Page 19 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Again, Miss Hanworth, again!’ Sir Waldo begged.

‘I really don’t think—’ Ashford started, but Lydia was already windmilling her arms, screwing up her eyes and dropping her mouth ajar in a most unladylike imitation of Ashford’s fall into the tarn.

‘Careful!’ Lady Phoebe said, as Lydia knocked a glass, though Reeves caught it neatly before it could fall.

Since the day was so fine, Lady Phoebe had requested the afternoon’s refreshment be served on the front lawn, though the outdoor location did not in any way diminish the extravagance of the table.

There were crystal jugs filled with lemonade and plates of delicate slices of fruits and cake arranged before them, with a series of parasols protecting the table from the sun.

A selection of lawn games had been brought out, for further entertainment, and Lords Dacre and Hesse were batting a feathered shuttlecock back and forth with some energy.

‘I had no idea you were so gifted an imitator!’ Sir Waldo declared to Lydia, clapping his hands together.

The others seemed less willing to laugh at Ashford’s expense, even with their host’s encouragement, exchanging only tense smiles.

‘Perhaps we ought to speak of something else,’ Lady Phoebe began.

‘Oh, it’s just jesting, Phoebe,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘You need not be so tense – Lady Morton found it amusing, didn’t you, my lady?’

But Lady Morton was not attending, her eyes having strayed over to Dacre and Hesse. In deference to the afternoon heat, they had shed their coats to play in their shirts and breeches, though were playing an energetic enough game to have a light sheen of perspiration.

‘A fine jest,’ Lady Morton agreed absently, ogling the gentlemen quite as much as if this were a performance organized for her benefit alone. It might well have been. Every time he struck the shuttlecock, Hesse shot her a glance over his shoulder.

‘Yes, bravo,’ Ashford said.

Having changed his dress upon returning to Hawkscroft, Ashford had valiantly regained some of his usual calm along with his superfine coat, but certainly not all of it. Sitting rigidly in his seat, hand clenched around his goblet of lemonade, he looked and sounded distinctly peevish.

‘ I do not think it so amusing,’ Lady Hesse said. ‘Do you, Cynthia?’

‘No,’ Miss Hesse said obediently. ‘You must be very brave.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hesse,’ Ashford said, and was it Lydia’s imagination or was he regarding Miss Hesse rather wistfully?

She could understand why. Sitting there in her simple white gown of French cambric, doing and saying everything that was right and proper, Miss Hesse could not contrast more to Lydia if she tried.

On Lydia’s left side, Lady Hesse observed them smugly; to Lydia’s right, Mr Brandon’s face had tightened.

‘Mr Hanworth!’ Lady Morton called in greeting, looking over Lydia’s shoulders. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Entirely better,’ Pip said, taking a seat at the table and accepting a glass of lemonade. Lydia caught his eye, and he sent her a grimace – he could not have found anything useful then.

‘Though I fear I may have a relapse,’ Pip added hastily. ‘Tomorrow morning, perhaps, while the rest of you are riding.’

‘How specific,’ Ashford said, and he was regarding Pip through narrowed eyes. ‘What kind of illness did you say it was?’

‘The erratic kind,’ Pip said. ‘Have I missed anything of note?’

‘Your sister,’ Sir Waldo said to Pip, ‘was just entertaining us with a most amusing story. Miss Hanworth, you must do it again—’

‘The jest has run its course,’ Ashford interrupted. There was a decided snap in his voice that bordered on outright rudeness. Sir Waldo flushed a little and turned to look at Lady Phoebe rather accusingly, as if she were accountable for Ashford’s behaviour.

‘Oh, do learn to take a joke, Ashford,’ Lady Phoebe said, springing immediately to her husband’s defence. ‘Recollect you once pushed me into a pond.’

‘We were children,’ Ashford said irritably.

‘You used to be a terror,’ Brandon said, in a reminiscing sort of way. ‘Do you remember how we would sneak into each other’s bedchambers to make apple pie beds?’

Ashford flushed. Miss Hesse let out a scandalized giggle. Lydia’s insides pickled with second-hand mortification. Dear lord, was this truly her opponent?

‘Such rascals,’ Lady Hesse said indulgently.

‘What else did you do?’ Miss Hesse asked.

‘Enough, Brandon,’ Ashford said.

‘Once,’ Brandon said, ‘I dyed all of his shirts pink.’

Miss Hesse giggled again, and Brandon’s face lit up.

‘He repaid me though,’ Brandon said, ‘by stuffing eggs under the floorboards of my bedchambers. You would not believe the scent they made!’

‘Enough, Brandon,’ Ashford repeated.

‘What happened to that boy?’ Brandon asked, still grinning.

‘I grew up,’ Ashford said, quellingly. ‘Perhaps you might try it.’

‘Sounds ghastly,’ Brandon said.

Miss Hesse giggled again.

‘May I offer you some lemonade, my lords?’ Reeves said quietly, as Dacre and Hesse – game finished – approached the table.

Hesse accepted a glass without comment, while ever-polite Dacre looked Reeves directly in the eye to smile his gratitude.

By now, Lydia understood this politeness to be entirely characteristic of him.

She had not witnessed Dacre make a single discourtesy to any of Hawkscroft’s household staff, and she would wager he received an elevated level of service, as a result, for from dawn to dusk his cup never ran empty.

‘Thank you, Reeves,’ Dacre said, accepting a glass which looked marginally fuller than Hesse’s. ‘Though I am not sure I deserve it after my defeat.’

‘You did not let me win?’ Hesse checked.

‘Would I do that?’ Dacre protested mildly. Reeves suppressed a smile as he turned away.

‘Do not fear, Hesse!’ Sir Waldo said. ‘I attest that Dacre’s backhand truly is that weak.’

‘True enough,’ Dacre said, accepting this teasing as gracefully as he always did.

‘Would anyone else care for a game?’ Hesse asked.

Lady Morton rose to her feet, brushing down the skirts of her Pomona-green gown so that the delicate fabric clung even more closely to her shape.

‘I do. Though I do not know the rules,’ Lady Morton said, ‘so you shall have to teach me the correct form.’

Lydia suppressed a smile. Such tutelage would surely involve a great deal of close contact.

‘I think Hesse ought to rest,’ Lady Hesse said, apparently thinking along the same lines as Lydia, ‘the day is so warm.’

‘Mother,’ Hesse muttered, raking his hand through his pale locks. ‘I am not a child.’

‘Did you play pranks as a boy, Lord Dacre?’ Miss Hesse said, turning enquiringly in his direction.

‘Oh, I used to torture him,’ Waldo declared proudly, before Dacre could answer. ‘Once I took his cufflinks and—’

‘Took?’ Pip asked, leaning forward suddenly. ‘Stole?’

‘Only briefly,’ Sir Waldo said irritated. ‘No – don’t write that in your little book, sir, it was only a prank!’

‘Perhaps we might speak of something else.’ Ashford pinched his nose with two fingers, as if to ward off a headache.

The table fell silent, all regarding Ashford a little warily. Over on the grass, Hesse was adjusting Lady Morton’s hands on her racquet and her tinkling laugh made Lady Hesse’s eye twitch.

‘Lady Phoebe,’ Dacre said after a brief pause, ‘what will happen to Hawkscroft while you are in Mauritius? Will you shut it up?’

‘There is still so much to discuss,’ Lady Phoebe said, throwing Sir Waldo a quick glance. ‘It might be that I remain here, to look after the estate.’

Sir Waldo hooted.

‘Look after the estate?’ he repeated. ‘You would run us into bankruptcy within the month, my dear, you have no head for business.’

‘I settle all my own bills,’ Lady Phoebe protested.

‘Oh yes, hats and dresses,’ Sir Waldo said, with an exaggerated nod. ‘ Exactly the same.’

Lady Phoebe gave him a swat on the arm. ‘I could learn. There are books on such things.’

‘Are there?’ Miss Hesse asked, wide-eyed.

‘Yes,’ Lydia said, before she could stop herself, for she could recollect her grandmother trying to locate such dry tomes at the library.

‘See!’ Lady Phoebe said triumphantly. She turned to Lydia. ‘Are they good?’

Perhaps Lydia could turn this to her account. ‘I do not know,’ she said airily. ‘But then, I cannot read.’

‘Well, that’s not true,’ Ashford said.

‘Yes, it is,’ Lydia said.

‘You can read.’

His cheeks were colouring in frustration.

‘I think I would know.’

‘I have seen you write.’

‘I can write; I cannot read.’

‘They are the same thing.’

‘No, they are not.’

‘Stop lying!’ Ashford snapped, leaning forward to jab a finger at her.

There was a shocked silence, and Lydia willed her lip to tremble.

‘Ashford,’ Sir Waldo reproached, ‘there is no need to shout.’

Blinking, Ashford looked around. Everyone was staring – at him, not at Lydia. Their shock at Ashford – perfect, controlled Ashford – behaving in such a way was writ clear upon their faces.

‘Not everyone enjoys the same access to education,’ Lady Hesse said softly, faint disapproval colouring her voice. She might toad-eat Ashford for her daughter’s sake, but even he was not immune to the rules of polite behaviour.

Lydia cast her head down in apparent mortification, and Miss Hesse laid a comforting hand on her arm.

‘I – apologize,’ Ashford said. ‘I – I don’t know what came over me …’

‘Perhaps you are coming down with something?’ Lady Phoebe suggested.

‘You are looking a little flushed,’ Mr Brandon said.

‘Did you catch a chill from the water?’ Dacre suggested.

‘I did not.’ Ashford had balled his hands up into fists so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Just a little prod further and he would lose all control …

‘An infection?’ Lady Phoebe suggested.

‘Could it be,’ Lydia said, ‘from that fish which bit you.’

Miss Hesse let out a shocked gasp.

‘What are you talking about?’ Ashford’s jaw dropped. ‘This is utter nonsense.’

‘When you fell in the lake,’ Lydia said. ‘You remember?’

She windmilled her arms again. Ashford glared at her with real hatred.