Page 32 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Ashford paused, struggling to collect his thoughts.

‘You accused me, yesterday, of deceiving you – I truly had not considered it in such light, though I perceive now that is cold comfort. I was so fixed on solving our predicaments, you see, and … I assumed you would be getting what you desired, from the match, too.’

‘A leg up in the world?’

He held her gaze with admirable fortitude.

‘I have been beset by those who wish themselves or their daughters to be a duchess, from the moment I came of age,’ he said quietly.

‘Earlier, even. If it never occurred to me that you would not have an interest in my title, then it is because you may indeed be the first.’

Lydia found this oddly flattering. ‘I am one of a kind,’ she said, preening a little.

‘As I have borne witness,’ Ashford agreed, a trifle grimly.

‘And His Grace … believed you?’ she said. ‘He thinks you in love with me?’

He nodded. ‘He deemed the gap between our stations proof enough of my feelings.’

Lydia sat back further into her armchair, allowing its squashy warmth to claim her. She did not know what to think. A thousand questions fought for precedence in her mind.

‘Such deception,’ she said. ‘Such effort.’ She did not know whether to be more appalled or impressed. No one could accuse him of laziness, at least. ‘Is marriage truly the only way you can solve your situation? It seems so very convoluted.’

Ashford extended a palm in invitation. ‘By all means, if you have another idea.’

‘Don’t you have a grand house, such as Hawkscroft?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you sell it?’

Ashford retracted his palm. ‘I think not.’

‘You would be sure to get a good price,’ she encouraged. ‘And then you might buy a cottage or some such and be done with all the expense of it.’

‘A cottage?’

‘Well, it could be a big one!’ she said. ‘Lots of rooms. Thatched. Charming. I can see it in my mind’s eye.’

‘No.’

‘It does not have to be the estate you sell,’ she said – he was far too small-minded to consider it, clearly – ‘they say you have c ountless houses. A townhouse in London, a hunting lodge in Scotland, apartments in Brighton when you wish to visit the sea. Surely you do not need them all?’

‘No …’ Ashford said, drawing out the word slowly.

He leant his head back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling.

‘My father has too much fondness for each of them to countenance selling. The London townhouse is where he and my mother met, after all. The Scottish lodge is where they honeymooned, and the house in Brighton is where, he believes, they were happiest.’ He huffed out a laugh.

‘It is impossible to argue with him on the subject.’

‘Oh,’ Lydia’s heart twisted. ‘Oh, how sweet.’

‘How impractical,’ Ashford corrected. ‘How maddening. It has put me in such a bind – never mind the hypocrisy of such a—’

He broke off, jerking his head as if to silence his own anger.

Against her will, Lydia found herself feeling a rush of sympathy for him.

However understandable it was for the duke to treasure his wife’s memory, he could not have considered how it was affecting his son.

She watched Ashford, whose eyes were now on the dying fire, his expression shot through with a melancholy she was not used to seeing on his face.

Was it possible that he felt just as trapped as she did, by their predicament?

Just as robbed of the possibility of great love?

‘You are giving up a great deal,’ she said. ‘I am sorry.’

Ashford quirked his eyebrow at her, not seeming to understand.

‘A marriage of convenience is quite the sacrifice,’ she explained.

‘Oh!’ Ashford said in realization. ‘Oh no, no it isn’t. Not for me.’

Lydia’s brief empathy vanished.

‘My father notwithstanding, it is not often that people of our station marry for love,’ he continued. ‘One chooses for duty, not for sentiment.’

‘What is wrong with doing both,’ Lydia said, ‘if one can?’

He twitched his head as if to rid himself of an irksome fly. ‘It is an unrealistic aim.’

‘Is it?’ she said. ‘Lady Phoebe and Sir Waldo do not seem to find it so.’

‘Oh yes, the very picture of happiness.’

Lydia’s attention was immediately diverted. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing. Pray, disregard it.’

Lydia frowned. ‘They adore each other.’

‘Yes, I have seen the fawning.’ Ashford’s voice did not sound as if he shared her admiration. ‘But they are exception. Besides, one day I shall inherit the duchy. The expectations for me are higher.’

But that was not right either.

‘But your parents …’ Lydia argued, for their love match was still spoken of with sighs of admiration.

‘Another exception.’

‘Which are beginning to stack up, aren’t they?’ she said, half smiling. Why was he being so difficult? ‘Why do you believe it so impossible for yourself?’

‘I simply do not wish for it.’ He sounded bored, as if this was a topic he had debated a hundred times before.

Lydia could not comprehend it. ‘How can you not?’ she asked, sitting up in her chair. ‘The happiness your parents shared – people still speak of it.’

‘It did not exactly end in happiness, did it?’ Ashford muttered.

‘Ah,’ Lydia said.

‘What do you mean “ah”?’ Ashford asked.

‘I do not mean anything by it,’ Lydia said. ‘It was just an “ah”.’

‘It obviously was not .’

‘I am not trying to antagonize you,’ Lydia said. ‘I just wish to understand. It is so different to how I feel, you see.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Ashford said, ‘you wish to fall desperately in love with Prett, I recall. Though how you can still possibly desire him, when he is such an almighty fool?’

‘He is not a fool!’ Lydia said indignantly. ‘He is everything I hoped he would be – heartfelt and earnest and himself , while you—’

‘The way he speaks ,’ Ashford went on, ‘forcing his travels into conversation with the most spurious links!’

‘He is an explorer ,’ Lydia said. ‘It is noble and brave and—’

‘We all enjoy travel,’ Ashford said. ‘I do not see that it makes him so special.’

‘Do you honestly feel yourself above him?’ she said. ‘You, who have had everything handed to you on a gilded plate, above he, who has had to work every day to reach such a station?’

Ashford flushed red.

‘I think myself above him,’ he snapped, ‘because he is the most singularly self-obsessed man I have ever had the misfortune to encounter – and I spend my Christmases with Sir Waldo.’

‘You are wrong about him,’ she said. ‘And about love, and – and everything .’

‘Oh, is that all?’

‘You will see,’ she threatened. ‘I will show you.’

She could not believe that a moment before she had felt sorry for him, when clearly he was too disagreeable to deserve sympathy.

‘By all means,’ he said. ‘Once you cry off from our engagement, I will watch your courtship avidly.’

Lydia raised her chin. ‘I am not going to cry off.’

‘You mean to continue your foolishness?’

‘Unless you would like to wave the white flag?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘So we are in agreement?’

‘We are.’

The grandfather clock struck one.

‘It is late,’ Ashford said. ‘Let us retire.’

The library felt colder as they wound their way back through the bookcases and along the corridor. They climbed the staircase in silence, save for the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of Ashford’s slippers. He paused when they reached the second-floor landing.

‘I trust you can find your bedchamber from here?’ He spoke with all the politeness, as if they were concluding a formal promenade in Hyde Park. ‘Or do you require further escort?’

Lydia sniffed. ‘I do not. Besides, if we were seen, people might think us in the middle of some sort of – of assignation.’

In the flickering light of their candles, he gazed down at her, expression unreadable. Without quite knowing why, Lydia flushed.

‘Which would be – be disgusting !’ she added, rallying.

Ashford raised his brows, but otherwise made no reply, and the silence lingered for a long moment. Why did this feel so much more intimate than sitting in the library together?

‘Well, goodnight,’ she whispered.

Without waiting for an answer, she hastened down the corridor towards her bedchamber. She was about to push open her door when she heard a faint rustling sound up ahead then the door to the servant’s staircase opened and out popped Pip, closely followed by Elspeth.

‘Hallo!’ he whispered in greeting.

‘What are you doing?’ she said, glancing back to check Ashford was out of sight. ‘You have not been searching bedchambers at this time of night, have you?’

Lydia had visions of Pip breaking in on their fellow guests in various Intimate Moments and shuddered.

‘ No ,’ he said. ‘But it’s a good time to search the rest of the place, isn’t it? No one about. Stands to reason.’

For the first time, she noticed both Pip and Elspeth’s hands were covered in flecks of ash.

‘Have you been rooting around in the fires?’

‘Looking for clues,’ he explained. ‘Sort of thing people do – burning things, I mean – when they’re hiding something.’

‘Look what we found,’ whispered Elspeth, ‘in the dining room hearth!’

Pip’s worldly logic was eternally optimistic – and incomprehensibly, often true, for he opened his palm to reveal several fragments of parchment, yellowed and burnt.

Checking the corridor was still clear, Lydia opened the door to her room and ushered them both inside.

She used her taper to light more candles while Pip deposited the fragments on her dressing table.

Together, the three leant in closely, poring over the tatters.

The letter was almost unreadable. The sender’s address – 16 Ravens Road, London – was visible, as was their signature, a Mr Villars, but for the contents of the letter, only a few phrases here and there were fully legible.

‘“Last chance to answer terms”,’ Lydia read, frowning and bringing the scrap even closer to her face. ‘“Leave us no choice” “Lord something” – Pip, what is this?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But fact is, sounds awfully close to blackmail. And …’

He put his finger to the page, over a word Lydia had hardly been able to make out.

‘Diamonds,’ she breathed. ‘To whom do you think it was addressed?’

Elspeth and Pip exchanged glances.

‘He says “Lord”,’ Pip said. ‘Stands to reason that can only be three persons.’

‘And Mr Hanworth has already searched Hesse and Dacre’s rooms,’ added Elspeth. ‘Which only leaves …’

Lydia balked. ‘Ashford? I hardly think he is the thief.’

For all of Ashford’s faults, thievery was surely not one of them.

‘Why not?’ Pip said. ‘He needs a fortune, doesn’t he?’

‘That is a secret!’ Lydia told Elspeth hurriedly. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone.’

She was not sure why that felt important. If anything, it would be within her interests to spread such embarrassing gossip about him – only, in the light of the honesties they had just shared, it felt dishonourable somehow.

Elspeth gave a derisive sniff. ‘As if I needed telling, Miss Lydia. I would never betray Lady Phoebe – or her family – in that way.’

‘I have not yet searched his rooms, so he cannot be ruled out,’ Pip said bracingly.

‘Yes, the damned valet,’ Lydia said, remembering Jane’s words from earlier.

Elspeth sniffed again. ‘Dreadfully high in the instep, that one – won’t let anyone else touch his lordship’s things.’

‘We shall have to change that,’ Lydia said, thinking of the half-cooked plan she and Jane had discussed hours before. ‘For Jane and I need access to Ashford’s rooms on the morrow, too.’