Page 1 of My Fair Lord

ChapterOne

“Would you risk your reputation to save a man’s life?”

Florence Wakechild blinked at the man who had slid in front of her with such an unexpected question. She responded instinctively. “I think that very much depends on the worthiness of the life.”

The man gave a warm laugh, as if this was the most amusing retort the world had ever seen. “You’re an American! Well, madam, how worthy my life is remains to be seen, but I am rather attached to it and if you would help me keep it, I would be in your debt.”

Florence bristled at “madam”. Twenty-four was hardly deserving of that title. She wondered if he was intoxicated. He didn’t reek of rum or gin like so many of the dock workers or sailors who walked Liverpool’s streets, but Florence could think of no other explanation for his astonishing words.

She stared at him. He stared back from beneath the slightly shapeless brim of a tweed hat. Bright blue eyes, bordering on violet, held her gaze fiercely. Not pleading or desperate. Instead, they held a level of challenge that stopped Florence from sweeping past him where he stood. As she hesitated, his eyes flickered away, looking beyond her. He frowned then jerked his head around and looked behind him. Florence could see nothing that indicated danger, but she did not really know what she should be looking for.

Since arriving, Florence had discovered that Liverpool was a city of all races and religions. That very morning she’d bought pastries from a bakery run by an elderly Belgian woman, which stood beside a laundry run by two Chinese sisters. Men and women with skin in hues that ranged from the darkest mahogany to Florence’s pale porcelain filled the streets. She had no idea where the source of his anxiety might be.

“If it is money you need, I’m afraid I have none at my disposal,” she said cautiously. It was a lie. She did have a purse containing some of her allowance, but she wasn’t yet sure enough about the relative values of dollars and pounds to know how much to give him.

“No money, just a small deception. All you have to do is act as my sweetheart for the next ten minutes.”

The man held out an arm as if he expected Florence to join him for a promenade along the Mersey waterfront.

“I’ll do no such thing!” she exclaimed.

The light in his eyes hardened to flint. He lowered his arm and pulled up the collar of his coat, hunching his shoulders.

“Then you have answered my question and I shall bid you good day.” He gave Florence a slightly condescending smile before turning away.

It was the smile that did it.

Florence had always believed she possessed a daring nature that would stand her in good stead for anything. A modern woman, worthy of being granted suffrage, of making her way in the world. Of being equal to men. Now the opportunity to prove it had come her way and she had been found wanting.

“Wait!”

She caught hold of his sleeve at the elbow. The man turned back in surprise. Florence looked him over once again. His outer coat was slightly baggy and a little faded, suggesting to Florence’s practised eyes that it was a ready-made item using cheap dye, rather than tailored. He wore serviceable dark moleskin trousers but they were accompanied by a waistcoat of the most garish green and yellow tartan Florence had ever seen. His cap was of good tweed and his clothing was cleaner than other working men she had seen walking around the city streets. He spoke well enough. At least, no worse than many of the men Florence’s father did business with back home. He might come from a home no less respectable than Florence’s own father had been born and brought up in before he made the family a fortune by manufacturing dyes.

“What exactly would you need of me?” she asked cautiously. “It’s just that I don’t have a maid with me to chaperone us.”

Triumph rippled over his face. “You won’t need a chaperone. I’m not suggesting we vanish into an hotel. All you need do is walk along the street with me, and if necessary, pretend to be absorbed in shop windows so our backs are to any passers-by. Just like that gaggle of hens are over there.”

Florence glanced to where her sister, Cordelia, or as she was known since marriage, Lady Griggs, Baroness of Goreswarth, was currently peering through the window of Lewis’ department store among a huddle of women captivated by the new hats on display. Her mother-in-law, Violet, Lady Griggs – so called for being the mother of Lord Griggs, fifth Baron of Goreswarth, and part of the reason Florence was certain she would never understand the British aristocracy – was gesturing to the window with extensive hand flourishes and almost knocking the hats off other women in the crowd. Neither of them had noticed Florence had been accosted by a stranger. As she watched, they simply upped and vanished into the store without even alerting her to the fact.

“Well, that’s charming!” she exclaimed.

She was filled with exasperation at being forgotten so easily, but it would give her the opportunity to slip away. The Griggs women were highly unlikely to emerge before an hour was up so her absence would not be noticed.

Hats be darned! The morning had been dull as they had traipsed from shop to teashop to yet another shop. The afternoon promised to be more of the same. Florence drew herself up to her full height, little though that was, and lifted her chin.

“I’ll do it.” As his face lit, she held a hand up in warning. “But I won’t kiss you or let you put your hand about my waist. And I won’t go into any private rooms with you.”

He laughed, revealing a set of even white teeth that were nicer than she would expect from a man of his station. Small lines appeared at the side of his mouth and at the corner of each eye, and Florence found herself smiling back in response.

“Those are acceptable terms,” he said. “An arm though is perfectly respectable. If we stride along side by side, we’ll look like we’re having a lovers’ quarrel.”

He offered his arm again and this time Florence slipped her hand through it, resting her fingers lightly on his forearm.

“You recited your mamma’s lessons in how to guard your reputation perfectly,” the man murmured as they strolled through the crowds of Market Street and turned into Ranelagh Street. “She will be proud at how well you absorbed them.”

Florence’s muscles clenched, stomach tightening. Her companion must have sensed the change in her demeanour, or perhaps her hand had inadvertently clutched his sleeve tighter, because he looked at her earnestly.

“Did I say something wrong?”