Page 71 of My Fair Lord

When the music ended, Ned stepped back and bowed slightly before taking her arm and escorting her off the dance floor.

“I think now is the time to start the rumours that you are really Viscount Telford,” Florence murmured, aware of the covetous eyes that followed them. “I shall drop hints to other ladies in the powder room that you are more than you seem.”

“Be careful,” Ned cautioned in a whisper. “I don’t want to be subject to a campaign to have me married off. The adventurous Mrs Carmine might decide I’m a better bet than the heir presumptive!”

“She’ll have to get past me first,” Florence exclaimed, appalled at the prospect of the scheming widow adding Ned to her list of conquests.

Ned’s eyebrows shot up. Florence held his gaze boldly.

“I haven’t gone to all this effort to lose you before we reach New York. Once we have arrived and we are finished fooling my father, you are of course free to do whatever you wish, with whomever you wish to do it with.”

Ned surprised her by reaching for her hand again.

“Florence,” he murmured in a low voice. “I have no intention of letting anyone – wealthy widow or otherwise – distract me from our purpose. Besides, with you in the room, who else could capture my attention?”

As they reached their destination, he smiled down at her with a look that made Florence’s heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, Miss Wakechild. Not just for the dance, but for everything. Whatever happens in New York, I believe I shall always remember this night.”

She watched him go with longing, wishing that just once he could have taken her in his arms again and kissed her as he had done before. She made her way back to the powder room, hoping for some solitude but found herself once again in the company of Mrs Glenarris.

“Who exactly is Mr Blake and what does he do?” Mrs Glenarris asked as Florence sat on a stool and dabbed a little cologne behind her ears. “I don’t think he ever got round to telling us.”

Florence couldn’t resist the temptation and leaned close to whisper. “You must keep it in the strictest confidence, but he’s actually a viscount.”

Mrs Glenarris gave a triumphant laugh. “Ha! I knew it. I said to Euan that there was something special about that young man. A viscount? I’d have said at least an earl, if not a duke! You can’t hide breeding.”

Florence couldn’t wait to get back to her party and tell them of their triumph.

“He’s doing his best to hide it. He’s trying to avoid his father who wants him to marry a cousin,” Florence urged her.

Mrs Glenarris tutted. “Well, that won’t do. He’s obviously besotted with you.”

“Oh please, don’t say that.”

“I speak my mind,” Mrs Glenarris said briskly. “And if I’ve seen a hundred men in love, I’ve seen one hundred and one tonight.”

Florence leaned against the wall and dropped her head. Mrs Glenarris tutted again sympathetically.

“It’s never a smooth path, but if you want each other enough, I’m sure you’ll find a way. Good luck, my dear.”

She had never felt more like she would need it. The voyage was almost over. The following afternoon she would be back in her homeland, and she would discover what dreadful misfortune had called them back to America.

ChapterTwenty

TheCity of Brugesdocked in the Port of New York on a warm but overcast afternoon. The terminus teemed with passengers disembarking. Those returning to their homeland went one way; those visiting went another to show their visas and complete declarations of intent, while a third group who hoped to be allowed to stay were herded in another direction. With Florence being in the first category and Ned being in the second, she was unable to catch a glimpse of him. She tried not to mind. They had a plan arranged to meet the following afternoon for an outing to Central Park, but she would have liked to see him for one last glimpse.

They were all staying in New York for a week. Clayton Wakechild had booked rooms at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, so Florence and Cordelia went straight there while Twemlow vanished off to his New York club. Ned had a room waiting for him at the Astor House, under the name Archibald Montgomery Telford, a name so outlandish to Florence’s ears that she was convinced no one would believe it was real—which Ned had argued was the point, saying if he was to appear in society without having announced his arrival at one of the fashionable hotels, a plausible cover needed to exist.

As they rocked about in the hansom cab, Cordelia coughed discreetly. “Florence, before we arrive at the hotel, I need to discuss something with you.”

“The baby?” Florence asked, spinning round from the window she had been staring out. “Is it definite?”

“Not that, it’s about Mr Blake. I wish to speak and I’m not sure when I’ll have the chance to get you alone. I overheard what Mrs Glenarris said last night and while I’m sure it was extremely flattering to be told a man is in love with you, I worry that you are growing a little too fond of Mr Blake.”

“I think it is impossible to get too fond of somebody, surely?” Florence replied thoughtfully. “If they are worth being fond of at all, why ration it?”

Cordelia clicked her tongue, a habit that had irritated Florence since childhood.