Page 38 of My Fair Lord

“We?” Florence wrinkled her brow.

Mr Blake stopped the fork twisting. The side of his eyes tightened, then he smiled up at Florence and the tension was gone.

“I am trying to remember the role I will be playing. A viscount such as I am pretending to be would say ‘we’, wouldn’t he.”

“Of course.” Florence walked to the dining table and straightened the cloche over a serving dish. “Though I’m not sure a viscount would hold such views.”

Ned grimaced. “Probably not. No one likes to be confronted with the arbitrariness of their luck, and there are many noblemen who see it as their right, without acknowledging any responsibility. Isn’t that the point you are trying to make? I shall do my best to conceal my opinions and stick to talking about the weather and the fashion in cravats.”

He smiled but it didn’t look as though it was wholehearted.

“Are you nervous about the dinner?” Florence asked, coming to sit beside him. “You shouldn’t be. You’re doing exceedingly well and I am sure nothing in your manner will let you down. Why, I am quite convinced Lord Stretford will have nothing on you when it comes to manners. You look as dashing as I remember him looking the night of the ball.”

Mr Blake cocked an eyebrow. Florence bit her lip, not having meant to be so forward. She remembered Lord Stretford’s appearance being good, coupled with the sense of dancing in his arms being quite pleasurable. Now she found herself wondering what it would be like to dance with Mr Blake.

That was something they hadn’t really touched upon yet, but it was possible that Twemlow would pick a country house dance or ball of some sort for the location of the deception. He’d promised it wouldn’t be a very public arena. It was something she would have to rectify as soon as her mind was able to concentrate on it, which would not be until after the visit was over. For the rest of the day, she would have to practise the piano and singing so that she did not embarrass herself when Lord Stretford inevitably asked her to provide some entertainment. The honourable Minerva had an excellent singing voice by all accounts.

“Mr Blake, the afternoon is your own,” she said once they had finished their real lunch. “I’m afraid I shall be secluded away in the music room.”

“You sound delighted at the prospect,” he remarked, raising a brow.

“I do love playing, but only to entertain myself. I dislike an audience. The kind of pieces I enjoy are not necessarily what I would choose to play in company.”

Mr Blake’s eyes glittered. “I’m intrigued!”

“Don’t be. I made it sound much more interesting than it really is. I just enjoy the gloomier Beethoven to the pretty melodies of Mozart. My father says it isn’t very ladylike.” She stopped and gave a little cough, aware she had been talking too much.

“Anyway, I shall see you later. You may do as you like. Read, go for walks, explore the village.”

Florence was unaware what Mr Blake did with his time but she spent the afternoon in Cordelia’s music salon, learning how to play the music for two sonatas by Mozart and two country dances, which, Cordelia assured her before departing to organise the Rose Queen procession, Lord Stretford would enjoy hearing. It was a nicer afternoon than she anticipated, with a gentle breeze blowing through the open window and a pot of tea at her side. Once she was sure she could play all the pieces skilfully enough to accept compliments without growing bashful, she threw caution to the wind and let her fingers find the opening notes Beethoven’s fifth concerto. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a sheet of music. Once she had a melody in her head, she rarely forgot it. She played it twice then moved on to the slow, ponderous first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, closing her eyes and letting the sound lull her senses. She lost herself so deeply in the music that the sound of the bell for afternoon tea took her by surprise.

As she left the room, a voice muttering to itself caught her attention as she passed by the door to the billiards room. Mr Blake was in the room alone. He appeared to be halfway through a game against himself. He was standing with his back to the door but turned as she peered inside.

“Lord Griggs very graciously said I was free to use the table whenever I liked,” he said. “Does he spend his evenings playing in here while his wife serenades him from next door? How charming.”

Florence’s stomach tightened thinking that she had been overheard indulging herself. “You heard me?”

“The windows are both open and it’s impossible to play Beethoven quietly. Nor should you.”

“Do you know who Beethoven is?” she asked, walking further into the room. It smelled of Twemlow’s tobacco, slightly of port, and now of whatever cologne Mr Blake was wearing. A very masculine, attractive mixture.

He leaned against his billiard cue. “Of course. That is, I am not just a music hall man.”

“Oh! I’m afraid I did not imagine you being a musical man of any sort. I’m sorry, I really should not assume anything. You have hidden depths, and every now and then I get a tantalising glimpse inside your head.”

He laughed and lined up another shot that looked impossible, but when he struck the ball, it hit another that somehow skirted around a third and into a pocket that Florence had not expected.

“Bravo!” she exclaimed. “Are you a conjurer as well? Is there anything you can’t do?” Florence walked closer to him, enjoying the way his eyes flickered as she grew closer.

“There are plenty of things I can’t do.”

“Do you dance? That is, can you dance?” Florence dropped her eyes. “It’s something we haven’t practised and when I was thinking of Lord Stretford before, I remembered the ball. Then I thought that my brother-in-law might choose somewhere with dancing as the scene.”

“I can dance a little, but I suppose that is something we should consider,” Mr Blake said.

“Perhaps when Lord Stretford has left that can be something we could work on,” Florence said.

Their eyes met. Mr Blake inclined his head. “I would be delighted.”