Page 29 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Do you need another cushion, Miss Hanworth?’ Prett asked solicitously.

‘If it is no trouble?’ Lydia asked, in a voice she hoped was attractively feeble – though across the room, Ashford’s raised eyebrows told her she was overshooting it.

She did not care. She was seated next to Prett – Prett!

– upon a low sofa, being supplied with calming tea and biscuits to soothe her frazzled nerves.

To think, only a few hours earlier she had feared the day a failure!

Further, though she had arrived to the drawing room later than she had promised Pip – who was, at this very moment, performing a search of the bedchambers – the whole company was thankfully present.

Disaster had been averted on all counts.

‘Truly, I cannot thank you enough.’ Lydia blinked guilelessly up at the captain.

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ Prett said, with a careless wave of his hand.

‘You were magnificent,’ Lady Morton told him throatily.

The only issue of the whole affair was the effect Prett’s heroism had had upon all the other ladies, too, for Lady Morton and Miss Hesse were almost beside themselves with admiration, and even Lady Hesse had deigned to express praise for his actions.

‘You are too kind,’ he said, brushing hands down his waistcoat, though there was no dust to remove.

‘You ought to have fetched me, Phoebe,’ Sir Waldo said, rather peevishly, as he accepted a refill of Madeira from Reeves. ‘As host, I would have taken on such a task myself.’

‘You were in your study,’ Lady Phoebe said, ‘and not to be disturbed, you said! Besides, the captain and Dacre handled it marvellously.

‘I don’t know what I would have done without you,’ Lydia said, not to be outdone on the compliments.

‘Solved the matter in a calm, less destructive fashion, perhaps?’ Ashford suggested sourly.

He would get his comeuppance soon enough, though it was nearing the hour for dinner and still he had not taken any snuff. Ordinarily, he would have done so once, if not twice, by such an hour, but this evening, he appeared too distracted, and Lydia was beginning to worry she would miss the moment.

‘Perhaps we were a little excessive,’ Dacre said, as Reeves refilled his glass. ‘I hope we did not cause too much mess, Reeves?’

‘Not in the least, my lord,’ Reeves said. ‘I myself thought it admirable.’

Dacre pinked.

‘I would never have suspected you of such mettle,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘Father used to say the day you were born was your first and final act of boldness.’

Dacre’s smile became rather fixed. ‘Yes, ah, his favourite little jest.’

‘Tonight was very bold,’ Prett encouraged. ‘I would have you in the 95th regiment in a moment, my lord.’

‘The 95th?’ Dacre repeated.

‘That was your regiment, Reeves, wasn’t it?’ Lady Phoebe exclaimed in delight, looking towards Reeves.

‘Yes, my lady,’ Reeves said without inflection.

Sir Waldo hooted. ‘By God! Do you know each other?’

Von Prett looked a little unnerved. ‘It was a large regiment …’

‘I do not think we served at the same time,’ Reeves said.

Von Prett relaxed minutely. ‘Yes, indeed.’ Another smile spread across his face. ‘Did you find, dear Reeves, that war changed you? For me, it was a transformative experience – nothing was the same afterwards.’

‘Oh it would take more than war to ruffle Reeves!’ Sir Waldo said, before Reeves could make an answer. ‘He faces worse each day from our Cook!’

He hooted at his own joke.

‘Indeed, sir,’ Reeves said. ‘Speaking of which … I am afraid, my lady, that dinner is to be a little delayed this evening. However, Alphonse assures me that the flambe will be well worth the wait.’

‘Will you keep until then, Miss Hanworth?’ Prett asked, all solicitation. ‘You are not feeling faint?’

‘I think I shall survive,’ Lydia said, with the air of someone triumphing over adversity against the odds.

‘Might we have some music?’ Lady Morton suggested.

‘Before dinner?’ Lady Hesse said. ‘How unusual.’

‘Only in England, my lady,’ Prett said. ‘The rest of the world does not curtail themselves so, I assure you.’

‘I could listen to Miss Hesse at any time of the day,’ Mr Brandon said gallantly.

‘You sing, Miss Hesse?’ Prett said, turning his eyes away from Lydia to Miss Hesse. ‘I ought to have known. You have such an aura of musicality.’

‘Miss Hanworth sings, as well,’ Ashford put in, an evil glint in his eye. ‘Does she have an aura, too?’

Oh no.

‘She has an unforgettable voice,’ he said.

‘Well, I should like to hear it!’

Lydia cast Ashford a look that could, if not kill him, at least cause some kind of long-term punitive disease.

‘No, I don’t think I could sing tonight,’ Lydia said, firmly. ‘I quite wore my throat out from calling for aid.’

Prett subsided at once, patting her comfortingly upon the arm. Miss Hesse, after a few pointed nudges from her mother, walked over to begin playing softly at the piano.

‘Perhaps the gentlemen ought to join the burden of such entertainment, this evening?’ Lydia suggested.

‘A famous idea!’ Lady Morton clapped her hands together.

Sir Waldo chortled. ‘What say you, Ashford? Shall you and I attempt to harmonize?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ashford said.

‘You have not inherited your mother’s ability?’ Lady Morton asked. ‘She sang so sweetly.’

The smile vanished abruptly from Ashford’s face.

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ he said.

‘Reeves, do tell Alphonse we have waited long enough, now,’ Lady Phoebe said, eyes tense upon Ashford.

‘A beautiful voice, indeed,’ Lady Hesse said. ‘Does not the story go that it was with her voice that the duke first fell in love?’

Mr Brandon and Miss Hesse both let out rapturous sighs.

‘Something to that effect,’ Ashford said and now, at last, he was reaching into his pocket in a familiar motion, though Lydia did wish – with a pang of something uncomfortably akin to guilt in her chest – that the conversation could have been on something different.

‘We miss her very much,’ Lady Hesse said, bringing a handkerchief to her very dry eyes.

She ought to have saved herself the effort, for Ashford’s entire attention appeared now to be on his snuffbox, which he was turning over in his hands.

Did he recognize that it was rather heavier than it had been earlier?

Surely not, though now Lydia found herself wishing he might.

For as much effort as she had put into the scheme, it felt rather cruel to cause him physical discomfort at such a moment.

‘By Jove, is that a Sèvres snuffbox?’ Prett asked, eyeing the box with interest.

Ashford paused. ‘I’m afraid I do not know. It was a gift from my father.’

Oh lord and now she might be besmirching the memory of his one living parent – was it possible to be a worse person?

‘May I see?’

Ashford handed it over, agreeably, and Prett turned it over a few times in his hands before returning it.

‘I have taken a recent interest in the practice you see,’ Prett said. ‘Now they are to release a whole range with my portrait upon them. I could gift you one, if you should like.’

Ashford paused, appearing to search for an answer that meant ‘absolutely not’ but in more polite terms. Then, horrifyingly, he flicked the box open with one finger. ‘Would you care to try some?’

Prett reached out a hand.

No. No.

‘Gosh,’ Lydia cut in, interrupting Lord Dacre mid-flow. ‘I should not think Prett likely to indulge in so unpleasant a habit!’

Several frowns were dashed her way. Prett looked entirely taken aback.

‘In many cultures,’ Prett said reprovingly, ‘the sharing of tobacco is a hallowed act.’

‘It is a compliment, indeed!’ Sir Waldo boomed. ‘Ashford has never honoured me so!’

‘You may have some, too, if you like,’ Ashford said. ‘All are welcome.’

Oh God. No. No! But now it was not only Prett taking a pinch, but Sir Waldo and Mr Brandon were accepting the offer, and Hesse was stepping eagerly forward too.

‘Do you know how to do it, dear?’ Lady Hesse asked her son solicitously. ‘Don’t take too much.’

‘I have taken snuff before, mother,’ Hesse insisted. ‘We’re always doing it, at my gentleman’s club.’ He took a sidelong glance at Lady Morton. ‘White’s, you know.’

Only Dacre refused. ‘A kind offer, Ashford, but it doesn’t usually agree with me.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a milksop, Dacre,’ Waldo said derisively. ‘Here, you must have some.’

After a beat of hesitation, Dacre obeyed.

‘It looks a little odd, don’t you think?’ Lydia squeaked. ‘Perhaps it has gone off?’

‘Miss Hanworth,’ Lady Hesse said, ‘I am certain Lord Ashford does not keep bad snuff – it is bought from Fribourg & Treyer’s I assume, my lord?’

Across the room, the gentlemen were raising the snuff to their noses. All except Ashford, turning to answer Lady Hesse’s question.

‘Indeed. This is their new European blend.’

‘I really think … ’ Lydia raised her voice in one last desperate attempt.

It was too late. As one man, the gentlemen inhaled.

In polite society, when one felt shock or any unpleasant physical experience, one was taught to express this in as polite a way as possible.

Aunt Agatha had, for example, recommended that Lydia and Pip limit any public expressions of shock to ‘Oh my’ or, under very, extreme circumstances, ‘Pon rep’.

Needless to say, under the experience of a particularly strong pepper being inhaled sharply into one’s airways, such lessons of conduct were quickly and abruptly abandoned.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Sir Waldo expostulated at the top of his voice.

‘My God!’

‘What in hell ?’

The ladies of the party near jumped out of their skin, Miss Hesse in her shock playing a series of jarring, discordant notes.

‘I beg your pardon!’ Lady Hesse said, outraged. ‘There are ladies present!’

‘Dear lord …’ Ashford regarded them, horror-stricken.

None of the gentlemen saw fit to apologize as they all began, with every means available to them, to expel the ticklish powder from their noses.

‘Waldo!’ Lady Phoebe said, as they coughed, sneezed and hacked, all bent double, eyes streaming. ‘Whatever is the matter?’