Page 43 of My Fair Lord

“Isn’t it typical that men always think it must be about a man? Why can’t I dislike the idea for myself?” Miss Wakechild put her cup down and crossed her arms irritably. “Why would I want to spend my life as someone’s wife when I could be my own mistress? I’ve never met anyone I’m prepared to give up my independence for. My mother hoped I would be my own woman. I remember her as a fiercely intelligent woman. She read everything she could lay her hands on, devoured the writings of Susan B. Anthony. She was firmly in favour of female suffrage. As I am.”

“Being a wife doesn’t mean you can’t be in favour of that, or that you can’t read improving books,” Ned pointed out.

“I don’t want to just read them; I want to put the ideas into practice. I want to make a difference and I can’t do that if I’m a wife.” She’d begun to wave her arms as she spoke. Now she took a breath and dropped them to her side, the combination of which had the effect of lifting her bosom high in a truly magnificent manner. She took a slightly smaller breath and then fixed a smile on her face that looked well practised.

“I know I’m probably fighting against a tide I can’t turn back.”

“It depends on whose wife you become, doesn’t it?” Ned asked. “The mistress of an estate will have influence over the lives of hundreds of people if it’s big enough. Take this place, for instance; your sister could do such good as Lady Griggs. Think of the improvements she has made to this old house and imagine that extended to the lives of the tenants. Her involvement in the plans for the park is commendable, but she could be even more ambitious.”

“That’s what I tell her!” Miss Wakechild’s eyes gleamed and she walked to Ned’s side. “I know Lord Griggs would let her undertake any project she chooses. He cares about his servants and tenants and is very forward-thinking.”

“Well, there you go,” Ned said. “I can see you doing great works in the right place. You’re formidable. There are plenty of aristocrats who would be lucky to have you as chatelaine.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She gave a slight smile. “My sister has the sort of marriage that I could only wish for, but most women don’t find husbands so liberal. I have friends who are miserable with their husbands and have to ask for more than the most meagre pin money. Why would I risk that?”

Ned didn’t have an answer. She was right. Far too many women had been stymied by uncaring or small-minded husbands. His own mother had been. His throat filled with a lump, remembering her. If she had been able to choose freely – or choose not to choose at all – he had no doubt she would have been a happier woman.

It appeared his chastisement was over. Ned eyed the coffee pot and the scones.

“Miss Wakechild, shall I ring for a fresh pot of coffee for you?”

“Yes please.” Her eyes followed his, then flickered up and she gave a small smile. “And you may ask the maid to bring a cup for yourself as I have forgiven you.”

Ned rang the bell, gave his instructions, and walked to the window. He ran a finger along his jawline, probing the swelling that had started to reduce.

“I wish you had been honest with me from the start, Miss Wakechild.”

“Would it have made you take it any more seriously?” she asked.

“Of course it would. If I had known how important it was to you on a personal level…”

She walked to his side and tilted her head slightly back to stare into his eyes. She lifted a hand and he thought she was about to touch his face. His heart began to race in anticipation of her fingers touching him, but to his disappointment, she lowered it.

“Does your face hurt a great deal?”

“Not as much as my conscience,” he answered.

“I’m sure they will both heal in time,” Miss Wakechild said.

Her eyes crinkled. Despite her pale lashes, her eyes were remarkably striking. Ned smiled back. His heart sped up and he held his breath, not wanting to spoil the moment.

The maid spoiled it for him by arriving with a tray of coffee. She went to put it down on the table, realised there wasn’t space beside the one already there, and began to dither.

“Let me help you,” Ned said. He lifted the superfluous tray while she put the first one down, then handed it to her. She bobbed a curtsey and blushed. She was still bobbing as she backed out of the room.

“I don’t think a viscount would have done that,” Miss Wakechild remarked with amusement.

Ned raised a brow. “Maybe if more of them did, they would be less insufferable.”

“What would you do if you did have an estate to manage?” Miss Wakechild asked. “If you woke up tomorrow and found you had become a viscount.”

“What a dreadful thought.” Ned looked down at the coffee pot then up at Miss Wakechild. She looked a little taken aback at his answer. “I’d build a park full of statues of myself and create a huge fishing lake in the middle,” he replied, giving her a wide smile.

“Be serious,” she scolded gently.

“I’d invest in the businesses my tenants run. Research new methods of production. Possibly see if a railway branch line could be added. I believe transportation is going to be crucial to financial success.” He stopped, slightly taken aback at how easily his answers had come. “Of course, I wouldn’t know the first thing about managing one. I’d have to employ an excellent estate manager before I did anything else.”

He poured the coffee and handed Miss Wakechild her cup and took his own back to the chair. “That’s the thing, you see, Miss Wakechild. An heir to an estate is trained practically from birth in what it entails. Anyone thrust into the role without notice would find it a daunting prospect. I’d pity him.”