Page 20 of My Fair Lord

Ned flipped it open to discover the author was a nameless “Member of the Aristocracy” and this was the fifteenth edition. He had never seen such a thing in his life and had to make quite an effort not to burst out laughing when he saw the earnest look on her face.

“There are so many different rules and points of etiquette. The order of precedence going into dinner, how to address the younger son of an earl, why my sister’s mother-in-law is Lady Violet Griggs, not Lady Griggs. My goodness, it’s fascinating. I read it in one night and was late to breakfast the next morning.”

Ned threw his head back and laughed. “It’s confusing, I’ll admit. Manners can be learned and anyone with a memory can remember how to address a person, but I can’t pretend to have acres of land and a deer park, or an old hunting lodge.”

She shrugged. “We have a grand house already back home. What would I do with those? Take my sister and her husband, for example. He has a rambling old house in a fairly passable area of Cheshire but the whole thing was on the brink of rack and ruin before he married Cordelia. Why, just to have a bath required an hour’s preparation and half a dozen poor maids carrying pails of water while she waited and shivered.”

“So your criticism against the nobility is that they have cold houses,” Ned joked.

She sat up straight and eyed him strictly. “No, my criticism is that despite having decades—centuries in fact—of influence, what does it amount to? Surrounding old houses with great swathes of land which, from what I understand, barely bring in enough revenue to subsist on in terms of agriculture. The only thing these people have over the rest of us is that they have been in possession of the land and the titles for longer. Why does that automatically entitle them to more respect? What makes a baron better? What gives more value to a viscount?”

“What makes a duke desirable?” Ned interjected.

“Yes!” She smiled. “Also that’s very funny. So, will you do it?”

Ned sucked his teeth. He had no other obligations and he’d be paid for it. The role itself would be easy enough but there would be implications concerning which event she named. He couldn’t appear at a race meeting or a ball, for example, but a house party could be manageable.

“Give me two days to think on it and decide my terms, if I decide to take your commission. I’ll send a message to you here.”

“I’ve enjoyed your company. Come in person,” Miss Wakechild said. “I’ll give you my card. Shall we say two-thirty in my suite two days from now? My sister can be there so there is no concern over being unchaperoned.”

She gave him a card from a little silver case and he slipped it into his breast pocket.

“Thank you for a very diverting afternoon,” he said, taking her hand.

“Thank you for approving of my scheme,” she said.

“I haven’t yet,” he pointed out.

He left her sitting there. He turned back at the doorway, but she was already deeply engrossed in her book. It was very tempting to turn back and agree on the spot, not least because it would mean spending time in the company of Miss Wakechild.

* * *

Once Mr Blake had departed, Cordelia and Twemlow left the table where they had been sitting, partially masked by a large potted fern, and joined Florence.

“Well?” Florence asked. “What do you think? He seemed interested in the idea and I didn’t even talk specifics regarding a fee.”

“He didn’t? Are you sure he isn’t a confidence trickster?” Cordelia asked.

“Unlikely,” Twemlow said. “More likely he jumped at the chance to spend time with a charming young lady and get paid for it. Very sensible.”

Florence blushed. “Do you think he could pass as a viscount?”

“He needs a haircut and he’d suit a pair of whiskers, but he’s got a good figure and an aristocratic profile,” Twemlow said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of his grandparents or great-grandparents was a marquis’ by-blow. What do you know of his family?”

“Nothing,” Florence said. “When you say ‘by-blow’ you mean an illegitimate child, don’t you?”

“That’s right. There must be hundreds of people out there with a little blue blood thanks to an indelicate dalliance with the lord of the manor. That’s how half the nobility got started if you think about it. Royal bastards, you know.”

Cordelia coughed meaningfully and gave Twemlow a stern look. “Florence, are you sure you need to go to all this trouble when you could just ask my husband to open his mouth and prove his complete lack of breeding?”

Twemlow winked at Florence. “Your way seems much more fun. He seems a good choice. Once he’s dressed appropriately, he will certainly look the part.”

“Having seen him, I’m very tempted to come in on your side rather than remaining neutral. His accent is intriguing. Not at all local to this area but I can’t place it. Perhaps Twemlow can enlighten us.”

Twemlow shrugged. “Northern of some sort. Couldn’t say whether it’s Cumbrian or Yorkshire.”

He helped himself to the last crumpet, much to Florence’s annoyance. Cordelia smoothly moved the teapot out of his reach.