Page 65 of My Fair Lord

“Perhaps I shall open a school and train people to be counterfeit noblemen,” he said airily. He smiled at Florence and ran his hands through his hair, giving it a few quick ruffles as he preened.

“I could call it the Wakechild Method.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Florence took a step towards him, on the verge of exploding like a firecracker.

Ned laughed, though Florence couldn’t detect much humour in it.

“Why wouldn’t I? After all, you cannot be the only woman who needs to pretend she has aristocratic associations. I’ve been an excellent pupil and I’m sure I could be an equally good teacher. Or why create unnecessary competition? Perhaps I shall embark on that myself.”

“But it’s fraud,” Florence snapped. The thought of him using his considerable talents and charms in the service of other women was unbearable. “You could get into a lot of trouble.”

“Yes, I believe we discussed that matter a few weeks ago when we started this little escapade. Admittedly, it’s warming to know you care what happens to me once we’ve finished our association.”

Of course she did, and the thought that Ned doubted it was dreadful, but even more dreadful were the implications of admitting such a thing to him.

“Why do you assume I care at all?” she snapped.

Ned took a step towards her. His eyes burned. “Because you wouldn’t be here demanding answers of me if you didn’t, would you?”

Her heart urged her to tell him that she did, very much, but she held her ground.

“That doesn’t mean I care about you. It just means that I want to know the truth. In fact, I don’t really care right now.”

She was beginning to shake and could feel tears rising to her eyes. She needed to leave before she began to cry. The thought of him seeing her in tears was unbearable.

“For all I care, you can move out of your cabin and take a berth in steerage so you can gamble to your heart’s content and drink all you like, and then as soon as we dock in New York, you can get straight on the next ship home!”

Ned’s face hardened. “Thank you, Miss Wakechild, I shall give that some consideration.”

His voice was icier than the waters which surrounded the ship. It took all the heat from Florence’s rage, quenched it, and froze it. A lump began to fill her throat. Before it could work up higher and burst out as a sob, she pushed past him and ran from the cabin. Ignoring the passengers she passed, she ran up onto the deck. With trembling hands, she grasped at the railing, pulling herself up until she could lean over it and gaze out into nothingness.

What an absoluteassof a man Ned was!

Justifying his opportunism by suggesting Florence had sanctioned it. Had approved of and encouraged it. Then suggesting that once they had parted, he did what they had been doing but with other women! To suggest there were others like her who could benefit from the deception. It was absolutely out of the question. Quite intolerable to think of. Her situation was entirely different. She was different.

She walked back towards her cabin, shaking and barely noticed the elderly gentleman who drew to one side. She thanked him and carried on but within a few paces the man had caught up with her.

“Miss Wakechild?”

She turned back. She’d encountered him the day before, as she had made her way towards Ned’s cabin and he had let her pass then too, but that didn’t give him the right to address her by name.

“Yes? Have we been introduced?” Disinclined for niceties, she was brusquer than politeness required.

The man raised his hat. “I’m afraid not but I need to speak to you in any case. My name is Gerald Finch, of the Thirsk Finches. I happened to notice you on the games deck yesterday in the company of a gentleman.” He sniffed, as if he was using the term unwillingly.”

“Yes. What of it?” Florence asked coldly.

“I don’t know how well you know the gentleman, but my valet told me some disturbing news about him a day ago and I feel I must make you aware.” He tilted his head to a young man dressed in a black suit who stood at the end of the passageway.

“Go on,” she instructed warily.

Mr Finch bristled at being addressed so forwardly. “It seems that the man appeared in the Servants’ quarters and proceeded to engage my valet at cards, whereupon…”

Florence turned to look back at the valet. He had dark, slicked back hair and an olive complexion. Her neck prickled as he gave her a smooth smile and an obsequious bow. Dottie had a soft spot for a charmer and the jigsaw in Florence’s mind filled another piece.

“Is your valet named Agosti?” Florence interrupted. “If so, I already know Mr Blake was indulging in a game of cards with him, and I know why he was playing. Doyouknow why?”

He ignored her question and blinked. “Really, young lady, is that how you speak to your elders and betters?”