Page 22 of My Fair Lord

“Iceni? I’m not familiar with that family. Were they at the ball?” Clayton waved a hand dismissively. “Whether or not Lord Stretford knows them, he’s from a very old family not too far from Manchester. You would be quite close to Cordelia. That would be nice for you both. When you go stay with her, we should arrange a meeting between you and he for a day.”

Florence had intended to reprimand her father for his dreadful lack of historical knowledge, but it went completely out of her mind upon hearing the plan. Her expression must have revealed something of her state of mind because Cordelia patted her arm.

“That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Cordelia asked.

“I believe Manchester is very industrial, isn’t it?” Florence replied.

“Naturally the city itself is, though there are some lovely parklands surrounding it. Even so, we’ll have him visit us instead of you going there,” Twemlow said. “We can go fishing. A picnic by the river would be a pleasurable way to spend an afternoon, and perfect for courting.”

Florence’s hand tightened around her fork. “I don’t want to be courted. I meant, what exactly does he hope to use my dowry for? Does he have a job?”

Her father and sister exchanged a glance full of humour. “Of course he doesn’t have a job, he’s a viscount.”

“Yes, but Twemlow is heavily involved in his tenants’ mills and farms,” Florence pointed out.

“Probably more than their owners would like, if I’m perfectly honest. I think it’s a fine question for Florence to ask,” Twemlow said, giving her a smile. “I believe he breeds horses for steeplechase.”

Cordelia gave Florence a wicked grin of only the sort a sibling could manage. “There now. A horse breederanda member of the aristocracy. That’s a fine combination.”

“He seemed perfectly pleasant and he was good-looking enough, if you excuse his slightly reddened complexion. I imagine that’s because he spends all his days out of doors with his horses,” Twemlow said.

Clayton reached for his wine glass and smiled at Florence over the top. “Do you know, I think we should forego visiting Leamington Spa. I’ve a couple of men I could do with visiting in Lincolnshire and there is precious little to occupy you there. You should go straight to Goreswarth.”

“But we were going to go see the elephants in Leamington,” Florence protested in dismay. Her whole family were in conspiracy against her and the room began to feel stifling.

Clayton looked at her over the top of his spectacles, shaking his head slightly.

“The elephants can wait. We need to strike while the iron is hot with Lord Stretford. I think the matter could be quite settled in a few weeks. We could even extend our visit long enough to see you married before autumn and spare us the inconvenience of returning to America and back again.”

“No!” The thought of not returning home and seeing her friends, but instead being married off to a stranger, sent shudders of trepidation through her limbs. Her stomach felt both tight and empty at the same time. Her throat began to tighten. In a moment, she knew her eyes would begin to tickle and then she would cry.

“I don’t even remember a conversation with him other than the one I mentioned. I absolutely cannot marry a man I don’t even know!” she exclaimed.

“Lower your voice,” Clayton commanded in a discreet hiss. He laid his fork down and glared at her. “I absolutely will not stand for your continued obstinacy. If I find the viscount agreeable, then there is no reason you shouldn’t.”

“Daddy, please, don’t make such an important decision for me,” Florence begged. She was mindful enough to keep her voice to a low whisper but hoped he would hear the urgency in her tone and realise how important this was to her.

“I will consult you once you have made any sort of effort to become acquainted with the viscount, but I am not going to let this opportunity slip through our fingers,” Clayton said. “I think we shall leave Liverpool the day after tomorrow. I’ll inform the manager first thing in the morning that tomorrow will be our last night here.”

Florence dropped her head. She got her obstinacy and single-mindedness from her father and knew that once he’d made his mind up, he rarely, if ever, changed it. She toyed with her food for the remainder of the meal, her appetite completely gone.

The need to get Mr Blake to agree to her plan had intensified. The trouble was, she could no longer wait for him to return to keep their appointment. She would have to brave the streets of Liverpool and seek him out in person, which would mean returning to the Admiral Nelson pub.

As her maid helped her dress for bed that evening Florence smiled sweetly.

“Dottie, how would you like to come with me tomorrow to see a little more of the city? We’ll go buy some cakes while we’re out.”

Dottie readily agreed. Florence twisted the ends of her hair around her fingers and smiled at her reflection. At least her father couldn’t fault her for going unchaperoned.

ChapterSeven

When Ned visited the Admiral Nelson the morning after meeting Miss Wakechild, Alfie was sitting in the corner of the pub as usual. He looked up when Ned approached him and gave a weak wave. Ned stopped short, horror-struck. Alfie’s face was a mess of cuts and bruises.

“Who did this to you?”

Alfie shrugged and dropped his head. “Who d’you think?”

Ned grew hot to the bones, filled with incandescent rage. Alfie’s father of course. He sat on a stool beside the child and gently lifted Alfie’s chin. Alfie’s dad was close to fifty and had sired more children on a succession of unfortunate wives than a tomcat. He was a large man who wore brass rings on three of his fingers, which were responsible for the wounds.