Page 39 of My Fair Lord

“Will you really? You say that about meeting Lord Stretford too, but I think you didn’t sound certain.”

He smiled, though she noticed his eyes glinted and the edges tightened.

“What else is there to know about you, Mr Blake?” she asked, pushing on even though a little voice at the back of her head told her to stop. “I know so little about your past.”

Mr Blake turned back to the table and potted a ball smoothly into the furthest pocket before turning back to her, leaning against the edge of the billiard table.

“How much do you know about any of your employees, Miss Wakechild? What is Dottie’s favourite colour, for example? Does that excellent chef have a good singing voice? How many of the workers in your father’s factory prefer raspberry jam to gooseberry? I am here because I’m paid to do a job and I’m doing it. You don’t need to know everything about me.”

“Dottie likes lemon yellow, actually,” Florence snapped. Mr Blake took a step toward her but she waved a hand to ward him off. She walked to the pocket he had sent the ball into and retrieved it, giving her an opportunity to collect her thoughts.

“I may not know my employees’ favourite flavours of jelly, but I always take a reference or resume. Perhaps I should have done the same for you.”

She put the ball back on the baize and walked past Mr Blake to the doorway. “I’ll leave you to your game. Good afternoon.”

“Don’t go,” Mr Blake said quietly.

Florence paused and half turned back to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m quite a private person and not used to my clients taking an interest in me personally. Usually they are only concerned with what service I can provide and how quickly I can complete it. There’s really very little to know about me. I am partial to rhubarb jam and I can’t hold a note in a bucket.”

Florence smiled, feeling it was still a little forced but appreciating his attempt at reconciliation.

“Thank you, I appreciate your apology and your understanding. I will still leave you to your own devices as I was on my way to take tea with Lady Griggs before I stopped in here.”

He nodded and Florence turned away, then back again immediately.

“It’s hard to think of you as just an employee when we’re spending so much time together. I shouldn’t let myself forget that. I’ll do my best not to from now on.”

She’d lost her appetite for sandwiches so made her apologies to Cordelia and went back to her room. Tears of humiliation sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away and pressed her lips together tightly. Mr Blake had been right to chastise her nosiness. It was her fault for not looking more closely into his background but inviting him into her rash scheme without care and attention. Now she had gone too far to go back. He was an employee not a friend. However curious she got, she would refrain from questioning him about anything personal. She was his client. Their relationship was purely business, and she must not forget that.

So why did every moment spent in his company feel like the best part of every day?

* * *

The morning of the fair was overcast. By the time Florence and Mr Blake watched the pretty fifteen-year-old daughter of Goreswarth’s doctor crowned Rose Queen by Twemlow, the sun was poking through the clouds, though it was still chilly. Florence was glad her muslin dress had a matching peach lace shawl with fringed edges to add a little warmth. To the sound of church bells pealing, Maisie Collins and her Rose Squire, Ollie Beadsley, walked onto the ivy- and rose-festooned pontoon in the centre of the village pond followed by a progression of sweet young children. The servants of Goreswarth Chase had been given the day as a holiday to attend the fair, so, to loud cheers, Twemlow and Cordelia as Baron and Baroness Goreswarth took their places in the tableau. The pontoon had been securely tied to submerged stakes at each corner and there was little to no chance of that capsizing, but all the same, Florence had to giggle at the nervous expression on her sister’s face.

“She doesn’t like being on water,” she explained to Mr Blake as they joined the fairgoers in throwing rose petals and stems onto the pond, trying to land them on the platform. “When we first left New York, she didn’t leave her cabin for the entire journey and she declared that she would marry whoever father picked for her, if only she did not have to venture back on board for at least a year.”

“Do you feel the same?” Mr Blake asked.

“Absolutely not,” Florence declared. She paused, thinking. “Do you mean about sailing or husbands? If I have to marry, I won’t be choosing a husband on the basis of avoiding a steamship. If you mean being on water, I love sailing. I do believe if I ever have to live away from America, I shall be back and forth every four or five months just for the fun of crossing the ocean.”

“You sound so enthusiastic you are making me tempted to make the journey myself one day.”

“To America?”

Blake shrugged. “Perhaps to America. There’s a fortune to be made out there, as your father knows. A man can start afresh.”

He sounded wistful. No, not wistful exactly. Contemplative.

“What are you starting afresh from?” Florence asked. She held a hand up, reminding herself of her promise. “No, I’m sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to. Oh look! A swingboat! I’ve never been on one. Will you ride with me?”

Without waiting for his answer, she walked to the brightly-coloured frame of wooden boats and paid the twopenny fare to the boy holding the ropes of a spare boat. She and Blake climbed aboard, laughing as they sat opposite each other and bumped feet as they reached for the ropes.

“Not quite the sea, I’m afraid,” Mr Blake said as they swung wildly back and forth tugging on the ropes to propel them higher.

“It’s about as choppy,” Florence pointed out, clutching the end of her shawl with one hand lest it fly away. She felt quite light-headed as she got off and had to lean on Mr Blake to steady herself. He took her by the arm, gallantly letting himself bear her weight. She smiled up at him. They were friends again, as much as their relationship allowed.