Page 31 of My Fair Lord

“Wilikins, please have coffee sent to us.”

The butler shuffled obediently out.

“Mr Blake, you are much earlier than expected,” Cordelia said.

“Please accept my apologies, my lady. Just as I arrived at the railway station, I happened to see a mail coach coming in this direction and jumped aboard. From the town crossing where it dropped me, I then happened upon a farmer who was kind enough to let me ride with him in this direction. Once we parted, it was a simple matter of walking a couple of miles down a country lane, which was no trouble at all. Quite a pleasant way to spend the late morning, in fact.”

“I was going to come in the trap to meet you from the village,” Florence said. There was no reason for him to have known that, but she felt put out all the same that her plans had been changed.

“I’m sorry I deprived you of your excursion,” he said, giving her a smile that melted away her frustration. “My travelling trunk is stored in the post office in the town. Perhaps tomorrow we can take the trap out together and collect it. I’m quite an able driver.”

He addressed Cordelia once again. “My lady, I assume the farmer must be a tenant of yours, given that his holding borders this estate. A Mr Fent?”

Cordelia nodded. “Yes, he’s one of our tenants.”

“In that case, please would you allow me the liberty of passing on my regards to your husband on the manners and kindness of his tenants. He was a most gentlemanly fellow.”

Cordelia gave him a warm smile. “I wholeheartedly agree with your assessment of him; however, Lord Griggs can make no claim to be responsible for his existence. The Fent family have farmed this land almost as long as my husband’s family have held it. I believe there were Fents fighting alongside Griggses back in the English Civil War.”

“How strange,” Florence murmured. “Just imagine! Didn’t you say that the title was granted after a Griggs saved the life of one king’s illegitimate sons? Just imagine if one of Mr Fent’s ancestors had been there instead. Goreswarth Chase might now be owned by Baron Fent and you would be married to plain Mr Griggs, the farmer.”

Cordelia gave her a slightly sour look. “I hardly imagine I would be married to a farmer, though I admit it’s possible I may have become Lady Fent instead of Lady Griggs.”

Florence had obviously touched on a sensitive nerve. She smiled. “Well, in any case it makes my point, doesn’t it? An accident of birth or the actions of one’s ancestors are enough to change your family fortunes and convey a different path in life upon one’s descendants.”

She turned to Mr Blake, who had been standing silently during the conversation.

“When we create your family’s history, I think your title shall have been given because your ancestor rescued the favourite pet dog of Queen Anne from being trampled by a carriage.”

He gave a delighted laugh. “I can think of no finer service to perform for a queen.”

“You are both very foolish,” Cordelia said with a humorous sigh. She drummed her fingers on the table. “I don’t know where Wilikins has got to with the coffee. Mr Blake, let me summon a maid who can take you to your room. I imagine you will wish to bathe and change after walking for two miles.”

“Thank you, my lady, that would be welcome,” Mr Blake replied.

Once he had left the room, Cordelia turned to Florence with a wicked look on her face that made her look like the young girl she had once been.

“Very good legs indeed,” she whispered, a giggle edging her voice.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” Florence giggled. She grew warm inside. It was rare to find somebody who tolerated her sometimes eccentric train of thought. Good legs or not, she decided that she would very much enjoy teaching Mr Blake and was keen to begin as soon as possible.

ChapterNine

“May I introduce you to Julia, the Dowager Countess of Swan, and Lady Augusta Sugar, Marchioness of Fish. Now, of these two women, which one do you greet first and how?”

Miss Wakechild waved her hand towards the two cut-out paper dolls propped against the mirror. Hiding his amusement, Ned gave a smooth bow, first to the dowager countess and then to the marchioness. Miss Wakechild and Lady Griggs exchanged a smile of amusement at seeing a grown man greeting the dolls with such solemnity. Ned permitted himself to join in.

“Very good. You really are a quick learner.” Miss Wakechild consulted her book, pushing her spectacles up her nose as they slid forward. Ned’s fingers itched to take them from her face and adjust the temples so they fitted over her ears better.

It was true: they had spent only a week at Goreswarth Chase and already Ned was able to recite the correct introductions and draw up a list of who should go into dinner first and explain why. It was extremely tedious, but he’d spent enough time in polite society to be able to recall the etiquette. He was content to dance to Miss Wakechild’s tune because, despite the building itself being a ramshackle evolution of architecture from the time of Good Queen Bess to fifty years ago, Ned’s room in Goreswarth Chase was very comfortably furnished and Lord and Lady Griggs had an excellent chef.

Miss Wakechild selected three new paper dolls and held them out. Ned rubbed his eyes. There were harder ways of earning a living than tipping his hat at fashion cut-outs, but there were limits to his tolerance, and being tested by Miss Wakechild made him feel like a schoolboy being examined on his Latin. He decided this would be the last example for the afternoon.

“Now, we have the daughter of a viscount, the wife of a baronet, and the wife of a knight, who is also the daughter of an earl. Who should you greet first and why?”

“The daughter clearly,” Ned said with a grin. “Because she’s not yet married and therefore the other two women are of no interest to me, unless of course their husbands are old and gouty and the wives are young and pretty and bored.”

“Mr Blake, please be sensible!” Miss Wakechild exclaimed, waving her hands and making the paper dolls flutter. Her brows shot together. “We have to get this right!”