Page 29 of My Fair Lord

“Miss, don’t,” Alfie muttered.

“Who in the Devil’s name are you?” Clarke spat.

“I am the woman who is taking your son to a place of safety where he will be treated with dignity,” Florence said firmly.

“Is this your doing?” Alfie’s father rounded on Blake. “Got some interfering lady philanthropist involved in my affairs? I’ll beat you to a pulp and piss on what’s left.”

Blake stood taller, his frame somehow becoming larger in readiness. If Florence didn’t intervene, she was certain there would be a public fight.

“You will do no such thing!” she exclaimed.

Both men looked at her, their faces bearing almost identical expressions of incredulity that she had spoken.

She took a step closer to Clarke, a small part of her wondering what on earth she was doing. “What I mean is Mr Blake has bested you once and he could easily do it again. If I had my horsewhip, I’d thrash you myself for mistreating your child!”

“Miss Wakechild, I think you should leave now,” Blake said. He put one hand on her upper arm, the other around her back in a gesture of protection. Usually, she would baulk at such unwanted intimacy but it was so tender that she forgave him.

“We are all leaving,” she answered. She took Alfie by the hand then turned to his father.

“You don’t deserve a child. Alfie does not deserve a father like you. I’m taking him somewhere safe and you will not stop me.”

Mr Clarke didn’t move. “I want paying for him. I’ve raised him since his mam ran off.”

Florence whipped out her purse and flung a sovereign onto the pavement, which Clarke immediately dived for.

“Be thankful I’m not informing the police. Come along, Alfie. Mr Blake, if you will…”

She held her arm out. Blake looped his through. The three of them walked away. By the time they turned the street, Florence’s legs were shaking and she was glad of Blake’s arm to lean on. He didn’t say a word as they walked, but his thumb moved over her arm in comforting circles. Alfie, on the other hand, looked jubilant and kept giving her admiring glances.

Dottie was waiting at the door, flirting with the porter.

“Take your brother upstairs,” Florence instructed, passing Alfie’s hand to Dottie’s. Only when they had disappeared inside did she feel her knees beginning to tremble.

Blake turned to face her. “Miss Wakechild, do you need me to take you inside? You are pale.”

She shook her head and smiled at him. He didn’t return it.

“What you did and said back there was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. I can’t decide which, so I’m inclined to say both equally. Are you always so reckless?” He glared at her, clearly angry. She felt affronted but recalled the way he had stepped to her side protectively and put his arm around her, and her indignation ebbed.

“It was my recklessness which made me agree to help you. Twice, in fact. It was recklessness which made me offer you my proposition. If you find that is too reckless, then we can end our association now.” She gave him a little smile. “Though I would much rather not.”

He blew out a long breath and stared into the distance before looking back at her with a smile.

“I had better continue it, if only to protect you from your own actions!”

She smiled back. “Good. In that case, be ready to leave for Cheshire and prepare to work hard. From what I know of you, we have a lot of work to do!”

* * *

It was with higher spirits than she initially imagined possible, that Florence bade farewell to her father as they parted on the steps of the hotel.

“We will see you again in a few weeks,” she said, kissing his cheek affectionately. “Go have fun making new business connections while we while the days away in the countryside.”

“You really don’t mind too much?” Clayton asked. “I know you wanted to see some more of the country before we returned to the North. It’s good of you to submit to such disappointment so easily.”

“Oh I’m sure I’ll find plenty to occupy myself,” Florence said, hiding her smile as she hugged him.

A day later, she was settled in the newest wing of Goreswarth Chase in a small and comfortable bedroom, though even that was old enough that the room had genuine oak beams crossing the ceiling and floorboards that squeaked when she clambered into bed.