Page 44 of My Fair Lord

“So would I,” Miss Wakechild said solemnly. “Lord Stretford and my brother-in-law were discussing the trials of finding good managers. My father had the same experience when he opened a second factory.”

Ned’s curiosity refused to be contained any longer. “Will you tell me how your visit with Lord Stretford went?”

Miss Wakechild lifted the coffee cup then put it back in the saucer, untouched. She pursed her lips before answering. That she had not immediately launched into fulsome praise of the viscount was good in Ned’s opinion, though he couldn’t work out why it mattered so much.

“It went well, I think. Lord Stretford seemed happy with his visit. His sister was pleasant. She got on with my sister terrifically, in fact. I think they are hoping to maintain an acquaintance whatever the outcome regarding the two of us.”

Miss Wakechild tailed off. She slumped back in her chair, looking weary and dropped her head. Ned sat on his chair, dragging it a little closer. He peered up at Miss Wakechild’s face.

“Miss Wakechild? Are you alright?” Ned asked in a gentle voice.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking. No one else has.”

“How didyoufind the visit? Did it make you happy?”

“I find company exhausting at times. Not physically. I’m not one of those women who swoons if I have to walk more than ten paces from the sofa but being entertaining does not come to me naturally.”

Her lips twitched into a brief smile that was gone almost before it started. Ned remembered the vibrant figure he had watched dancing with a series of partners in Liverpool.

“Don’t you enjoy going to parties and balls? You looked like you were thoroughly enjoying yourself when I saw you dancing at the Assembly Rooms.”

She twisted her fingers around the bow at the neck of her blouse. “You look like a viscount. Appearances can be deceptive.”

Ned nodded sympathetically as he listened to Miss Wakechild speak, wishing it was within his power to help her out of having to endure such encounters.

“If you have to force yourself to smile then it isn’t the right place,” Ned agreed. “What would you like to do?”

Miss Wakechild smiled again, cautiously but slightly more warmly. “I think most of all I would like to go to the Carnival in Venice. Then I could wear a mask and nobody would be able to see what I was really feeling.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice not to have to wear a mask and to be able to show what you’re feeling?” Ned asked.

“Yes, I suppose it would.” She sat a little straighter. “The problem is that what I am feeling or thinking is probably very boring to most men. I’m not very good at talking with people.”

Ned was growing quite astonished at her admissions. He had always believed her so confident and full of certainty. Seeing these doubts and her vulnerability was a revelation. He half wanted to wrap her in a blanket and hold her tight to protect her from a cruel world that did not appreciate her.

“Aren’t we talking now?” he asked.

“Yes, I suppose we are, but this is different. We are having a conversation. This is comfortable and I’m not expected to impress you. We are talking about a topic. But most men don’t want women to talk about topics. Just to make chat about the weather or food. Well, that’s my problem, you see, once I’ve run out of weather and food, my mind empties and all I can think of are topics. No man wants to be discussing the idea of universal suffrage while trying to waltz.”

She looked so downcast. She was right, of course, most men did not want a woman to be sharing – or even admitting to having – opinions. Truth be told, if Ned was dancing with Miss Wakechild, he would not want to be discussing anything. He’d be content simply gazing at her face and longing to see signs of enjoyment at being in his company.

It was then he decided that although he was her project, she was going to be his. He would teach her to flirt and laugh and dazzle. While she was transforming him, he would turn her into a belle capable of snaring any man alive. While he was at it, he could teach her a thing or two that might make marriage seem a more attractive prospect. He wondered if she had ever been kissed.

He cleared his throat. That line of speculation was a path he should most definitely avoid setting foot on.

“Miss Wakechild, I would like very much to help you prove your father wrong and help you win your bet. I offer my services with complete dedication to your cause and will not disappoint you again. Will you still have me?”

Her eyes narrowed then she sat up straight and gave him a dazzling smile that looked completely genuine and unforced.

“Mr Blake, I’ll have you.” She thrust out her hand. Ned took it and they shook. “We’ll begin again tomorrow.”

ChapterThirteen

Mr Blake appeared as good as his word and arrived promptly for the lesson the following morning. Florence met him in the music room. She had dressed in a gown that was more suitable for an evening than a morning and Mr Blake stopped in his tracks when he entered the room.

“Did I forget an instruction?” he asked, gesturing down at himself. He was wearing his morning suit. It fitted his figure perfectly, drawing attention to his slim build and long legs. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything suitable for a ball.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Florence said, walking to greet him and reminding herself to discuss acquiring one for him with Twemlow. That might give her a hint to the proposed location of the meeting with her father, as Twemlow had refused to be drawn on where he was planning to have the bet taking place.