Font Size
Line Height

Page 2 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘No doubt your aunt has informed you, my dear,’ Uncle Edmund said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ‘that I have just received a very distinguishing a proposal for your hand.’

‘Yes,’ Lydia said, her voice small, her courage depleting with every moment that passed. She had been raised to consider the peerage as akin to gods and disliking Ashford did not render him any less intimidating.

‘It is a tremendous honour …’ she began.

What on earth was she going to say? What words could she find to make such a rejection acceptable in his eyes? She could not anger him. One word from him, in the right ears, could destroy her reputation forever.

‘I …’

Uncle Edmund’s face darkened as Lydia hesitated. Aunt Agatha had not been making idle threats. Lydia would not be allowed to remain in this house, once she rejected Ashford.

‘Do you require some time to consider the matter?’ Ashford asked, and for the first time that morning, he was smiling, as if the thought of Lydia considering his proposal had amused him. There was no part of him that thought she would decline, then. Such arrogance!

‘Mere shyness!’ Uncle Edmund insisted, shooting Lydia a glare.

‘She is a little surprised,’ Aunt Agatha agreed. ‘We all are, my lord.’

‘I know that our acquaintance is not of a long duration,’ Ashford conceded, ‘and I could not show too particular an interest until I received my father’s blessing.’

Aunt Agatha nodded her fervent understanding. ‘No amount of time, however,’ he continued, ‘could make me any more certain of your niece.’

He turned to regard Lydia, more directly and for longer than he ever had done before … but as Lydia stared back at him, she felt no warmth. No excitement.

‘Truly?’ Lydia checked and felt Aunt Agatha’s warning hand upon her back again.

‘Yes,’ Ashford said, smiling again as if her disbelief were charming. ‘I knew it from our very first meeting.’

Their first meeting?

‘Love at first sight!’ Aunt Agatha cooed her approval.

Ashford inclined his head. Lydia felt as if she were trapped in some peculiar dream.

‘Well, tell his lordship how you answer, my girl,’ Uncle Edmund instructed Lydia.

‘He has not asked me anything yet!’ Lydia said, stung out of her silence.

Aunt Agatha pressed her back again, but Ashford did not appear to take heed of her rudeness, drawing out an enamelled snuffbox from his pocket and, unconcerned and unhurried, flicking it open.

‘I am here, today, to ask if you would do me the very great honour,’ he said, ‘of becoming my wife.’

In novels and plays, a proposal was usually accompanied by excess of emotion: tears, choked voice, shining eyes at the very least. It had never, to Lydia’s knowledge, been followed by a gentleman taking a pinch of snuff to each nostril.

This was wrong. This was all so wrong, but Lydia did not know what to do, how to fix this, and everyone was looking at her.

Ashford, brows faintly raised in question, Uncle Edmund frowning meaningfully – she could even feel Aunt Agatha’s glare upon her back.

Lydia took in a deep breath. She just had to say it. Just had to say the words – and be sent to Aunt Mildred, and sentenced to a miserable life until she could find some means of escape.

‘Miss Hanworth?’ Ashford prompted.

‘Um, I-I—’ she stammered.

She had spent her whole life exerting effort to curb her tongue and yet now, when she needed words most, they were gone from her.

‘A-a great honour,’ she managed, with difficulty. ‘And I – yes, I …’

She had not finished the sentence. How it was to end, she did not know, but when Uncle Edmund heard ‘yes’, he began clapping his hands.

‘No! I—’ Lydia began.

‘I think this calls for a tipple,’ Aunt Agatha said, reaching for the bell, and then Ashford was approaching.

Lydia took in another sharp breath. Decline, now , she told herself. You can still decline, now.

‘You have made me very happy,’ he said, bending his head briefly over her hand. She had seen men display more emotion over purchasing a horse!

Say something, anything , a voice in her mind was clamouring at her. Stop this now , before it is too late.

‘I …’

Nothing came. Whatever magic words could have averted this horror, she could not muster them.

For the next half hour, she was silent, watching as Aunt Agatha and Uncle Edmund, eager as puppies, swarmed around Ashford, almost beside themselves with nervous joy, assailing him with a flurry of flattery and questions and trivialities.

Ashford, in turn, was civil and calm. He gave responses that were courteous but not encouraging, behaving toward them, in short, with the polite tolerance of one who considers himself superior.

He stood to take his leave at the earliest opportunity, explaining that he was bound for Kent that afternoon.

‘Before I go,’ he told them, ‘I must ask that news of the engagement be kept between us.’

‘We … cannot send a notice to the journals?’ Uncle Edmund asked, smile fading. He had no doubt planned to write to every journal, every single member of their acquaintance just as soon as Ashford left the room.

‘My father wishes to announce the betrothal himself,’ Ashford said. ‘At Lady Phoebe’s masquerade ball. His Grace has … a strong sense of occasion.’

An edge of fond exasperation entered his voice as he spoke about his father. It was the most emotion he had shown all morning.

‘I will depend upon your discretion, until then.’

His tone brooked no argument.

‘Of course, of course,’ Uncle Edmund said. ‘I should rather die than—’

‘It is to be kept secret?’ Lydia interrupted, her voice returning at last.

‘Such disappointment,’ Uncle Edmund said archly. ‘ Someone is eager to spread the news!’

It was not disappointment rising in Lydia’s chest. It was hope.

‘For ten days, only,’ Ashford told her. ‘The duke’s request.’

‘And you shall be at Hawkscroft, together!’ Aunt Agatha said.

‘Yes, of course.’ Ashford sent another smile in Lydia’s direction. She did not return it. ‘I thought her house party would make a fine opportunity to introduce Miss Hanworth into our circles – before the news of our engagement is made public.’

‘So kind,’ Aunt Agatha enthused. ‘Lydia was so excited to receive the invitation!’

She had not been.

‘And kept asking me what she should expect and pack, the dear thing.’

She had not.

‘It will be an intimate affair,’ Ashford said. ‘Ten of Lady Phoebe’s nearest and dearest, with all the usual fare: riding, dining, and, on the final night, the masquerade ball.’

‘And none of them will know,’ Lydia said, ‘of our – our engagement?’

Aunt Agatha and Uncle Edmund threw twin glares her, but Ashford was unruffled.

‘I imagine they will suspect us of courting,’ he said, ‘but otherwise, it shall be our secret.’

And with a final bow, he bade them farewell.

They remained entirely silent in the library until the sound of the front door was heard closing firmly behind him.

Then, Uncle Edmund let out a whoop of joy and Aunt Agatha began chattering excitedly at the top of her voice.

Neither of them acknowledged Lydia and she remained entirely silent.

It was not a devastated silence this time, however, but rather a thoughtful one.

Matters were not so dark as they had first appeared.

She would not be getting married to Ashford, of that she was certain – and neither would she be banished to Aunt Mildred.

How, she did not yet know, but she would think of something.

A great deal could be achieved in ten days, after all.