Lady: Impossible (67 page)

He winces this time, a vulnerability I both despise and am intrigued by. ‘I had a bit of a row with your mother. It’s probably better for me to take an earlier train anyway. Get in before any sort of rush. Less chance of being noticed.’

The same force that dragged down his expression is now pulling on my heart, sinking it and holding it down as if to drown all hope.

‘What did you argue about?’ I ask, aiming for nonchalant, but wary of saying the wrong thing. ‘Anything I can help with?’

He shakes his head. ‘Just the usual, my dear. I think I was getting on her nerves.’

The thought of him going back to the estate to nurse his wounds is a bizarre change in equilibrium from earlier days. I never thought I’d miss the routine of him waiting for her to come back, but the idea of him leaving without her is gravely upsetting.
 

I reach out and put my hand on his. ‘This is your house, you know. Don’t be bullied in your own space.’

I’m not sure the reminder of deed and title helps, even though the humour is clear in my voice. There is a mortgage, after all. He pauses for a while, no tea or alcohol on hand to stall with this time. Perhaps he ventured here hoping the view would be uplifting, seeking solace in the fresh light of a new day. I’ve always thought of conservatories as ornate glasshouses, annexes for those who want to be outside without the realness of being fully exposed, which is sensible sometimes, especially if the weather is bad, but also limiting. If you want to truly enjoy the outdoors, you have to just put yourself out there.

Father finally forms an answer, and it’s not the one I expect, given the circumstances. ‘I know this is my house, but every now and again you have to defer to the other person. I’ve never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve. Perhaps age has made me soft. That, or the spectre of financial ruin.’

‘“Ruin” is too strong a word.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Leave the melodrama to us. We’re quite good at it, you see.’

He brightens a fraction. ‘That I can agree with, my dear.’

Unfortunately he’s much more stoic after that, so I remove my hand and let him give me a section of his newspaper. In these moments, I usually like to let him steer the discussion to an area with which he’s comfortable. Thankfully he goes down a very sensible route – there are things I need to attend to now that I’ve supposedly recovered from my dating crisis. At least I’m a useful distraction for him in this sense.

‘You need to put things in order, Millie,’ he says, leaning towards me and straightening his shoulders. ‘For a start, you need to return your matchmaker’s call and then explain yourself in person. Once that’s taken care of, you’ll have to return to Fife to deal with your flat. End the lease, and we’ll discuss what to do with all your furniture.’

I brush my hair with my fingers. ‘Duly noted. I’ll try to make plans today.’

‘Good. I’m glad you’re feeling up to it.’

He nods, apparently very satisfied. I forget how he draws pride from making sure I’m looking after myself. It worries me because, oh, he will be in such shock when I tell him about Blair.
 

I’m not even remotely sure how Mother and I are going to handle that choice revelation. If the row has made him more eager to get our family back together, then there’s a chance he won’t want to upset us too much. Of course it’s also true that he was ruthless with Al. Father may keep to himself, but his tolerance for the unsavoury is just as low as the next earl’s. I can only hope my good intentions make the difference. It isn’t about disobedience. It’s about love.

Father continues, though this time he doesn’t look up from the article he’s apparently reading. ‘Do discuss your travel schedule with me. It’s just that it would be nice if you came back to the estate for a decent amount of time before it is sold. I know it won’t be easy, but I think it’ll give us some closure.’

As usual, mention of the sale makes me queasy. Add this to the sense of discomfort I already have from finding out about the row and from hiding my relationship, and suddenly I’m stressed out all over again.
 

I try to give a steady reply, though I’m beginning to wish I had a pair of sunglasses. ‘Yes, Mother mentioned you’d spoken to her about that.’
 

He’s astounded that I’m privy to the plan – jumping as if someone’s told him the Queen has been overthrown. ‘I wanted to be the one to ask you,’ he says, now looking at me.

‘She probably thought she was laying the groundwork, so to speak.’
 

There’s clear doubt in his eyes. ‘Right.’
 

We’re interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Naturally, I assume it’s Mother, but it soon becomes clear I haven’t asked all the relevant questions.

‘That’ll be Blair with my toast,’ Father says.

Now I’m the one startled. ‘Blair? Why is he up?’

Before my father can answer, Blair glides into the room, his expression steady when we lock eyes. From the look of it, he’s not perturbed to be helping out this morning, indeed radiating an air of calm I quite envy. I’m so bewildered by the sight of him working on his day off – our day off – that I fail to dampen my surprise, gawking in what my father reads as disapproval.

‘Blair’s been kind enough to accommodate me this morning,’ he says, eyeing me pointedly from over his paper.

I tell myself to respond normally before I look even more disquieted by the sight of Blair standing dutifully before us. ‘Oh.’ It’s the only word I can manage – definitely a bit of a fail.

Blair smiles in earnest, which of course makes my stomach flip more times than Tom Daley completing a triple somersault pike off a ten-metre board.
 

‘Good morning, Your Ladyship. I trust you slept well after retiring early?’

Seeing him in a good mood makes me want to giggle all over again. Luckily, I know better than to do that.

‘I wanted to be fully rested today,’ I say, keen to appear civil. ‘You know, just in case big things come my way.’

I frown, realising that sounded dirty.

Thankfully, Blair takes it in his stride. ‘I see. Would you like to have breakfast early?’

‘No, I’m good at waiting. Sometimes waiting makes you better appreciate things when you do indeed receive them. Reward after abstention.’

God, even that sounded dirty. Blair raises his eyebrows, apparently unable to ignore the innuendo on this occasion.
 

My father nods, seemingly unaware of any sexual tension. ‘I always appreciate a good breakfast.’

‘So do I, m’lord.’ After giving me an amused look, Blair comes over to set the tray down on the side table next to the settee and pours Father a cup of tea. ‘Will Lady Emilia be seeing you off at the station?’

‘Oh no, that won’t be necessary,’ He looks at me quickly, apology in his eyes. ‘I don’t want to cause a fuss with her mother.’

‘Yes, m’lord.’

I pout, but understand that my father is right: Mother may take it as a slight.

Whoa, being up this early is exhausting. It must be all the worrying. I really do owe my parents for what I put them through.

‘Are you quite sure you don’t want anything, Millie?’ Father asks. Maybe the sudden stress makes me look hungry. ‘Let Blair fetch you something. He won’t bite.’

Me being me, I instantly think of Blair giving me a love bite, a fantasy that inevitably results in my cheeks turning bright red.

My reply comes tumbling out of my mouth, completely rushed and clumsy.
 
‘No, no, no. I don’t need Blair to get me off.’
 

Both men look absolutely mortified. I’m not sure why until I replay my own words in my head.

I sit up, flailing my hands around. You’d think I was trying to erase my words by snatching them back from the air around me.
 
‘Oh my God, I meant
get me food
. I don’t need Blair to get me food.’

Red-faced and no longer able to look me in the eye, Blair presses his lips into a fine line, doing a marvellous impression of my mother suppressing a raging outburst. Then I remember that I’m potentially putting his job at risk if my father sees the comment as an indiscretion that needs to be throttled before it turns into something more. Perhaps the rage is real.

Mother’s butler. Father’s house.

‘On second thought, I’m sure you can make your own breakfast after we’ve left for the station,’ Father says, speaking slowly and eyeing me curiously.

Heart pounding in my chest, I do my best to recover. ‘I really am sorry,’ I say to the pair of them. ‘It’s early and I clearly don’t get out enough.’

Yes, I’m invoking the
I don’t know how to deal with men
excuse. It’s the useful cousin of the
I don’t know how to deal with life
excuse, though I suppose both are anti-feminist – if not downright sad.
 

Father remains unimpressed. ‘With comments like that, you ought to stay inside.’
 

‘That was the last of this year’s accidental vulgarities, I swear. My quota has been filled.’

‘Well, I expressly ban you from having any such quota in the first place.’ He gestures at Blair, who still can’t bear to look at me. ‘Show the man some respect.’

‘I do respect him.’ I almost laugh from the absurdity of it all.
 

Father raises his hand to prevent me from talking any more, before addressing Blair. ‘I apologise for her. If you’d feel more comfortable waiting in the servants’ hall, then by all means do so.’

Blair clears his throat. ‘Thank you, m’lord. Do ring when you need me to return.’

It’s only when my father raises his newspaper that Blair catches my eye, his smirk of disbelief indicating that maybe he’s not completely furious with me, but simply exasperated by my inability to act like a sane, fully functional human being.
 

It could’ve been worse. I could’ve blurted out that he’d already gotten me off… several times.

With a final shake of his head, he leaves the room, probably making mental notes about how much I owe him for the trouble. Hopefully the debt won’t be too difficult to repay. More importantly, I hope the deception doesn’t make him overly nervous about continuing with our relationship.

I must look worried, because Father pats my arm. ‘I know you’re anxious, darling, but you mustn’t panic and let your insecurities get the better of you. You’ll find a man eventually.’

I smile ruefully and then sit quietly where I am, counting palm trees and wishing I could go one week without making a fool of myself. Little does he know that I have found a man. Now I just have to make sure I can keep him.

***

Blair leaves me hanging while he completes the rest of his duties, the distraction of my verbal blunder not the most welcome intrusion to his day, no matter how amusing in retrospect. It’s not until after ten, when he’s dropped my mother at her friend’s for a morning of tea and gossip, that we get to discuss things freely. Thank God for the inventor of the hands-free kit.

I take the call while lounging around on my bed – probably not the greatest idea considering I’ve hit a mid-morning wall. Anxiety and sleep-deprivation are a terrible mix. Getting up before six really was a mistake.

‘You sound sleepy, Millie. You might as well take a nap.’

‘No, I am not taking a nap,’ I say indignantly, wishing I were in the car with him. ‘If I nap after you’ve already worked who-knows-how-many-hours, we won’t get to spend much time together.’

‘Calm down. We’ve got all day. I’m not seeing my family until dinnertime.’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly, I’m a whole lot happier. I’d thought we were down to two hours of hurried sex and truncated conversation. Now we won’t have to rush at all – unless we want to, of course.
 

‘So you’re going to take a nap?’

‘Definitely not.’ I try to stifle an incoming yawn but fail miserably. Naturally, I’m forced to deflect before he passes comment. ‘You need me to be awake. Did I mention you sound stressed?’

He snorts. ‘Yes, what possible reason would I have to be stressed. Stress? What stress? I’ve a had jolly good time driving your parents around this morning.’

‘I sense sarcasm.’ I say this in a small voice, mostly because the stress is ultimately my fault.
 

‘You sense correctly. This morning your father wanted to know my general strategy for when women are inappropriate and then, four hours later, your mother grilled me on contraception.’

I sit up, not liking where this is going. ‘Is it worth me asking which was more mortifying?’

‘Probably the latter considering she read my facial expression in the rearview mirror and correctly deduced that the answer to her question was no, I haven’t been using condoms when we’ve had sex.’
 

‘What?’ My stomach lurches. Then my heart lurches. All my internal organs are lurching. ‘Blair! Why didn’t you use your indifferent face?’

‘I hardly think it would’ve helped to come across as ambivalent. Besides, you’re one to talk, Miss Freudian Slip.’

‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry about this morning, and for, you know, everything afterwards. Makes me feel like we’re teenagers being lectured.’

‘It certainly felt like Sex Ed,’ he says, downtrodden, before putting on the bright, over-enthused voice of a sixties advert. ‘Did you know the pill is only ninety-nine point seven per cent effective? Would you like to know some worst-case scenarios of the point three per cent? I know I do. How about an NHS leaflet on the dangers of chlamydia?’

‘You know, funny you should mention that, because I once brainstormed places where I might’ve seen you before, and one of my crazy ideas was an anti-STI poster. You’re good looking, you see, so all the ugly boys would look up to you and believe whatever slogan you were pushing.’

‘You thought I was a poster boy for herpes?’

‘Anti-herpes.’

‘Do me a favour and never go into marketing.’

I pause, unable to rejig the strategy on such short notice. ‘I suppose ugly boys wouldn’t be getting any, anyway.’

He guffaws, but not in a way that suggests he disagrees. ‘That’s terribly mean, Millie.’