Page 67 of My Fair Lord

Well done, Ned!

He lay on his bed long after Florence had left, breathing deeply to control the lava that was coursing through his veins. Florence was the most infuriating woman he had ever encountered. He scowled, thinking of the bare-faced cheek of the woman to come into his room and, instead of apologising for her appalling insinuations, to actually chastise him further! He had done nothing wrong in his efforts to help Dottie and had been accused of scandalous behaviour. Well, he was done with her.

He took another deep breath, clenched his fists, then loosened them and forced himself to think rationally. He had never failed to complete a commission and he wasn’t about to start now. Whatever he might have thrown at Florence regarding his return to England, he would never leave America without fulfilling his obligations to her unless she ended his employment. He’d worked for plenty of people he had not respected or liked. He could certainly be civil in the presence of Miss Wakechild, a woman of whom he had grown extremely fond, until she had so rudely annoyed him.

He’d been in the process of dressing before her interruption, so he returned to the matter of shaving. The water was now barely lukewarm, and childishly he placed that inconvenience at Miss Wakechild’s feet too.

There were many ways he could have resolved the matter of Dottie’s brooch that didn’t involve card games but all of them were flawed. He listed them as he scraped away the stubble.

He could have asked Miss Wakechild to deal with it. He had no doubt that she would have done so in a most efficient manner, but he had not wanted to break his vow of confidentiality for Dottie.

He could’ve found Agosti’s employer and told him the kind of man his valet was and left the matter in his hands. Of course, that was a threat to the man’s employment and livelihood, which Ned considered was going too far. If every man was cast out onto the streets for dark dealing with innocent women, then most offices would be empty, not to mention the Houses of Lords and Commons.

No, there was only one way he could have handled the matter and that was the way he had chosen. Miss Wakechild was simply being overly critical.

As he leaned over the bowl to clean his razor, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes blazed back at him scornfully. He dropped the razor into the bowl and rubbed his eyes.

Who was he trying to fool?

He’d taken the route he had because he’d wanted to, just as he’d wanted to fight Rafferty at the fair. He’d wanted a distraction from the thoughts of kissing Florence that refused to leave him in peace. He wanted the thrill of a game of cards, and wanted to use his wits as he had done for so long since he had made the decision to live by them. He enjoyed it, that was the problem. He’d always been drawn to games and risks. Why else would he have agreed to the preposterous wager otherwise.

He splashed his hands in the bowl of water then covered his face with them, letting the lukewarm water trickle down his cheeks and jaw. There were too many people in the past who he had caused rifts with, and it pained him deeply to think that Florence would be another. He would have to make peace with her before she grew to despise him.

He spent an hour or two composing letters that he would never send to people he could no longer speak to. When he found himself reaching for the journal in his valise, he knew it was time to leave his cabin before he lost himself in the past, and went in search of a drink. He hesitated before covering the journal and closing the valise. He couldn’t dispose of that yet. Perhaps one day he would.

He took the letters he had written and threw them overboard, watching the pages swirl on the breeze before spinning down and being ploughed under the waves by the current caused by the ship. He was ascending the central staircase when he heard his name being called.

“Blake, there you are. I want a word with you.”

Ned turned and saw Lord Griggs striding towards him. Ned lifted his hat, a rather daringly fashionable boater that Florence had done her best to persuade him not to buy and was momentarily gratified to see that the baron wore a similar model.

“Lord Griggs. Good afternoon to you.”

The baron harrumphed. “Nothing good about it. My wife has spent most of the afternoon trying in vain to stop her sister from weeping, which involved dragging herself from her sofa. Do you have any idea what has caused her decline in temperament? She’s usually the most even-tempered creature, but she’s been inconsolable. She actually ran from the dinner table before the coffee had arrived!”

Ned looked over the banister to the deck below. The idea of Florence so distressed cut through his sense of indignation at her behaviour. He couldn’t suppress the nagging feeling in his stomach that he was not completely the injured party in their argument. Despite what he might have suggested, he had no intention of hiring himself out as a trainer of invented noblemen.

“I’m very much afraid the fault is mine. I acted impulsively and joined a game of cards and did rather well out of it. Miss Wakechild discovered it.”

“Was that you?” Lord Griggs looked at him keenly. “My valet told me there’s been an almighty furore in the servant’s saloon about some banker’s manservant losing his shirt to a passenger. Rumours are flying about the identity of the charlatan who is pretending to be a respectable gentleman when he’s clearly a rogue.”

“I suppose it must have been me,” Ned said reluctantly.

“Are you a rogue, Mr Blake?” Lord Griggs gave him a penetrating stare. “Your line of work is unconventional to say the least. I’m wondering if we should have taken references, but I’m just too trusting.”

More like too unconcerned, Ned suspected, from what he had learned of the baron’s laissez-faire attitude to life.

“I try not to be a rogue, but if you mean am I a crook, no. I had good reasons for wiping out the valet, though as always, confidentiality is important to me. Miss Wakechild will attest to the reasons, if and when she forgives me.”

Twemlow sucked his teeth. “Oh no doubt she will eventually. Women don’t like to discover things they were never supposed to learn. Makes them feel silly. I suppose she let rip with a few choice phrases, if she’s anything like her sister.”

“We exchanged words,” Ned said warily. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Lady Griggs would have a few choice words if she ever learned she was the subject of this conversation. “I regret mine immensely and though it does nothing to mitigate my behaviour, I have been intending to speak to her and beg forgiveness ever since.”

Lord Griggs’ mouth spread into a wide smile. “There’s a wise fellow. Go visit her, grovel, and appear contrite. If you can chance upon a box of peppermint creams or Turkish delight to offer, I find that always speeds up the natural reconciliation. I’ll tell Lady Griggs that you will call on Miss Wakechild after dinner to explain yourself. Come to my wife’s stateroom and she will be waiting.”

“Wouldn’t a public room be better?” Ned asked.

Lord Griggs raised his brows in an exaggerated fashion. “Not for an apology, unless you want the world and her maiden aunt to know your business. Don’t worry about propriety; my wife will be having a post-dinner lie-down so will be able to chaperone you from the adjoining bedroom. I’ll be on deck and if you don’t make peace with my womenfolk, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”