Page 48 of My Fair Lord

He strolled over to the target to retrieve the arrows. Cordelia followed him. Florence was left alone with Mr Blake.

“Mr Blake, I have the most dreadful news,” Florence said. “My father is returning to America and he has told me I have to return too, as soon as possible. Lord and Lady Griggs will be accompanying me.”

“You will be leaving?” Mr Blake frowned.

“Yes, it’s too bad, isn’t it? Our wager must come to an end. I’m sure my brother will not expect you to leave the house until you have found other lodgings and naturally I will pay you the full amount we agreed upon.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Mr Blake said quickly. He coughed. “I mean to say, that is very generous of you, Miss Wakechild, but really there’s no need. I’m just sorry that I’m not able to help you win your wager. “

“I mind enormously. Not only about the wager but I’m afraid I shall be leaving you unemployed,” Florence said.

Mr Blake patted her shoulder. “I am sure I shall find another occupation soon enough. Perhaps I should become a prize fighter.”

“That’s not funny,” Florence said sternly, eyeing his split lip. It had healed well but there was a slight scab that threatened to become a scar. In time it would probably fade completely but it might not. He should probably grow a moustache.

“Also, you’re clearly not a very good fighter.”

Twemlow and Cordelia walked back.

Florence turned to her brother-in-law. “Do you think I would have won the wager if we had a little longer?”

They both stared at Mr Blake.

“I think it would be very close, even if you didn’t,” Twemlow said. He stuck the arrows into the grass. “If you will excuse me, I shall leave you. I have a meeting with my estate manager. I will probably take luncheon in my office.”

Cordelia accompanied her husband back to the house, leaving Florence and Mr Blake alone once again. She didn’t know what to say. No chit-chat came to her head and she couldn’t think of a single subject.

“I shall be sorry to part from you. I feel almost as if we have become friends,” she said eventually.

“I am deeply honoured to hear you say that,” Mr Blake said, his voice low. “So do I.”

Impulsively, she touched his arm. “Mr Blake, if you like, you may call me Florence.”

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating. He inclined his head. “I will be more than privileged to do so. And in return, might I dare to ask if you would call me Ned?”

“Ned.” She smiled. “Edward, I suppose.”

He dipped his head, then tilted it one side and she was close enough to believe for one wild moment that he might kiss her. Her heart pulsed as she wondered what she would do if he did, but he straightened up again. She glanced down and noticed he was still holding his bow.

“May I?”

She took it from his hand and tugged an arrow out of the ground where Twemlow had stuck them earlier and fitted the groove into the string, then pulled it back and took aim at the target. She didn’t expect to hit the centre straight off, but she didn’t expect the arrow to fall, nor the string to twang back and whip against the inside of her lower arm.

The impact was like the crack of a whip: white hot, instantly numbing, instantly followed by searing pain from wrist to the crook of her elbow. Tears filled her eyes and she yelped at the sharp intensity, dropped the bow, and grasped her arm tightly. Her head began to swim, she turned towards the house, stumbled, and fell.

She was caught before she landed, jerked to safety before impact. She looked up into Mr Blake’s eyes, in whose strong arms she was held.

ChapterFourteen

“Let me see the wound.”

Mr Blake firmly prised her hand back from her arm. Her sleeve was fastened with five small mother-of-pearl buttons. Mr Blake unfastened them and pushed the thin lace up to her elbow. Florence peered at her arm, expecting to see blood. To her relief, the skin hadn’t broken and there was only a raised line, though it was bright red and swollen.

“You made it look so easy,” Florence gasped.

Mr Blake looked shocked. “Was that the first time you have ever tried? I would never have let you if I had realised. You need a wrist guard.”

He held her arm gently and ran his forefinger over the length of the welt.