Page 16 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Every night they spent together, rain or shine, guests or no guests, she would sing.

And he would no more be able to stop her than he had been able to stop any of her outlandish behaviour this whole week.

He would have to sit there, suffering not only from the humiliation of his friends and family witnessing such a spectacle, but also from the very real pain of his soul to hear a deplorable noise.

She would sing, and he would listen, song after song, night after night and year after year – until the final, sweet release of death.

At long, long last, the final searing note resounded, wrenched from Miss Hanworth’s mouth with all the subtlety of a plough oxen. In the silence it left behind, no one knew quite what to say, and, blinking their eyes in confusion, exchanged shocked glances with one another.

‘Music has … such a power does it not?’ Miss Hanworth said serenely, looking around at them with a gentle smile.

‘Certainly,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘Certainly, it … does.’

‘Shall I play another?’

‘No!’ Eight voices spoke over one another.

‘I think we are all feeling a little tired,’ Lady Phoebe said. ‘Can I offer anyone a cup of tea?’

Ashford’s recollection of the next hour was a little loose. He felt clammy, ill, as if he had caught a chill, and he fulfilled the duties of a guest to the very bare minimum. Fortunately, it was not long before everyone began to drift upstairs to bed.

‘Sleep well, my lord,’ Miss Hanworth said cheerfully to him, as she passed by him to fetch a taper from Reeves.

Ashford dipped his head in response – he could not trust himself to speak – and caught Mr Brandon firmly by the arm as that gentleman tried to pass him, frogmarching him towards the smoking room.

‘Everything all right, my dear chap?’ Mr Brandon asked, as Ashford shut the door behind them with a click. ‘You need me for something?’

Ashford did not answer, walking briskly over to the liquor cabinet, and pouring out two very large glasses of brandy.

‘Really, Ashford, I’m not sure I can manage a nightcap. It’s been a long day.’

‘No matter,’ Ashford said, tipping first one, then the other down his throat. The warmth blazed a path down his throat, chasing away some of the clamminess from his veins.

‘She’s a madwoman,’ he said at last. ‘She is. There is no other explanation.’

‘Who?’ Mr Brandon asked, with forced innocence.

Ashford turned to look at him, not in the least convinced. Mr Brandon dropped the act.

‘She’s … eccentric! I think it charming.’

‘That,’ Ashford said, jabbing a finger towards the drawing room. ‘Was not mere eccentricity – it was …’

Words failed him.

‘I cannot believe I thought she would be a suitable bride,’ he said.

‘Perhaps it would be exciting,’ Mr Brandon said quickly. ‘One never knows quite what she will or will not say, after all – keeps one on one’s toes! And lots of gentlemen enjoy having a wife not quite in the usual way.’

‘Which gentlemen?’ Ashford demanded.

Mr Brandon pondered this for a moment.

‘Marlborough!’ he said after a moment. ‘That wife of his has a collection of ferrets unlike anything I’ve ever known – very eccentric – and Marlborough always looks happy enough, doesn’t he?’

‘He’s always covered in bites,’ Ashford pointed out. ‘It’s not a state to which I aspire!’

‘I am trying to be positive.’ Mr Brandon sighed. ‘I do wish you might join me.’

‘Oh, please!’ Ashford snapped. ‘You don’t believe any of this – you’re just worried I’ll turn my attentions to Miss Hesse!’

‘I must say that stings,’ Mr Brandon protested, though he flushed a guilty red. ‘If I am worried, it is just on the ladies’ behalf! Who’s to say you might not change your mind about Miss Hesse, too, the moment she sings a song a little flat?’

‘A little flat? I have heard death knells with more musicality,’ Ashford said. He shuddered. ‘To think I am engaged to such a creature.’

The words slipped out before he realized what had happened.

‘You are engaged?’ Brandon said sharply.

Oh lord! Ashford pressed a shaking hand to his forehead.

‘When did this occur?’

‘Before we arrived,’ he said. There was no point lying about it now. ‘We had to keep it a secret, the duke wishes to announce it himself at the ball.’

Brandon went to pour brandy for each of them.

‘I begin to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Christ .’

‘She has not the smallest idea of how to behave,’ Ashford said.

‘She cannot sit through a single meal without committing the most horrendous faux pas , she calls everyone by the wrong title, no matter how often she is corrected, she hates all literature, she knows so little about so much, her laugh —’

He broke off, pressing a shaking hand to his mouth.

‘The laugh is bad,’ Mr Brandon acknowledged. ‘But … just think how large your houses are! You would not hear it.’

As if that shrill cackle could not make its way through miles of stone and mortar.

‘Oh, I’ll hear it.’ He jabbed a finger quite violently to his forehead. ‘I can still hear it now.’

‘Are you sure it’s not you that’s gone mad?’ Mr Brandon asked.

‘If I have, it is her that has driven me so,’ Ashford said. ‘Each day she gives new and different reasons for me to despise her company. I cannot bear it a moment longer.’

‘But you must,’ Mr Brandon said, voice suddenly serious. ‘You made a promise, Ashford. You gave your word.’

Ashford heaved a great sigh, all the agitation seeping out of him in a great rush.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. I just … I do not know what to do.’

‘Nothing you can do,’ Brandon said. ‘But when you are married, you’ll solve it: you’ll see.’

‘How? By sending her to the madhouse?’ Ashford said. ‘What kind of asylum could fix her?’

Mr Brandon considered. ‘One that provided singing lessons?’