Page 74 of My Fair Lord

“But I don’t want to marry him!” She stood quickly. Her head spun and she sat down again, pressing her hand to her stomach to stop the feeling of nausea from growing any stronger.

If Clayton was aware of her distress, he showed no signs of caring.

“But you will. With your brother’s ill-advised marriage currently causing me distress and getting tongues wagging back in Philadelphia, this is entirely what we need to still them, or change the subject to something that does us credit, not shame.”

Clayton smiled at Florence. “I’m very proud of you. Your conduct was clearly exemplary while you were in Lord Griggs’ charge. It was worth the expense of the trip. Lord Stretford will join us at the Faulkner’s charity ball tomorrow night. I have tickets for all of us, and not just in the public areas either.”

Clayton’s excitement was palpable, and even taking the engagement into consideration, it was with good reason. George and Sapphire Faulkner were definitely Old Money, but Florence and Estelle Faulkner had become friends one summer when they were younger. The family owned a large house on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Normally the chance to visit their beautiful home when it was dressed for an event and see Estelle would have excited Florence more than anything, but now she felt on the verge of tears.

“Promise me we won’t have to talk of an engagement tomorrow at the ball,” she entreated.

“Of course we won’t,” Cordelia said, smoothly moving from her sofa to sit beside Florence and flashing their father a look that brooked no argument. “It would be the height of bad manners to commandeer another family’s event for our own purpose, and none of us would commit such a faux pas.”

“Thank you,” Florence whispered, reaching for Cordelia’s hand. Their earlier quarrel was forgotten in a show of solidarity.

A cloud of despair settled over her and she barely listened to the rest of the conversation, which involved other people Clayton had seen in England and the successes he’d had in promoting the dyes to cotton manufacturers. As soon as Clayton dismissed them, she rushed back to her own room. Cordelia caught her at the door.

“Florence, are you alright?”

“Of course I’m not alright. Apparently I’m engaged and I didn’t even have a say in the matter. Even you got to meet Twemlow half a dozen times before you decided. I feel quite sick.”

Cordelia hugged her tightly. “Don’t give up hope yet. There’s still the wager.”

Florence’s eyes filled. “What if there is? Daddy won’t back down even if Ned fools him completely. It would be too humiliating to end the engagement.”

“I suppose so. I’m sorry. I’m sure Mr Blake would have done so well.”

If Florence had been undecided whether to go through with the deception, her last lingering shreds of conscience shrivelled like overcooked bacon. How dare her father accept an engagement on her behalf and drop it into a conversation as if he was telling her he’d bought a new tiepin.

“Would have?” she exclaimed. “We’re still going to do it. In fact, I’m going to visit Estelle Faulkner first thing tomorrow morning and ask for a ticket for Ned to the ball. We’ll do it then.”

Her spirits lifted. Securing Ned a ticket to the Faulkner’s event would be easy. If Florence hinted at a mysterious guest, Estelle would practically run across town with a ticket. Florence would commandeer the ball for herself, produce Ned in the most public event possible, let him charm and beguile her father as he was sure to do, then reveal the trickery at the very moment Lord Stretford was about to arrive.

It might be humiliating but that could be exactly what Florence needed. Even if her father did not see the error of his snobbish ways, she would gladly use the fact that he had fallen for the deception as blackmail to ensure the engagement ended before it started. Unless Clayton Wakechild wished to become a laughing stock in the society he hoped to enter, he would forget all thoughts of the marriage. She suspected that the thought of Lord Stretford knowing would be enough of a threat in itself.

“Will you tell Mr Blake about the engagement?” Cordelia asked.

Florence shook her head. Why complicate matters? It would ruin a perfect evening. She wouldn’t mention Lord Stretford at all. She would get to dance with Ned and spend some time in his company and in his arms, a place she had decided she would happily spend the rest of her life.

After that, who knew what her future would hold.

ChapterTwenty-One

New York proved to be a delightful city and Ned was sorry he didn’t have longer to take full advantage of it. The hotel was comfortable and the staff extremely friendly. The food was good, and when he left the hotel the morning after his arrival, the wide streets, thronging with pedestrians and horse-drawn vehicles, reminded Ned in a curious way of Liverpool.

He spent the morning browsing the great department stores – replenishing his stock of handkerchiefs in the process – and bought a newspaper from a young boy in a large floppy hat who stood on the street corner. Over coffee, he read through it with interest, wondering where he might locate a newspaper from England. TheCity of Bruges, along with other ships, would have brought the papers that had been printed on the day it had sailed from Liverpool, so by Ned’s reckoning, by this evening he would be able to read about events from the day following his departure.

He didn’t imagine that what he was searching for would make any of the columns in the first pages, but it was possible he could learn his destiny from the announcements listing marriages, deaths, and births. Until he was able to do that, he did his best to put any anxiety out of his mind and concentrate on enjoying himself in the city.

He took luncheon in a small Italian restaurant that served an excellent minestrone, reflecting on how glad he was not to be on the sea any longer, then took a horse-drawn trolley to Florence’s hotel to meet her as planned. He arrived just as she was exiting the revolving door, with Dottie at her side. Ned’s heart lurched at the sight of her. She was a vision of elegance in a form-fitting green dress that he hadn’t seen before. The bodice of the jacket was narrow and pointed in darts at the hips that emphasised the ruched layers of the skirt.

Her coppery hair was styled in an intricate array of curls and decorative pins, piled high upon her head beneath a green hat with an array of feathers. The hairstyle was a work of art, complementing her dress perfectly and emphasising the green in her eyes which Ned could pick out even from across the street.

She looked the picture of sophistication and Ned felt quite abashed. He gave his jacket and trousers a quick brush with his hands before striding forward to meet her, then slowed as he realised she was being approached by a middle-aged man. Ned held back, wondering who the man was, alert in case he needed to intervene. Florence answered the man then spoke to Dottie who walked a few paces away and waited with a look of patience on her face that suggested she was well used to waiting for her mistress. Ned wondered if she would have done the same when Ned had accosted Florence outside Lewis’ all those weeks ago.

The man spoke again. Florence shook her head and held her hands out in a gesture that implied a lack of knowledge. The man looked disappointed. They spoke for a minute or two longer before the man nodded and held out a small card. Florence hesitated then took it. The man tipped his hat and walked off. Dottie returned and Florence showed her the card. They seemed to be puzzling over it and Ned would have given quite a lot to have been able to read it.

Ned waited a few moments then stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled towards the women, whistling an aria fromThe Gondoliersto alert her to his presence. She turned and gave him a wide smile, the corners of her mouth creasing and forming dimples in her cheeks. She gave the card to Dottie and walked toward Ned, twirling the handle of the green lace parasol that completed her outfit.