Page 18 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘I had thought that you must, surely, have run the gamut of new ways to debase me,’ he said. ‘And yet here I am – soaked in fetid water – and my mortification is complete. Are you satisfied?’

He was almost shouting now.

‘No, of course I am not,’ Lydia lied, desperately trying to blink some tears into her eyes, for the situation could surely be exacerbated by tears. ‘Indeed, I am sorry. I never meant for you to fall in so embarrassing a manner. You must feel so humiliated.’

Ashford did not appear to be listening. He leant down to tear off his left boot, tipping it upside down to clear it of water.

‘It is not just the hat,’ he said, watching an incomprehensible amount of water run out. ‘It is everything .’

Hopping about on one foot – and truly, Lydia almost felt mortified for him, for the display was quite intensely unmasculine – Ashford replaced his left boot and then pulled off his right. Neither one appeared to have been in the least waterproof.

‘Everything you have done since arriving here,’ he went on bitterly, ‘has been so impossibly deplorable that it defies comprehension. Indeed, I could almost accuse you of – of …’

Lydia had ceased trying to cry in favour of observing Ashford’s meltdown as gleefully as one might watch one’s horse win a race. In fact, she had lost control of her own expression entirely, and it would prove to be her mistake.

For when Ashford raised his head to fix her with another accusatory glance, he did so to see her regarding him with a wide grin of triumph on her face.

‘Of – doing – it – on – purpose,’ he finished.

Lydia rearranged her face as quickly as she could, but the mask, once removed, did not go back on as smoothly. Ashford stared at her, rage tempered with incredulity upon his face, as realization slowly began to dawn. There was a long pause.

‘You have been doing it on purpose,’ he said.

‘What on earth can you mean, my lord?’ Lydia asked, all distressed confusion. Even to her own ears, it was no longer convincing.

‘I thought you seemed different, right away,’ he said, almost to himself. He raised a trembling hand to his forehead. ‘Your gowns, your behaviour, your laugh … It makes sense, now. But why on earth would you do such a thing?’

Lydia bit her lip. She had not prepared for this eventuality.

‘Was it some sort of test?’ Ashford demanded. ‘Did you mean me to prove my worth by – by driving me mad?’

What on earth should she say? What was the correct manner to manage this?

‘Tell. The. Truth,’ Ashford said, very deliberately.

And, well … Perhaps that was the only thing left to do.

‘Not test you,’ Lydia said. ‘More … get rid of you.’

‘Get rid of me?’ he said, voice rising again. ‘Get rid of me ?’

‘I do not wish to marry you,’ Lydia explained. ‘Thus I had to get rid of you.’

‘But … why ?’ he said. ‘I do not understand …’

‘I imagine you do not,’ Lydia said, ‘given you think yourself such a prize that you reject women for French and capriciousness.’

Ashford mouthed at her wordlessly for a moment, as a goldish stranded on land.

‘You heard our conversation, that night,’ Ashford said at last. ‘When I was—’

‘Enumerating all the ways ladies were failing to meet your standards,’ Lydia finished for him, ‘as if we are chattels, there to be judged and found wanting?’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Yes, I heard you.’

He stared at her for a moment longer.

‘Then why did you accept my proposal?’ he said, at last. ‘A simple “no” would have seen me off, I assure you.’

Lydia snorted.

‘Decline you, the future duke?’ she said. ‘With my aunt and uncle present and barely two minutes to prepare for the moment? I could not.’

‘You most certainly could.’

‘They would have made my life miserable,’ Lydia went on, ‘and there was no telling what you would have done had I refused you.’

‘I would have done nothing!’ he protested. ‘I would have respected your decision; why would you possibly think I would do anything else?’

‘Perhaps because we never spoke of it,’ she snapped. ‘Why did you never think to speak privately to me first?’

‘When exactly do you suggest I should have done so?’ he said. ‘At one of the hundred-person events at which we met? In the middle of the dance floor, as we changed partners every other moment?’

‘Other gentlemen seem to manage it,’ Lydia said.

Ashford fished furiously in his pockets for his snuffbox. He opened it with a savage flick of his hand, as he always did – and a puddle of water came out. He let out a strangled noise of rage, and snapped it shut again.

‘You gave me every sign you wished to marry me,’ he said. ‘You danced with me, and spoke with me and walked with me …’

‘Consider the power you hold,’ she said. ‘I do not think there is a single young lady in London who could refuse a dance, or a conversation, or a walk with you – a future duke – without causing risk to her reputation. Accepting a dance does not, however, constitute consent to marriage.’

‘But you did consent!’ he said. ‘I asked if you wished to marry me, and you had every chance …’

‘I barely had a chance to think,’ she corrected. ‘Did you not notice I was not exactly dancing with happiness?’

‘I thought you were shy,’ he protested. ‘Your uncle informed me you welcomed my suit.’

‘They would have me marry a goat if it had a title!’

‘If you felt pressure from your family, then I am sorry,’ Ashford said. ‘But that is not my fault. You must admit that.’

‘You never thought to speak to me first,’ she said, ‘because you never imagined in a thousand years I would not fall over myself to marry you. You must admit that .’

Ashford flushed a slow, incriminating red. ‘And so, you came up with this scheme to humiliate me?’

‘No!’ she defended. ‘Merely to show you that you had been wrong in choosing me.’

He gave a savage shout of laughter.

‘Consider that very much achieved!’ he said. ‘I have never encountered such unfeeling malignance in all of my life – I can only thank God that I saw your true colours in time to avert such a colossal error.’

‘Thank me, not God.’ She folded her hands together demurely and gave him a sweet smile. ‘It is I who has brought this about, not He.’

‘You are monstrous,’ he said.

‘Oh, pish.’

‘Pish?!’

‘Your actions are preventing me from marrying my true love,’ she said. ‘I do not think my reaction so monstrous.’

Ashford stared. After a moment, he heaved out a sigh and ran a distracted hand through his hair.

‘You ought to have explained you had a prior attachment,’ he muttered.

Lydia faltered. Ought she to correct his assumption? She did not had have a specific gentleman in mind, after all. Though … ‘And you would have understood?’

It did not matter that she had not yet met him, her true love. She knew he was out there.

‘I am not heartless,’ he said. ‘Your family do not approve of the match, I take it?’

‘Well,’ she said, looking away and brushing some imaginary dust from her sleeve, ‘I suppose the thing is … I do not know him, yet.’

Ashford frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I did not mean you to take me so literally,’ she said. ‘It is the opportunity of which you rob me.’

‘You do not have a prior attachment? This gentleman does not exist? He is fictional?’

‘He certainly exists ,’ she snapped. ‘I have met several possibilities already.’

‘Have you? Such as?’

The scepticism in his tone and face made her wish to push him back into the tarn.

‘Well … Captain von Prett for one,’ she said boldly.

‘Captain von Prett,’ Ashford sputtered. ‘The explorer?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘The one who goes on and on about his tragic affairs?’

‘The one,’ Lydia corrected, ‘who is honest and brave and is not afraid to feel.’

‘Christ,’ Ashford raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Have you even met him?’

‘Once,’ Lydia admitted. ‘But there was a moment of true connection and—’

‘I wager he does not even know your name.’ He looked as if he did not know whether to laugh or begin shouting again.

‘He does,’ Lydia insisted, though she was not sure of this herself. ‘Besides, it is not about Captain von Prett. It is about what he symbolizes.’

‘You have spent a week humiliating me in favour of the symbolism of another man?’ Ashford demanded.

‘I have spent a week humiliating you in order to secure my freedom,’ she corrected.

He took in a deep inhale through his nose. ‘You will write today and inform your guardians that you have ended the engagement,’ he said with forced calm. ‘And you will leave Hawkscroft in the morning.’

‘No,’ she said.

‘ No ?’ he said, jaw dropping. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘If I could have cried off, do you think I should not have done it at the very beginning of the visit?’ Lydia said, irritated. ‘I cannot, because of Mildred.’

‘Who – who is Mildred?’ Ashford asked, looking about wildly as if he expected her to appear. ‘What has she to do with anything?’

‘My other aunt,’ Lydia explained. ‘She’s awful and I will be sent to live with her if I cry off. No, you must jilt me.’

He shook his head wordlessly.

‘That is the whole point of this,’ she stressed, stepping closer. ‘I thought you understood.’

‘I cannot jilt you.’

‘You just said you wanted to!’ she said indignantly, reigning in a desire to stamp her foot.

‘I am a gentleman,’ he said. ‘It would be the height of dishonour.’

Oh, lord.

‘Recollect no one knows we are engaged,’ she pointed out, taking another step towards him. ‘It cannot be that dishonourable.’

‘Lady Phoebe knows,’ he said. ‘Sir Waldo, Mr Brandon.’

‘It is supposed to be a secret ,’ Lydia said acidly.

‘This is all your fault.’ Ashford combed a distracted hand through his wet hair. ‘If you had come to me, right at the beginning, and explained your position …’

‘You had already left town!’ she said. ‘I could not.’

‘Then I might have been able to prevent all of this,’ he continued as if she had not spoken. ‘But you did not, and now it is too late for anything but you to cry off.’

‘And live with Aunt Mildred?’ she said. ‘She is awful.’

‘At present,’ he said. ‘I could not care less if Aunt Mildred is a real-life ogre. You will cry off, today.’

‘If enough people know to risk your honour,’ she said, ‘then it is sufficient to risk my reputation, too.’

No gentlemen, not even Captain von Prett, was likely to fall in love with an ostracized woman. No hostess was likely to invite an ostracized woman to dinner.

‘You are young,’ he said. ‘Society will forgive you.’

‘Oh yes, Society is just so forgiving of young, untitled women,’ she said. ‘I think not. You let the news out so you must lump the dishonour.’

He leant forward. ‘No.’

‘You simply must.’

‘I simply will not.’

‘You must.’

‘No, you must.’

‘No, you —’

Ashford broke off. They were practically nose-to-nose, each glaring fiercely at the other. His grey eyes – ordinarily so calm, so benign, so blank – were now alight with rage.

The moment stretched, then Ashford turned away to take a deep breath – Lydia did not know quite why he was bothering; they did not seem to be calming him down.

‘The others will be wondering as to our whereabouts,’ he said, his voice tight. ‘Let us go. Later, we will discuss, calmly, our next steps over a cup of tea.’

‘You may drink all the tea you like,’ Lydia said, amazed her voice was so steady. ‘I already know what my next steps are. If you will not cry off today, then I will have no choice but to continue.’

‘Continue?’

‘Continue showing you how very awful your life would be, married to me,’ she said. ‘I have a great many other things planned, you know.’

‘Do you stoop now to blackmail?’ Ashford said quietly.

‘I will stoop to anything I need to,’ Lydia said, raising her chin. ‘For my freedom. I will sing every night—’

‘Stop!’

‘I will call Sir Waldo a duke and Lady Hesse a Miss, I will humiliate you in every single way I—’

‘Oh, I loathe you,’ he burst out, clenching both his hands round the sadly bedraggled hat as if he would quite like to throttle her instead.

‘Then jilt me,’ she said.

‘No.’

‘Then you will simply have to accept the consequences,’ she said, and with that she turned her back and walked away, heart pounding but affecting complete nonchalance.

‘This,’ he called after her, ‘is not over.’