Page 47 of My Fair Lord

Florence gasped. “Do you think there is something wrong? Are we ruined?”

“I don’t know. Read on,” Cordelia urged.

Suffice to say that I am deeply apologetic that I will not be able to visit you in Cheshire, Cordelia. Florence, my dear, I think it would be wise if you also curtail your visit and return home. I am aware of how unpleasant this news will be for you as you wish to tour more of the country. I can assure you that in the future I hope to bring you back here. I have not given up my hopes regarding your marriage and in fact my correspondence with Lord Stretford has been most favourable.

I am booked to depart from Southampton in three days from my time of writing so will have departed by the time you receive this. Cordelia, I have written separately to your husband entreating him to arrange passage for Florence and also for yourselves. She cannot return unaccompanied except for her maid. I know you have expressed a wish to return home on occasion and it is time your husband was granted the opportunity to see the country of his wife’s origin.

I remain your fondest father et cetera, et cetera.

“Cordelia, what do you think is wrong? Is it Ashley? If there are troubles at the factory, Father could just as easily leave it to him, so it must be Ashley.” She stood and began pacing to and fro. “This is too worrying. What if father is ill? What if Ashley is? We need to pack at once!”

She pictured her bedroom, neatly organised with books, sketchbooks and ornaments. It wouldn’t take more than an hour or two at most for Dottie to pack.

“Florence, you need to calm yourself.” Cordelia took her by the arms and shook her gently. “Let me speak with Twemlow and see if Papa has sent him any information that he didn’t want to trouble us with. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything from him, but we certainly won’t be leaving tomorrow. It will take at least a week to arrange passage, maybe longer depending on how many staterooms are available.”

Florence nodded, seeing the sense in her sister’s words.

Cordelia patted her cheek. “Florence dearest, I’m sure there is nothing too bad happening. Father sounds very pleased with you, and Lord Stretford is still a possibility for a husband. You won’t have seen the last of him.”

“I would happily have done so.” Florence drew a sharp breath. “Oh goodness! Oh this is too bad. We’ve worked so hard and now Daddy is not going to get to see our hard work with Mr Blake.”

She screwed her fist up, crushing the letter within. “I’m sure we would’ve won the wager too. I’ll have to speak to Twemlow and have it declared null and void. And what of Mr Blake? I’ll have to tell him and say goodbye.”

Her lips began to quiver with dismay. They had been making real progress since she had told Mr Blake the real reason and Florence had enjoyed the last three days more than almost all the previous ones she had spent in England. She wasn’t sure where Mr Blake was but there was no time like the present. She would not relish telling him they must part, but a painful thing would not grow less painful by leaving it.

Upon enquiry, it turned out both men had gone out together to practise archery on the butts behind the vegetable gardens. The vegetable garden was behind a high wall that had pear and apple trees espaliered all around the inside. A stray arrow flying over could hit a gardener and there would be all sorts of trouble.

Twemlow had just fired and hit the blue circle. Facing the targets, he and Mr Blake did not notice the women approaching across the lawn, so Florence and Cordelia were able to watch Mr Blake take aim and release his arrow. It landed directly in the middle of the bull’s-eye.

“Oh, well done!” Florence cried, beginning to applaud. The men turned, saw the women, and both smiled.

“Mr Blake, you are a regular Earl of Loxley aren’t you?” Florence said with a laugh.

He froze, his eyes suddenly wary.

“I mean Robin Hood,” Florence clarified. “He was the Earl of Loxley, wasn’t he?”

“Of course,” Ned said. “I wasn’t quite sure what you meant for a moment. Yes, he was. It’s quite rare to hear him being referred to by his title.”

“Now there’s a nobleman whom one could admire,” Cordelia said. “Giving to the poor, fighting against injustice and so on, all while being very dashing and romantic. Twemlow, you could learn something from him.”

“Robin Hood was a fiction,” Twemlow said.

“And he only did those deeds after he had lost his title,” Mr Blake pointed out. “Until then who knows what kind of earl he might have been had he not been dispossessed.”

“Very true,” Florence said, warming to the theme. “It’s the same conundrum. Was he good because of, or in spite of, his birth?”

Mr Blake gave her a smile. “Perhaps your father should seek to marry you to an outlaw.”

“Gosh, now I’m vexed again,” Florence said. “That’s why we’ve come out here. I had almost forgotten.”

“You’re getting married?” Mr Blake asked. His eyes widened and he took a step towards her. Was it Florence’s imagination or did he look disappointed?

“I am not,” Florence said.

“My dear, did you receive a letter from my father?” Cordelia asked Twemlow.

“Yes, I did.” Twemlow notched another arrow, closed one eye, and aimed. This time his arrow struck the centre of the target, close to Mr Blake’s. “I shall get straight onto the matter after lunch.”