Page 62 of My Fair Lord

The thought made her feel sick. It wasn’t fair. Why did Dottie think she might aim as high as a viscount?

Because Ned Blake was not an aristocrat of course.

Ned Blake was just a man who was pretending to be one, and Dottie knew that. He was a working man who would be the perfect match for a personal maid. She scrunched the handkerchief tighter.

Florence knew she had no right to interfere in either Dottie or Ned’s affairs but she would have no peace until she knew the truth of their feelings towards each other. She wrote a note on the back of a card asking him to join her in her stateroom between the visiting hours of three and four.

At three o’clock prompt, there was a knock on the door. She opened it to see Ned waiting. His eyes widened slightly at seeing her answering the door herself. Presumably he was expecting Dottie to open it. Presumably he was disappointed.

Her stateroom was not as grand as Cordelia’s or Twemlow’s but she had two comfortable armchairs and a small table. Her book was propped open over the arm of one of her chairs to keep her place, so Ned took the other chair. She noticed his eye slid towards the table. She hadn’t ordered any refreshments, nor did she intend to. He placed his hands in his lap.

“This feels like the morning you gave me a dressing down for fighting. Am I in disgrace?”

“Should you be?” Florence asked.

She hated it when people didn’t play straight with her so pressed on. “Are you in love with Dottie?”

The look of surprise on his face could not have been anything other than genuine.

“No, I’m not in love with Dottie.”

She couldn’t explain the relief that flooded through her at his answer, though it was immediately supplanted by a worse thought. “Are you toying with her affections?”

“I’m not toying with anything,” Ned said, holding a hand up. “I don’t know where this idea has suddenly come from, but it is completely unfounded.”

“Is it?” She took his handkerchief out of her bag and passed it to him with a flourish that no magician producing a rabbit could hope to replicate. “Did you give her this?”

“Yes, I did.” He held the handkerchief up and examined it. “I see she has not had time to wash it,” he remarked in a tone that was completely out of place given the severity of the situation.

“I don’t care whether she has laundered it. Why has she got your handkerchief?” Florence snapped. “I knew as soon as I saw it that something must be going on that I didn’t know about and I was right.”

Ned gave a long-suffering sigh. “I gave it to her because she was crying and I couldn’t stand the sight of her sniffing and using her cuff to mop at her eyes.”

“Why was she crying?” Florence asked. “What did you do to her?”

Ned rose from his chair. “Miss Wakechild, you are beginning to offend me! Firstly, you accuse me of toying with Dottie’s affections and now you accuse me of making her cry. I did neither.”

He began to pace around the cabin. There wasn’t really room and he was unable to take long strides. It gave Florence the impression of a big cat kept in a too-small cage at the zoo. He turned and faced her.

“When Dottie came to my room to bring your note she was crying. I gave her a handkerchief. She was anxious about something and I was in the position to resolve it.”

“What did you do?” Florence asked suspiciously. Even though she was relieved that her initial suspicions were wrong, she felt put out that Dottie had not come to her for help. What could he do that Florence couldn’t?

“I’m not really sure that’s any of your business,” Ned said stiffly. “You know what importance I set by confidentiality.”

She couldn’t deny it. “Dottie is my maid. If there is trouble, I should know about it.”

“Then I suggest you ask her,” Ned said. “Though perhaps don’t begin by accusing her of conducting a romance with me.”

They stared at each other, tension simmering in the air between them. Ned straightened his collar. “Excuse me, Miss Wakechild. I think I shall take my leave.”

Without waiting for her response, he left the room. Florence threw herself back onto her armchair and groaned aloud. What a fool she had made of herself. She had been too quick to jump to conclusions.

Now Ned was rightfully angry.

And annoyingly right.

She should have asked Dottie directly and tried to understand the situation better before accusing Ned of something terrible. She broached the subject the following morning while Dottie was putting the finishing touches to Florence’s hair.