Page 70 of My Fair Lord

Even though he knew that it was inevitable, it still felt like a physical pain inside his chest every time he thought about their future apart.

“Very well,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s make tomorrow a night to remember.”

* * *

Florence had to admit that a titled brother-in-law was useful, as a word with Twemlow meant that he put a word in the right ear and an invitation was secured.

Dressed in her green silk with the pearl comb ornamenting her hair, Florence could barely contain her excitement and nerves as the Captain’s Dinner drew near. She walked with Cordelia and Twemlow to the restaurant where they had agreed to meet Ned. When she saw him, Florence’s breath caught in her throat.

Ned was dressed in a formal evening suit with a crisp white shirt, a high collar, and a bow tie. He completed the look with a black tailcoat, trousers, and patent leather shoes. His hair was smoothed back with pomade and he had a pocket watch tucked into his waistcoat pocket on a faded gold chain that looked old. When he took it out to check the time, Florence saw the case was intricately carved with inlaid stones of a reddish hue that could have been rubies. She didn’t know he possessed such a thing and was intrigued, but when he saw them arriving, he slipped it away.

He walked towards them and greeted Lord and Lady Griggs then extended his arm to Florence.

“Miss Wakechild, you are breathtaking. Seeing you approaching, I was at first convinced a siren had climbed from the sea to lure me to my fate.”

She had been feeling nervous but the image made her relax.

“You have never heard my singing or you wouldn’t say that,” she said.

He chuckled. “Will you allow me to escort you into the dining room?”

“With the greatest pleasure, Mr Blake,” she murmured, slipping her arm through his.

Florence and Ned were seated with Lord and Lady Griggs and another couple who were older than the baron and baroness. They introduced themselves as the Glenarrises of Scotland, owners of a whisky distillery, which immediately drew Twemlow and Ned’s interest. She caught Mr Finch looking at them from across the room, but when she glared, he returned to his conversation.

It was one of the nicest evenings Florence could remember in a long time. For the last night, the chefs had outdone themselves and the food was excellent, from the chilled tomato soup to the lemon soufflés. Even Cordelia managed to try a little of each dish.

The conversation was filled with laughter and comparisons between American, English, and Scottish upbringings. Lord Griggs regaled the table with stories of his youth in a boarding school, which sounded to Florence like something from a medieval history of the monasteries, while the other couple shared tales of their life in Scotland in accents Florence could barely understand.

Throughout the meal, she stole glances at Ned, admiring how effortlessly he mingled with the other diners, looking as at ease as if he had been born to it. Whether he had genuinely been to Scotland to walk the streets of Edinburgh or was making up his experiences, Florence had no idea. She was certain he had never been to an English boarding school, but he apparently was able to sympathise with Twemlow about the trials of washing in icy water, writing out Latin verbs with fingers stiff from the cold, and early morning runs across the moors.

Despite her reluctance to speak with strangers, he gently encouraged Florence to join in, prompting her to share tales of her childhood and anecdotes from her visit to England, as well as books she enjoyed reading. She discovered a kindred spirit in Mr Glenarris when it came to the stories of Alexandre Dumas and became so carried away with the discussion that she almost forgot to eat her game pie until Twemlow pointed out the waiters arriving to collect empty plates. As she devoured the buttery pastry, she caught Ned’s eye. He gave her a wink and raised his wineglass to her. They held each other’s gaze, a private moment in a room full of others where they might have been the only two there.

As the women rose from the table at the end of the meal, Mrs Glenarris leaned towards Florence and whispered conspiratorially, “I must say, my dear, you and Mr Blake make a lovely couple.”

Florence’s cheeks flamed. “Thank you, Mrs Glenarris. We are not a couple, however, merely friends travelling together.”

Ned looked over at her, his expression unreadable. She wondered what he would think if he suspected she felt the disappointment at that truth so keenly it wanted to make her cry.

Florence didn’t know who had administered the task, but for the dancing, she had a wide variety of partners. Among other men, she danced once with Twemlow, once with Mr Colling – which earned her a couple of hard stares from Mrs Carmine – and once with Captain D’Abney himself.

He was a serious man, his face weathered so much by the elements that his age could have been anything from thirty-five to fifty-five. He was completely bald but scorned a toupee and let his head display its natural state.

“Miss Wakechild, I should admit that I was hesitant in allowing your second-class acquaintance to attend tonight but he is an admirable gentleman.”

“I know.” Florence beamed with triumph at Ned’s success. “He’s a man of excellent reputation and family, and would have travelled with us in first class, only he was unable to engage a free cabin. I can give you my assurances that you will not find a more gentlemanly passenger on board the ship than Mr Blake.”

“Indeed. I should warn you I have no intention of carrying out any of the other duties which I am authorized to do,” Captain D’Abney said.

“Other duties?” Florence wrinkled her brow, having no idea what he meant.

The captain’s dark eyes twinkled as he leaned in closer. “A captain may perform the ceremony of marriage.”

A host of butterflies erupted inside Florence. She straightened up. “Absolutely not. Mr Blake is a friend of the family, that’s all. We will certainly be doing nothing of that kind.”

The captain gave her a long look and she feared she had been too vociferous in her denials.

Florence only danced with Ned at the end of the evening. The music was slow and romantic, Ned holding her just close enough to remain proper while still allowing some closeness between them. They didn’t speak as they glided around the dance floor, and knowing that their time together was growing short, Florence was content merely to be in his embrace, his scent filling her senses until all else faded away.