Page 81 of My Fair Lord

To Florence’s extreme pleasure, her father looked flustered. He tugged surreptitiously at his cufflink then bowed.

“Lord Telford. I am afraid you must pardon my unpardonable rudeness, your lordship. I didn’t recognise you. I didn’t know you were in town.”

Florence could have cheered aloud. Not only did her father apparently accept Ned at face value, but his vanity wouldn’t let him admit his ignorance and he was actually pretending to have heard of the viscount. It would be all the more perfect when she revealed the truth.

They had rehearsed Ned’s supposed lineage and he knew the details perfectly. She never got the chance to discover how convincing Ned might have been, though, because at that moment Lord Stretford walked past the group. He stopped as if he had seen something outlandish, then came back.

“Good lord! How unexpected seeing you here.”

She was about to retort that it wasn’t at all unexpected when she realised he was speaking not to her, but to Ned, who was staring back at the viscount with a look of horror on his face. Florence stepped slightly closer to him before she was even aware that she was doing it.

“Lord Stretford, it’s good to see you again,” Clayton said bowing. “Would you do me the honour of allowing me to present to you Lord Telford.”

He looked slightly worried. “Or perhaps you are already acquainted, being as you are countrymen and both viscounts.”

Florence closed her eyes, willing herself to be anywhere other than where she was. Clayton had no place making such an introduction. He came across as gauche and incredibly self-important. The only redeeming fact was that he appeared to have accepted Ned’s identity without question.

“Nonsense.” Lord Stretford clapped his hands together briskly. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but calling yourself a viscount indeed!”

Florence’s shoulders slumped. How could Stretford have possibly been able to spot the deception on sight? Surely not every aristocrat knew all the existing titles so well as to be able to spot an interloper so easily. Florence looked at her father whose expression had become one of complete confusion.

“You know each other?” Twemlow asked, glancing at Florence and evidently as taken aback by the turn of events.

Florence looked at Ned. His face was a rictus, far beyond what the revelation merited.

“Of course. I was at Rugby with his older brother,” Lord Stretford said. Then he did something Florence would never have predicted if she’d been given a year of guesses.

He bowed.

Ned made a growling noise in his throat and glared at the viscount as if he wanted to rip Lord Stretford’s tongue out.

“Ned, I don’t understand,” Florence murmured.

“Ned?” Lord Stretford looked between them. “Miss Wakechild, I don’t know who you think this man is, but his name is most certainly not Ned.”

“Don’t!” Ned stepped towards Lord Stretford.

The command or plea—Florence wasn’t sure which—came out like a rifle shot just as the dance ended and the room quietened. There were murmurings from the groups close by and a few turned heads. Florence could feel herself getting hot and agitated. Any second now, her brain would shut down and her body would take over and she would run.

“I don’t understand,” she repeated. “Please will somebody explain.”

“Florence…” Ned’s voice was barely audible and Stretford spoke over him, easily drowning him out.

“I don’t know what game he’s playing, Miss Wakechild, but this man is no viscount. He is the Earl of Ayesgarth, and I’m glad to be one of the first men to offer my sincere congratulations to him on his inheriting the title.”

He turned to Ned and bowed again. “My lord, half of England is searching for you at present. Have you not heard the news from Yorkshire? The child has been born. The countess has been blessed with a daughter.”

Lord Stretford looked genuinely confused and was speaking without malice. Ned looked at Florence and she stared back. This was all wrong. He wasn’t an earl. She looked from man to man, still not comprehending, but one word flashed in her mind.

“Child?”

Her voice was barely audible to her, but Ned flinched.

“Damn you, Stuffy,” he muttered. “Miss Wakechild, I’m sorry, I must leave. Excuse me.”

He turned on his heel and walked away without a backward glance.

ChapterTwenty-Three