Page 22 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Such wonderful memories you all have,’ Lydia said through gritted teeth. ‘I was jesting – my apologies, I thought that was clear.’

Fortunately, the serving finished before Ashford could argue the point.

Around the table, everyone turned, and this time, Lydia did not disrupt the natural flow – but she must do something.

Captain von Prett’s head was turned away, deep in conversation with Lady Phoebe at the far end of the table.

Perhaps … Perhaps, with a great deal of care, she might be able to progress two objectives at one time: show Captain von Prett what a marvellous lady she was, while continuing to make Ashford’s life difficult.

With one eye on the captain, Lydia reached her hand towards the wrong utensil and—

‘No,’ Ashford said, pressing her hand back against the table under his own.

‘Unhand me!’ she hissed at him.

‘If you try to eat your soup with a fork,’ he said out of the corner of her mouth. ‘I shall scream.’

Mere minutes ago, this prospect – mutual public humiliation – would have thrilled her, but now … She tried to peel his fingers off her hand. It was surprisingly difficult. He placed his other one on top of that.

‘What on earth are you both doing?’ Sir Waldo asked.

The table turned to regard them.

‘A little game,’ Lydia said. ‘Though I don’t think I understand the rules, my lord – where should I put my hand next?’

‘That is not what I …’Ashford flushed and extracted himself. ‘The soup is delicious, Phoebe.’ He sent Lydia a vitriolic look.

‘I could not agree more,’ the captain said. ‘I appreciate it all the more after so many months on the road.’

‘How long do you remain in England?’ Lydia ventured – cross-table talk having been opened by others, it felt permissible to continue.

‘I have only a few more engagements to fulfil,’ the captain said, ‘and then …’ His spread his hands out. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘There is still so much to discover.’

This week was it, then. Lydia’s only chance to get to know him.

‘I think you very brave,’ Lady Phoebe told him warmly. ‘To travel so far from home – I cannot imagine it.’

‘Soon that shall be us!’ Sir Waldo said. ‘Lady Phoebe and I are bound for Mauritius in a few weeks.’

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ the captain said. ‘You must be beside yourself with excitement.’

‘A little nervous, too,’ Lady Phoebe said, with a weak smile. ‘I have no head for languages, you see.’

‘You’ll pick it up,’ Sir Waldo said robustly. ‘“May I buy this hat” cannot be so difficult to learn.’ He gave a hoot of laughter at his joke.

‘I speak only French – apart from English, of course,’ the captain reassured Lady Phoebe. ‘Kindness is the same in every language.’

‘How admirable,’ Lady Morton breathed, leaning so far toward him that her bosoms looked in danger of falling into the chicken fricassee.

‘Fascinating,’ Miss Hesse said, fluttering her long eyelashes.

‘Very,’ Lydia agreed, not to be outdone.

‘Don’t you speak French, Miss Hanworth?’ Ashford said.

Lydia clenched her hand so hard around her spoon that her knuckles turned white.

‘You do?’ the captain said, turning in her direction.

‘No,’ she said.

‘But we have heard you!’ Sir Waldo encouraged.

‘Not really,’ she corrected – for she did not think looking a liar was exactly attractive, either – ‘The tiniest amount.’

Three phrases, to be exact.

‘Oh, you are being too modest,’ Ashford said, and there was an evil glint in his eye. ‘We must all begin somewhere – I am sure the captain would not mind practising with you?’

‘ Bien sur ! ’ von Prett said. ‘ Passez-vous une bonne soirée ?’

Lydia’s face flamed red.

‘Go on,’ Ashford said. ‘How do you answer him?’

‘The second course already!’ Lydia said loudly.

‘Goodness, Lady Phoebe, this is an elegant spread.’ She gestured to the table, which seemed even fuller than usual.

There were beefsteaks in oyster sauce, a baked trout in a caper dressing, a fricassee of chicken, accompanied by broiled mushrooms, French beans and dishes of asparagus so succulent they must have been cut by the kitchen-gardener moments before cooking.

‘Thank you,’ Lady Phoebe said, a little startled – thus far, Lydia had purposefully not offered such praise. ‘Please do not feel you need to eat everything.’

‘But of course we will!’ the captain said. ‘To refuse such fare, when you have gone to such trouble, would be such a discourtesy.’

‘A slice of the carp for you, Miss Hanworth,’ Ashford asked, depositing an enormous portion onto her plate before she could answer.

‘Thank you,’ she said through gritted teeth.

Ashford spooned another great portion. The smell threatened to turn her stomach.

‘Enough,’ she hissed. ‘Or I shall be sick.’

‘That is your issue,’ Ashford hissed back. ‘Not mine.’

‘I shall be sick on you ,’ she said.

By the end of dinner, every muscle in her body ached with tension and her mind was fraught with the effort of trying to outthink Ashford at every juncture of conversation. It was untenable.

Everyone rose from the dinner table as one.

Tonight they were discarding tea and port to proceed directly to the ballroom.

Though there were too few of them for any but the simplest arrangements, everyone was full of cheer at the prospect of some dancing, however informal – everyone except Pip who, with an unconvincing cough, claimed his intention of getting an ‘early night’ while sending Lydia a very speaking look.

Tonight, the objective was Mr Brandon’s rooms.

‘May I speak with you?’ Lydia said to Ashford, as they stood.

‘Oh, now you wish to speak?’ he muttered, but he lingered with her, as the rest of the party left, and then looked around to the footmen. ‘May we have the room?’

Once they were finally alone, Ashford leant back against the table, removing his snuffbox from his pocket and tapping it against his other hand. ‘Well? I have only a moment.’

Plainly, he was going to make this as difficult as possible for her, and the urge to hit him across his stupid, smug face became almost overwhelming.

‘Why must you continue to ruin my life?’ she demanded instead. ‘If you were not here, Captain von Prett and I would probably be halfway to love by now.’

‘If I was not here, neither would you be.’ He sounded infuriatingly calm. ‘And you must certainly think a lot of yourself to imagine your mere presence enough to make him fall in love. I, for one, don’t quite see it.’

‘At least I am not so arrogant as to assume everyone in Christendom wishes to marry me!.’

‘It is only you that seems to find the idea so repulsive,’ Ashford said, smug smile falling from his face.

‘Perhaps the others have not had the occasion to speak to you at length,’ she said, anger driving her a step forward. ‘I’m sure that would cure them of the notion speedily enough.’

‘I will have you know I am widely considered,’ he snarled, stepping forward too, ‘to be delightful company.’

‘Oh, well now you’ve explained it to me,’ she said, ‘I find myself absolutely overcome with attraction.’

There were only a few inches between them now, and they held each other’s glares, neither one looking away.

If anyone were to walk in on them right now, they would surely assume themselves to be interrupting a lover’s tryst. They might think it romantic, the way the flickering candlelight was casting Ashford’s face into half-shadow, drawing the line of his cheekbone and jaw into stronger relief.

Not knowing any better, they might even believe Lydia and Ashford – standing as close as they were, scandalously unchaperoned – on the point of a kiss.

How misled they would be. For if Ashford’s eyes were darkening as they stared into hers, if Lydia’s heart was beginning to beat rather wildly, it was out of anger, not desire.

And he was the last gentleman on earth she could be prevailed upon to kiss.

‘I am not going to back down,’ she said hoarsely. ‘And I will prevail, even if circumstances are more difficult.’

‘Will you?’ Ashford cocked his head slightly. ‘Even while everything you do to me also affects your chances with Captain von Prett?’

Lydia fought the urge to scream. He was right. She had no answer.

‘You must face it: you have now run out of road.’

Lydia had had a very trying day, and the white rage that burnt through her in the face of Ashford’s smug face left no space for rational thought. She merely acted, reaching over to the table, picking up her still-full glass of lemonade and throwing it over him.

Ashford sprang back in shock.

‘What are you doing .’

He grabbed a napkin and tried to dab himself, but it appeared tan breeches were very absorbent.

‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured. ‘How clumsy of me.’

‘You child,’ he said. ‘You absolute harpy!’

She stepped neatly around him and made for the door before he could think to retaliate, hastening for the ballroom where she would have some time to speak to Captain von Prett without Ashford listening, for it would take him ten minutes at the very least to refresh his outfit.

Matters were not that simple, however. Though Lydia hastened down the corridor to the Great Ballroom where a hundred candles were burning brightly, and a quartet of musicians stood, bows aloft, by the time she arrived, she was already too late.

Von Prett was thick in conversation with Miss Hesse and Lady Morton – Mr Brandon and Lord Hesse looking worriedly on – and it was all laughter and tossing hair and touching each other upon the arm.

Blast, blast, blast .

‘We appear to be rather heavy on the gentlemen.’ Sir Waldo looked round the room rather disapprovingly. ‘You ought to have considered that, Phoebe.’

‘I’m sure we can manage,’ Lady Phoebe said lightly.

Her ability to throw off such comments from Sir Waldo (whose lack of organizational contribution to the house party did not prevent him from criticizing hers) was truly admirable.

She clapped her hands, and the musicians sprang to attention.

‘We have five couples here. I do not know where Ashford has got to, but we shan’t wait. ’

Lydia took a hopeful step towards von Prett as Lady Phoebe began to pair them up – but with no luck.

As the dancing began – Waldo leading out Lady Phoebe, Mr Brandon pairing with Lady Hesse, Miss Hesse escorted by her brother, Dacre bowing over Lydia’s own hand and Lady Morton triumphantly partnered with Captain von Prett – Lydia divided her time between watching the captain and stealing anxious glances back to the doorway, with poor Lord Dacre’s toes suffering as a result.

‘How are you getting on?’ Dacre said, as they began to twirl.

‘Yes,’ Lydia said vaguely, for she was not attending.

How long did it take a person to change their breeches? And how could she prevent the other ladies ensnaring the captain, when she herself was so deplorably distracted? It was impossible. Ashford had been correct – as matters stood, he had the advantage.

‘Where is Lord Ashford, Phoebe?’ Lady Hesse called, as the five couples finished up a country dance that had them all flushed and panting. ‘Cynthia would like to save him a dance.’

And there it was. Of course. Lydia ought to have pursued this seriously from the beginning. Miss Hesse was certainly well-dowered enough to suit his mercenary needs. If she could just make Ashford see how perfect she was, then perhaps jilting Lydia would seem more appealing.

Yes. It was time for Miss Hesse to make herself useful.

As Mr Brandon led her into the next dance (Captain von Prett having been ably snared by Lady Hesse for Miss Hesse’s hand), Lydia’s mind whirred with this new direction.

By the time Ashford did appear, it had been more than half an hour – time enough to change breeches ten times over – and Lydia had still not managed to speak or dance with von Prett.

‘Ashford!’ Lady Phoebe called in welcome. ‘At last. Perhaps you might lead Miss Hanworth out for the cotillion – Waldo, you don’t mind sitting this one out, do you?’

Sir Waldo – flushing red, clenching his jaw and stomping over to the side of the room as an overgrown child – plainly did mind, though Lady Phoebe was too busy curtseying to Dacre to notice.

Lydia, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes at Ashford as he approached. There was a self-satisfied curl to Ashford’s lips that she could not like.

‘What has you looking so pleased?’ she muttered at him as she lightly placed her hand in his to be led to the starting position.

‘Oh, you know.’ Ashford squeezed her fingers just a shade too tightly. ‘Oncoming justice, the promise of retribution – the usual fare.’

Lydia frowned. ‘What have you—’

But the music began before she could finish the question. They bowed and curtseyed to one another.

‘I fear you shall find me a most clumsy partner,’ Lydia warned, teeth bared in her most fearsome smile.

‘Funny,’ he said, with a matching grimace. ‘I was just about to warn you of the same.’