Page 73 of My Fair Lord

Clayton laughed gently. He patted her cheek as he had done when she had been a young child. “I will as soon as you let me get a word in edgeways.”

He motioned to the space on the sofa beside him and Florence sat down, doing her best to curb her curiosity.

“I’m not ill, my pet. Let me set your mind at rest on that account. I’ll wait until your sister is here before I explain everything. Why don’t you pour us both some coffee.”

Before Florence could oblige, the door opened and in walked Cordelia and Twemlow. Clayton rose to greet them, bowing deeply to Twemlow. Cordelia nodded a little stiffly at Florence, clearly not having forgiven her.

“Lord Griggs, thank you for joining me, I’m honoured as always,” Clayton said.

Despite their previous cross words, Cordelia and Florence exchange a surreptitious wink. The Wakechild and Griggs families had been intertwined for years. Twemlow had frequently invited Clayton to call him Griggs, as his closest male friends did, or even Twemlow as his wife and Florence did, but Clayton was absolutely determined never to refer to him as anything other than by his title. Whether through deference or snobbery, Florence was never able to decide, and wasn’t sure what the difference was in any case.

“Cordelia, my dear, you’re looking well. Have you gained weight?” Clayton asked as he kissed her cheek.

Florence rolled her eyes at Cordelia. Their father’s disapproval would doubtless vanish when he discovered the reason.

Instead of sitting back on the sofa, Clayton walked to the window and stood with his back to it. Twemlow and Cordelia took a second sofa and sat side by side, holding hands. Florence sat on the edge of the sofa, too tense to relax, and wishing she had someone to hold her hand. Wishing Ned was there.

The light surrounded Clayton, casting his face into silhouette. He coughed then spoke.

“Your brother has decided to marry.”

“Why, that’s wonderful!” Florence exclaimed. “Is the wedding to be soon? Is that why we had to curtail the trip?”

“This marriage is far from wonderful!” Clayton walked forward stiffly. His face was grave. “The woman in question is Mrs Ashbourne.”

“But she’s lovely,” Florence said, recognising the bride-to-be’s name and confused by her father’s reaction.

Clover Ashbourne was a neighbour back in Philadelphia. She was quite plain-faced and smoked cigarettes constantly. She bred haughty cats and played golf and rode a black gelding. There was some part of Florence that hoped to emulate the Ashbourne lifestyle when she was older. She had been very good to the Wakechilds when the tragedy of losing Mrs Wakechild had struck.

“I know she’s a little odd but she’s very kind.”

“I care nothing that she’s an unorthodox woman. The fact is that Clover Ashbourne is some years older than your brother,” Clayton said.

“Yes, we know that.” Cordelia wrinkled her brow. “The age isn’t so great. What is she? Perhaps six years older than Ashley.”

Clayton clicked his teeth. “Yes. Her first marriage produced no children and now she is close to thirty-five years old. There is no guarantee she will be able to give your brother a son.”

“Good God, father!” Florence sat up straight, her face flushing. “Must you treat every woman as livestock?”

Clayton shot her an angry look and even Twemlow looked taken aback at her outburst. “I must until I know that the business my father and I worked so hard to build is in a safe pair of hands.”

“Well, there’s no reason she won’t have a child, and if she doesn’t, then Florence can take over the business,” Cordelia said. “She’s more capable than Ash in any case. If Twemlow can pass his estate to a daughter, you can certainly leave a woman in charge of the factories.”

“I’m sure Florence would be excellent,” Twemlow added.

“I’m sure she would, but Florence will be marrying Viscount Stretford.” Clayton steepled his fingers, reminding Florence where she had that mannerism from.

“Well, I might not,” she pointed out. “It hasn’t been settled at all. I’ve only met the viscount that one time and we haven’t spoken since.”

“The matter has been settled with me,” Clayton said. He smiled proudly. “This is the good news I referred to. Viscount Stretford and I have communicated twice by telegram since I was unable to extend my stay in England. We have agreed on a marriage settlement and he is travelling to New York as we speak to complete the formalities.”

Florence sat further forward, tilting so that the rear of her skirt was practically all that was on the sofa.

“What formalities? I haven’t agreed to it. He hasn’t even asked me.”

Her heart began to pound. She looked towards Cordelia for support but Clayton walked and stood in front of her, creating a barrier between them.

“I have agreed on your behalf,” Clayton said. “I suppose if you want to do things in that way, he can ask you, but I consider it a done deal and so does he. Your engagement will be announced as soon as possible.”