Page 49 of My Fair Lord

“It won’t scar but you should go back to the house and wrap a damp cloth around it. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

“That was so stupid of me,” Florence said as they walked. “Daddy always told me I was far too impulsive.”

“It’s an easy mistake,” he replied. He brushed his finger over the wound again. Caused no doubt by the pain and shock, Florence felt as if her arm had doubled the number of nerves, and each one was dancing.

“I did it the first time I ever picked up a bow. My instructor let all of us do the same thing so we learned to be more careful and respect the weapon.”

Intrigued by the curious insight, Florence asked, “Where did you grow up Mr Blake? I mean, Ned?”

He hesitated before answering. “In Yorkshire. I think officially we’re still allowed to shoot Scotsmen on sight.”

“I wanted to see Yorkshire, and Scotland,” Florence murmured. “My mother’s grandmother was Scottish. Only just. Her family came from somewhere on the borderlands, in a bit that was sometimes English and sometimes not.”

Mr Blake began to lead her across the lawn. “Being Scottish would explain your hair colour of course.”

“You won’t shoot me though, will you? Even if you’re allowed to.”

“No, I won’t shoot you,” he said patiently.

She beamed at him. The pain or shock, or being held so close, was making her feel light-headed.

“My mother used to tell me tales of our ancestors. Not the recent ones who disowned her. Apparently, they were border lords in the olden days and some of them might even have been criminals. My father didn’t like her telling me those stories.”

She giggled then slapped her free hand over her mouth. Mr Blake was gentlemanly enough not to pass comment.

“How do you feel about returning home?” he asked.

“I really enjoyed my time here even though it is not exactly how I expected to be spending it. It’s been better. I’ve enjoyed our lessons.” She wrinkled her brow. “What will you do now? If this were my house, I would say you are welcome to stay until you found another commission, but I can’t make that offer on my brother-in-law’s behalf.”

“I will find something. I’m very resourceful,” he said, shrugging.

“Maybe you should go to America,” Florence said.

“Perhaps I should.”

They stopped walking at the same time. A light buzzing started in Florence’s ears. She raised her eyes and met Ned’s, seeing the same sense of excitement that was erupting within her.

“Maybe you shouldcometo America,” she said, emphasising the verb so he didn’t miss her meaning.

Ned broke into a wide grin. “Maybe I should.”

“The wager doesn’t have to be over. It would be even better if you came to Philadelphia and met my father there. He will be surrounded by people who know less about the British nobility.” Florence couldn’t stop from smiling. “Oh this is wonderful! We’ll be home in time to go to the opera and the August salons. Let me go speak with Twemlow immediately. He needs to arrange passage for you too.”

“Miss Wakechild. Florence, stop, please! Your wrist. You need put something cool on your arm.”

Florence rubbed absentmindedly at the red stripe.

“It barely hurts at all now.” It was a little lie. The initial sting had lessened but it was beginning to throb.

Ned gave her a stern look. “It will hurt more later and you don’t want to end up with a scar. I insist you get it treated. In fact, I’m going to take you myself.” He took her gently by the elbow again and escorted her to her bedroom. Dottie was sitting in the comfy chair darning something lacy that Florence recognised as her slip. Dottie gave a slight squeak when she saw Ned entering beside Florence.

“Oh Miss! Sir! I wasn’t expecting you.” She looked down at the garment in her hands and shoved it deep into the basket. If Mr Blake had spotted the item, he gave no indication that he recognised it for anything intimate.

“Dottie, your mistress has had a shock and has received an injury. Go and bring a bowl of cool water and some linen to dress her wounds. Perhaps a small glass of brandy as well.”

“Umm, Miss, should I do what he says?” Dottie stood and looked from Ned to Florence. Her eyes slid to the half-tester bed with its pretty rose- and grey-patterned eiderdown. Her sense of propriety and inclination to follow orders were clearly at war.

Ned saved her from further anguish.