Page 12 of My Fair Lord

Florence glanced over to where the baronet was now standing. Her eyes met his and he lifted his head slightly so that he appeared to be looking down his nose at her. He turned away without acknowledging the contact. Florence flushed with anger.

“Absolutely not. I’m sure Mother wouldn’t want to think of any of us demeaning ourselves to try to curry favour with relatives who barely acknowledged her. Did Sir whatever-his-name-was even send a card of condolence when she died?”

As the words left her mouth, she realised she’d been too blunt. She reached for her father’s hand and pressed it tightly.

“I don’t recall,” Clayton said softly. “There were some cards from England.”

“I know there were, Daddy.” Florence hadn’t realised at the time, being too young and grief-stricken, but when she had found them a few years earlier, she had discovered that the only cards from her mother’s homeland had been from friends not family. It made Clayton’s determination to marry his daughters into the aristocracy that had rejected their mother all the more incomprehensible to Florence.

“Well, I’m very pleased that you had such a nice chat with him, Daddy,” she said kindly. “I’ll bet there are lots of interesting people you could talk to about business so don’t worry about seeking him out again.”

She kissed his cheek and went straight to the ladies’ sitting room where her sister was taking a cup of punch. Cordelia waved.

“How goes it? Have you been proposed to yet?”

“No, but I think I’ve managed to prevent Daddy from making a huge social faux pas by inviting a baronet to tea.”

Cordelia winced.

“Goodness me.” Florence sighed, dropping carefully onto a comfortable chair and glancing at the clock on the mantlepiece. “It’s only ten. We can’t leave for another hour. I don’t think I’ll be able to hide in here for that long.”

“Florence, you really have to get over this aversion to fun,” Cordelia said with an eye roll. “You certainly can’t hide here all evening either. Papa is counting on you to meet someone at one of these events.”

“I’m not averse to having fun. I just don’t find crowded places fun. Everything is too loud, for one thing. The music from the quartet competes against the conversations and they all conspire to wage war against my ears and brain.” Florence fanned herself rapidly. “Why do people have to talk when they dance? Isn’t it enough to enjoy the music and the feelings? Do you remember when I was twelve and Daddy threw a surprise party for me? I cried, and everyone was so kind, but I knew really no one understood why I hated it. I would much rather have gone to a tea room and had cakes with a few friends.”

“Yes, I remember,” Cordelia said. “You ended up running out and going into the garden to pick flowers. Miss Franklin was going to be cross with you until she saw how neatly you had arranged them all in rows according to size on the veranda. You were a strange child.”

“I don’t suppose I’d be allowed to go arrange flowers now,” Florence said wistfully. She examined her dance card. “Viscount Sheernall is next, which will please Daddy, though he’s not for another two dances. Then a Mr W. Van Hoon. I’ve danced with his father already. He kept looking down as if he were trying to see down the front of my dress.”

“He probably was.” Cordelia giggled. “Men either like breasts or rears, according to Twemlow. Speaking of whom, I’m going to go find him in the refreshment room. We’re allowed to dance together occasionally and I don’t want to miss the opportunity. Come with me and see if there is any rose blancmange left. It’s quite sublime.”

The sisters walked arm in arm between rooms. From the back of the refreshment room, Lord Griggs raised his glass at the women and Cordelia waved her fingers, her smile widening.

“You really like Twemlow, don’t you?” Florence commented, seeing her sister’s eyes light up at the sight of Lord Griggs weaving his way towards them.

“Yes, I’d go so far as to say I almost love him. I’m very lucky. I don’t think Father would have made me marry him if I’d hated him on sight, but I was very relieved to discover how well we get on.” Cordelia turned to her sister. “He won’t make you marry a man you detest either. He won’t let you be miserable or mistreated. He wants you to be happy.”

“He wants me to marry someone he can brag about back home and whose name will open doors,” Florence muttered. “The higher up the ranks of the peerage, the better.”

“Well, you’re prettier than me and cleverer so you should aim higher than a baron,” Cordelia whispered as her husband sauntered towards them. “Though not too high or I’ll be jealous. You’re the prettiest girl in the room by far. Certainly one of the richest. And I’d love for you to find a husband who lives in the North so we aren’t too far away.”

“That’s about the only thing which makes the idea tolerable,” Florence replied.

“I’m going to steal my wife for a dance,” Lord Griggs said. “Will you be alright here, Florence? It isn’t really done for young ladies to be left alone but rules are so often relaxed that barely anyone would comment, and if they do, I’ll throw down the glove and shoot them.”

Florence laughed. “Of course I will. If anyone looks at me askance, I shall go stand close to a group and pretend I’ve been momentarily edged out.”

Cordelia kissed her cheek and walked off arm in arm with her husband. Florence turned her attention to the table laden with cold cuts and sandwiches. She wasn’t hungry but a glass of champagne was tempting so she edged her way through the groups of guests to one of the waiters who stood by the table. He was side-on, so she didn’t recognise him. He turned on her approach, as if alerted to her presence, and she found herself face to face once again with Mr Blake.

At first, she didn’t believe it was him. He was smartly dressed in the uniform worn by the other staff. His hair looked darker and was slicked back with pomade, and he was clean-shaven. She raised her eyes to meet his and was delighted to see he looked as astonished as she was.

“Mr Blake, you are the last person I would expect to meet! You aren’t a waiter. What are you doing here? Are you evading somebody else? Did you dash in here in search of another woman to whisk away to help you on your adventures?”

She was feeling flustered, aware she was talking too much and all of it nonsense. She was growing hot and by now there must be a fully scarlet blush spreading across her entire chest, neck, and face. She stopped talking but gave a nervous giggle that made her want to curl up in embarrassment.

“Miss Wakechild! Good evening. How delightful to meet you again.”

Mr Blake plucked a champagne bottle from an ice bucket and poured it with an extravagant flourish. “Would you care for a glass of champagne?”