoon, then take a brief stroll around the deck or have tea in the saloon.
His jaw clenched. Yesterday’s kiss had been a mistake. She’d realised it and now she wanted to keep her distance from him. He was sure of one thing: he wanted to see her again as soon as possible, but clearly she felt otherwise. He’d had no expectation that she wouldn’t regret what had passed between them the instant the cocktail left her system, but seeing her words in black and white sent a poisoned dart into his heart.
He scribbled a few lines in reply, informing her that his seasickness had returned and agreeing to the suggestion of delaying until they both felt better. He curbed his urge to write a full page expressing his wishes for her health and much more. He sealed the letter, hoping in vain that she would somehow divine his deep feelings for her, while also fearing it.
He turned his attention to Dottie. Her nose was red and her eyes swollen. She had clearly been crying and was doing her best to suppress it.
“What’s wrong, Dottie?” he asked as he handed her the note. “Are you in trouble?”
“Sir! I’m a good girl!” Despite her misery, her eyes shot wide and she stood straighter.
“I don’t mean that sort of trouble,” Ned clarified hastily. “Though of course if you were, I wouldn’t judge you. You wouldn’t be the first girl caught out and you certainly won’t be the last. Is it to do with your young man or something else?”
“How do you know I’ve got a young man?” Dottie asked.
She clamped her mouth shut, realising her answer was an admission in itself. Ned smiled encouragingly and she wrinkled her brow.
“He’s called Mr Agosti. He’s an Italian valet to an English gentleman. I met him on the first evening. He’s got lovely brown eyes and such a nice accent. A couple of days ago I gave him something to look after and he has lost it, and whenever I ask him to look, he brushes me off,” Dottie said plaintively.
“Is it something valuable?”
“Only to me. Just a brooch but I like it and I don’t have very many nice things.”
Dottie sniffed and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve.
“Take my handkerchief,” Ned offered, indicating the fresh one on the nightstand. “Have you spoken to Miss Wakechild? I’m sure she’ll be sympathetic to your predicament.”
“She would but that makes it even worse. She advised me that he seemed a bit shifty, but I didn’t listen.” She blew her nose on the handkerchief.
“You keep that until you’re done,” Ned said, glancing at it before she could hand it back. “Let me see if I can do something to help sort the matter. You pop along and go about your duties and I’ll have a little chat with your young man. Mr Agosti, did you say his name was?”
“That’s right. If you can persuade him to spend a few moments looking for it, I would really be most grateful. Thank you, sir.”
Dottie left the room slightly happier. Ned took himself off for a walk to the lower deck. At this time of day, most personal servants had an hour of freedom while their employers socialised. He found Mr Agosti easily: a handsome man with soulful eyes, pomaded hair, and an anchor beard. He was sitting at a card table in the servants’ saloon engrossed in a game with two other men.
Ned stood by the door and watched him for a few minutes. He was winning and looked to be playing mercilessly. A risky player, well off enough to lose without suffering hardship, Ned surmised.
Sometimes Ned preferred to play a long game and let the subjects come round naturally to the point at which they had no choice but to do what Ned wanted, but today he was full of pent-up frustration that was crying to be released. He wasn’t in the mood for subtleties so he walked straight up to Mr Agosti with a smile on his face.
“I believe you have been playing fast and loose with a young lady I know. Miss Evans?”
“Beautiful Dorotea? With her I play slow and tight.” Agosti laughed, then scowled. “What is it to you?”
“She works for Miss Wakechild. Miss Evans is distressed; therefore Miss Wakechild might become vexed. And if she becomes vexed, then I surely will.”
“And why should I care if any of you do?” Agosti said, leaning back and flipping a card over.
The tendons in Ned’s neck grew taut. “Because when I am vexed, I find it hard to sleep so I look around for someone to take my displeasure out on. As I know you are the instrument of that, naturally you will be my victim.”
Agosti paled slightly.
