Page 55 of My Fair Lord

“Absinthe and whisky in the middle of the afternoon!” Ned remarked.

He ordered a gimlet and they watched the game. Florence drew near to Ned so she could speak confidentially. She indicated towards one of the players: a stout-chested handsome man in his early fifties with an excellent set of whiskers. Florence slid her eyes towards him then back to Ned.

“Now this is interesting. That gentleman is the heir presumptive to a viscountcy. Can you tell me the difference between that and an heir apparent?”

Ned ran a thumb down one of his sideburns. They were not as impressive as the heir presumptive’s, but still fine.

“An heir apparent is the heir of the current viscount and is therefore his direct descendant. An heir presumptive will only succeed to the title if the current incumbent has no direct heir. While there is the possibility of a child being born, he is not guaranteed the title.”

Florence beamed at him like a proud parent. “Very good. This poor fellow is Mr Colling, the first cousin of the current Viscount Saltburn. Saltburn has four daughters aged between thirty and fifteen but as yet has no son. It’s unlikely he will have one now that his wife has reached the change in life; however, that possibility cannot be ignored. She might die. He could remarry a younger wife and she could birth a boy.”

“That’s a rather tasteless speculation,” Ned said darkly.

“Yes. I know,” Florence said quietly, feeling suddenly abashed at using the poor man’s unfortunate circumstances as a lesson. It was a real person, not a paper doll, whose life was affected. She paused, thinking how fortunate the Griggs were that there was only a fee simple and the sex of Cordelia’s child didn’t matter.

“Poor man. Imagine living in a state of such uncertainty for that long. Of course, if the viscount’s daughters could inherit then the whole matter would have been resolved years ago and he could carry on with his life.”

They regarded Mr Colling with interest. The heir presumptive did not appear to be dwelling on his uncertain status as he was laughing and by all appearances enjoying the game. His partner might have had something to do with that. Florence pointed to her discreetly. She was a handsome woman dressed in a black skirt and jacket with a high-necked grey blouse. Rolls of glossy black hair were pinned beneath a large hat with a scarlet ribbon around the brim.

“That woman is a widow named Mrs Carmine. She’s been married three times and each husband has been wealthier than the previous one. The first was a captain in the army. The second was an elderly shopkeeper in a small town outside Salem, but by the time he died, he owned an entire department store in Boston. The third was a complete scoundrel by all accounts and nobody cared that he passed away from scarlet fever.”

Judging by her scarlet hat ribbon, the wealthy widow was no longer observing deep mourning and appeared to be very much enjoying the company of the heir presumptive. She kept gaily patting his arm and throwing her head back in a tinkling laugh whenever her disc missed a target. Her carefree manner was enviable. The cocktails arrived and Florence sipped hers, making a face at the bitterness. She had better drink it quickly and get it over and done with.

“I wish I could be so carefree when I lose a game,” she remarked. “If I missed as many shots as she did, I’m sure I would have thrown the cue overboard. Be warned of that when we finally get our turn.”

“I believe she is letting him win on purpose,” Ned remarked.

Florence drew her shawl around her shoulders and wrinkled her brow. “How silly that would be. Then she’d have to deliberately lose every game forever. I’m sure she wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“She might if she has her eye on the title,” Ned pointed out.

Florence took another sip of the cocktail, wishing she had asked for a pot of tea. Her head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy.

“I’ll admit I don’t understand my own sex sometimes. Quite why she would be intent on finding a fourth husband is beyond my comprehension. Widows have a lot more freedom than unmarried women. She is wealthy enough to need no husband to provide for her. In fact, by marrying, she risks losing what she already has. What could another marriage provide that she currently lacks?”

Ned stared at her with an expression of disbelief.

“What did I say?” she demanded.

“Miss Wakechild, it pains me more than I can tell you to realise that you view marriage only as something to be endured. Perhaps she wants love or companionship. Or intimacy.” He dropped his head and toyed with his glass.

“Intimacy?”

After one too many glasses of champagne early in the visit, Cordelia had dropped hints to Florence about her husband’s ability to miraculously cure her headaches with stimulating massages and Florence had got the impression it had been a body part other than her shoulders which received the attention. Heat rose to Florence’s cheeks and neck. The sea was relatively calm, but it felt to Florence like it had swelled and caused the ship to lurch because a feeling greater than nausea passed over her, picked her up and threw her to one side. She gripped the edge of the table, wondering why she was the only one affected.

“Clearly there must be advantages to marriage that I have not properly considered,” she replied, not meeting Ned’s eyes.

“Miss Wakechild, are you sure you don’t want to marry a viscount?” Ned suggested after a moment of silence. “Not necessarily Stuffy Stretford. There are others.”

“Stuffy?” Florence almost snorted Sazerac through her nose. “That’s so rude and completely inappropriate. You forget yourself, Mr Blake. Why on earth did you call him that?” She couldn’t stop herself from laughing, however, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Ned winced. “It’s a nickname from his youth.”

“Did you know of him back then?” Florence asked. “I didn’t think you did.”

Ned shook his head firmly. “No, but the nickname followed him into adulthood and gossip has a habit of travelling. Poor chap, it isn’t his fault. He suffered dreadful nosebleeds as a youth throughout the summer months and had to stuff his nostrils full of padding. It meant he snored so loudly the entire dormitory was kept awake. Or so I believe,” he added. “Schoolboys can be very cruel.”

“Imagine having to share a bedroom with him!” Florence exclaimed. “Oh goodness me, that would be insufferable! One would have to draw one’s nightgown up as an ear muffler.”