Page 10 of My Fair Lord

“Do you think perhaps you should tell a little less truth, my dear? It can be unkind at times. Your brother would be hurt to hear you compare yourself to him.”

But Cordelia would presumably not be hurt by their father’s comparison and judgement on her intelligence, Florence thought darkly. As far as Clayton would see it, Cordelia was a mere woman and wasn’t expected to feel as deeply as a man when it came to pride. Florence veered between affection for her father and exasperation at him. She breathed in slowly and counted to five, reminding herself that he couldn’t help his old-fashioned attitudes.

She reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek. He was wearing whiskers and they suited him. She stood back a little and regarded him with an analytical eye. At fifty-three he was still good-looking, with a full head of chestnut hair that was only receding slightly at the temples, and a twinkle in his hazel eyes.

“Do you know, Daddy, perhaps it’s not me who should be looking for an aristocratic spouse, but you. You’re still closer to fifty than sixty and you’re very handsome. I bet there are twenty or thirty titled daughters who would gladly marry you.”

Clayton’s mouth twisted down. “No, thank you very much! I’ve always found it distasteful in the least to see a couple walking arm and arm and not know whether I should congratulate a fellow on his wife’s or daughter’s beauty. I’m perfectly content being an old widower and since your poor mother’s death, I have no urge to replace her.”

Florence walked to the window and stared out. There was still a handful of men and women lingering by the side of the road. They had not given up hope of finding employment today. One figure in particular caught her eye and she felt a spasm of excitement.

“Mr Blake,” she murmured to herself.

“What did you say?” her father enquired.

“Oh nothing.”

Blake had been inside the same building she was in; she was sure of it. She wondered what he had been doing there. Possibly looking for work himself. Or was this where he was delivering his mysterious item? She peered down as he walked across the road, swinging his arms jauntily. As he reached the other side of the street, he turned back and looked up at the building. Florence thought for one moment that he knew she was there, but his gaze was levelled at a floor lower down.

“Who else has offices in this building?” she asked.

Her father shrugged. “I don’t know them all. Mainly shipping companies, or those who use them frequently, such as Mr Seachie. The harbour master has an office on the ground floor. In fact, there are a couple of men I need to go down and pay a visit to. Van Hoon on the fourth floor and Kettering on the second. Why are you interested?”

Florence looked down again. Mr Blake was still standing where she had spotted him, looking up intently. She felt a blush creep around her throat and across her bosom.

“Just curiosity,” she answered.

“Well, my dear,” her father said, “as much as I am delighted you came to visit me, I have work to do. Let me accompany you down the elevator to the lobby. I’ll hire you a cab to take you back to the hotel.”

“Oh there’s really no need,” Florence replied. “It’s only a few blocks. I am sure I can find my way.”

Her father put her arm under his. “I have no doubt that you can find your way, but I would like to see you being safe. With rough men and women standing outside the building, I would be fearful for your well-being. They’re all so ragged-looking.”

Florence hid her disdain at her father’s assessment. The crowds of would-be workers were plainly dressed and some were in clothes that had clearly seen better days – or years – but there was nothing to suggest they were dishonest. The atmosphere in the pub had been quite welcoming in fact.

“Daddy, just because those people are working men and women does not mean they are untrustworthy, but if it makes you happy, I’ll let you find me a cab.”

“You will indeed. Aside from your safety, we have a reputation to uphold. I won’t have it said that Clayton Wakechild’s daughter had to walk through the streets.”

Florence hid a smile. If only her father knew what she had been getting up to earlier in the day, he would have a fit! It made the adventure seem all the more thrilling.

She waited patiently in the lobby while her father instructed the doorman to summon a cab. Before they parted, her father kissed her cheek.

“Promise me you will be on your best behaviour tomorrow night and you won’t make any ill-advised comments regarding working conditions or social improvements. It was very good indeed of Lord Griggs to get us all tickets to the ball and this may very well be the chance that we need to enter you into society.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “There will be at least seven men with titles attending from what I have managed to discover.”

Florence’s heart sunk. The ball hosted by the Earl of Merseyside was the sole reason for them staying in Liverpool this week before journeying on to Leamington Spa. She had a beautiful dress that had cost a small fortune, but which made her feel like the centrepiece of a banqueting table. She would rather have traded it for her nightgown, peignoir and a good book, but there was no escaping the event and it meant so much to her father.

“I can’t wait to go,” she lied. “I’ll dance with every old duke I can and listen to all the boring earls talking about racehorses and the stuffed fox heads they have lying around their castles, and make them all fall in love with me.”

She tried not to giggle at the shock on her father’s face, well aware that he didn’t find her flippancy amusing. He gave her one of his few severe looks.

“Florence, you heard the conversation regarding finances not fifteen minutes ago. This trip to England has cost me a small fortune and I expect you to take every opportunity that comes your way to enter the highest society. We will find you a husband among the aristocracy, be sure of it.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour and take every opportunity,” Florence said.And I’ll make sure your investment pays dividends, she very much did not add aloud.

She swept out of the building and into the waiting cab. She risked a glance to the side, but Mr Blake had gone.

Back in her private sitting room in the Midland Adelphi Hotel, she ordered a pot of coffee with cream and a slice of coffee cake. There was over a day before the ball and she was sure that by then she would have walked off the cake well enough to be able to fit into her tightly laced dress. She must have lost weight this afternoon practically running through the streets at Mr Blake’s side.