Page 33 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Sunday – Four days remaining

Some people might feel some moral discomfort about carrying out such schemes upon the Lord’s Day. Fortunately, Lydia did not count herself amongst them.

Less fortunately, neither did Ashford, and he too appeared to have spent some part of the night planning, and if his techniques belonged more to the schoolboy than the sophisticate, one could not argue against their efficacy.

Directly after returning from church – and an hour-long sermon on the Virtue of Charity – Ashford had swapped her sugar for salt at the refreshment table, causing Lydia to douse the table, and Captain von Prett’s arm, in regurgitated tea.

She retaliated swiftly, sticking out a leg to trip Ashford as he rose from the table and as he very almost took a nose-dive into Lady Morton’s decolletage, she felt him justly served.

In this manner, they had tripped, spilled, mimicked, insulted and inconvenienced one another all day until somehow it was nightfall and Lydia had still not managed to enjoy a single conversation with Prett alone while Miss Hesse had had several.

Even now, they were seated next to one another on the low sofa, quietly conversing, and though they were too far away for Lydia to hear them, she did not like the smiles on both their faces.

Even more damningly, Prett had Brutus upon his lap. Rats .

She stabbed a needle moodily through her embroidery hoop.

As usual, they were all arranged in the drawing room after dinner, though in respect to it being Sunday, they were engaged in calming activities: Lady Morton and Dacre playing a quiet game of cards together, Lady Hesse reading a letter, Sir Waldo a newspaper, and Lady Phoebe had a novel in her hand but looked on the point of falling asleep.

Lydia’s eyes fell on Ashford, sitting next to his cousin, to find him looking at her.

The last move having been his – calling over Prett to admire Lydia’s appalling embroidery – he had been rather twitchy for the last half hour, impatiently awaiting her retaliation.

But Lydia could be patient in her revenge.

She might be sitting quietly in the drawing room, primly seeing to her embroidery, but elsewhere Pip, Jane and Elspeth were carrying out God’s work.

‘I found out from his lordship’s groom that his valet has a terrible weakness for sugar plums,’ Elspeth had told them all, early this morning. ‘Alphonse keeps a supply in the pantry.’

She was to waylay him with the plums after the servant’s dinner, allowing Pip and Jane access to Ashford’s rooms where Pip could complete his search and Jane could kidnap Ashford’s trousers.

Lydia smiled just to think of it, still looking at Ashford. He gave her a sarcastic smile in return. Lydia broadened her smile to a beam. He stretched his to an unpleasant grin.

‘Are you well, my lord?’ Lady Hesse said, eyeing him in some concern.

Ashford hastily restored his face to normalcy. ‘Yes, certainly. I was merely … exercising my face.’

Lydia snorted. Ashford threw her a glare. Her role was keeping an eye on Ashford and Reeves, both of whom were present in the drawing room and both of whom she had to keep there, by any means necessary.

Ashford rose from his seat.

‘Where do you go, my lord?’ Lydia asked at once.

‘To fetch my book,’ he said. ‘If that meets with your approval, Miss Hanworth?’

It did not at all meet with Miss Hanworth’s approval.

‘Can someone not fetch it for you?’ she asked.

‘I am happy to—’ Reeves began, but Ashford waved him off.

‘I have been seated still too long,’ he said.

‘As have I,’ Sir Waldo said, laying down his paper with a sigh, though Lydia had not seen him turn a single page all evening. ‘Phoebe, surely you have more planned for us this evening than all this sitting about?’

Lady Phoebe blinked away her tiredness.

‘Ought we not to rest ahead of our expedition?’ she said. ‘Recollect we are riding out to Chaffington Castle in the morning.’

‘This is the first I’ve heard of such a scheme.’ Sir Waldo’s brows furrowed.

‘We spoke of it just yesterday, Waldo,’ Lady Phoebe said.

‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Sir Waldo repeated. ‘Chaffington is a little far, don’t you think?’

‘We can rest ourselves and the horses at Melford, surely,’ Ashford put in, frowning a little in Sir Waldo’s direction.

Lydia remembered the sharpness in Ashford’s voice when he had spoken of his cousin’s marriage. Was this what he had been referring to? Did he think Sir Waldo not supportive enough of Lady Phoebe’s endeavours?

‘Yes indeed!’ Lady Phoebe threw Ashford a relieved smile. ‘I thought it could be an adventure.’

‘Ah, adventure,’ Prett said. ‘Is there anything more essential to the human soul?’

‘I cannot wait,’ Lydia agreed.

A sea of incredulous eyes turned toward her. In hindsight, the fuss she had made at the beginning of the week now seemed a little shortsighted.

‘Are you certain you wish to join us?’ Lady Phoebe said. ‘After your distress the other morning.’

Lydia waved a hand. ‘Oh, I think my mount was merely too headstrong for me.’

‘He did seem rather headstrong,’ Ashford agreed, nodding sagely. ‘Pudding was his name, wasn’t it?’

‘Perhaps I might borrow from your stable,’ she said to Lady Phoebe, ignoring him. ‘A very calm horse.’

‘Do you have one that does not leer, cousin?’ Ashford asked.

Lydia took in a slow, calming inhale. Would it be so obvious if she threw her embroidery hoop at him?

‘We need an activity, now,’ Sir Waldo said, boring of the conversation. ‘Resting is dull.’

‘Would anyone volunteer to read to us?’ Lady Phoebe suggested.

‘Dull!’

‘Perhaps a game of charades?’

‘You are terrible at charades,’ Sir Waldo said, shaking his head.

What was wrong with him this evening? Were he and Phoebe having a quarrel?

‘I remember her being quite adept, actually,’ Ashford said. ‘I say we play a round.’

Well, Lydia had no particular skill at the parlour game in which each person recited a riddle, and their audience had to guess the word – but if it would keep Ashford in the room …

‘Marvellous,’ she said.

‘We did play a rather interesting version at Burlington House last year,’ Lady Phoebe admitted.

‘Wellington’s residence, you know,’ Sir Waldo put in, cheering up at the chance to name-drop.

‘We are familiar,’ Lady Hesse sniffed.

‘Instead of describing the word by riddle,’ Lady Phoebe continued, ‘one acts the word.’

‘How amusing,’ Lady Morton said at once.

‘How fatiguing,’ Lady Hesse said.

An impasse.

‘Perhaps I might read to you?’ Prett said. ‘I have just finished my newest piece for La Belle Assemblée .’

‘Charades it is,’ Mr Brandon said promptly. ‘Shall we do teams?’

Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia spotted Reeves making quietly for the door.

‘Perhaps Reeves should act as master of ceremonies,’ she suggested hastily, ‘so that we might all play?’

‘Wonderful,’ Lady Phoebe said, her usual briskness returning as she sprang into organizational action.

Within two minutes, she had split the party into two and bade Reeves write out some simple words and concepts on folded pieces of parchment.

Lydia’s group, headed by Sir Waldo, and rounded out with Prett, Miss Hesse and Mr Brandon, were to go first, and they huddled outside the drawing room and watched as Sir Waldo unfolded the parchment.

‘Misfortune,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘Hmm … How would one act that out?’

‘I would suggest a tale from mine own life,’ Prett said, ‘but I do not think I could perform without weeping.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ Mr Brandon muttered.

‘You may cry if you wish,’ Miss Hesse said, laying a gentle hand upon his arm.

‘Perhaps something simpler?’ Lydia interceded.

‘What about the Battle of Seedaseer?’ Sir Waldo suggested. ‘That would have been misfortunate, had I not been there to save the day – though I was almost a boy at the time, you know.’

‘Perhaps a little ambitious?’ Lydia wondered.

‘We would need a full theatrical cast,’ Mr Brandon agreed incredulously. ‘Let us keep the matter simple: the first syllable is “mis”.’

‘We are misses,’ Miss Hesse said to Lydia. ‘Perhaps we might … promenade or some such, in a missish manner?’

‘Perhaps,’ Lydia said dubiously, ‘though the spelling …’

‘Your time is up,’ Reeves bade them from the other side of the door.

‘It shall have to suit,’ Mr Brandon said hurriedly. ‘We shall have to improvise “fortune”.’

They re-entered the room. The others had gathered together around the fire and watched as Lydia and Miss Hesse linked arms and began walking towards them. Lydia flushed to have so many eyes upon her – she could only hope that Pip and Jane were getting on well upstairs, to justify such humiliation.

‘Have we any clues, Reeves?’ Dacre asked.

‘My lips are sealed,’ Reeves told him.

‘Noun? Adjective? Adverb?’ Dacre persisted.

Reeves merely smiled.

Lydia held up a single digit.

‘First syllable!’ Hesse said at once, leaning on the edge of his seat, world-weariness vanished in favour of boyish enthusiasm.

‘Walking.’

‘Promenading.’

‘A stroll!’

Lydia gestured to herself, pointedly.

‘Oh, I see,’ Ashford said, with dawning comprehension. ‘Shrew.’

Lydia glared.

‘Ashford!’ Lady Phoebe said. ‘Why on earth …’

‘The way she was pointing,’ Ashford said, all faux-innocence. ‘Shrew?’ Malignant shrew?’

‘I am not !’

‘The actors oughtn’t speak,’ Sir Waldo reprimanded from behind her. ‘Carry on trying!’

Lydia gestured again to herself, even more pointedly than before.

‘Witch?’ Ashford wondered instead.

Lydia encompassed Miss Hesse in her gesturing.

‘Witch es ?’

‘Excuse me?’ Lady Hesse said sharply.

‘It is just a game, my lady,’ Lady Phoebe said soothingly.

‘Nonetheless, Lord Ashford is risking incivility,’ Lady Hesse said.

Ashford did not seem to be attending.

‘Bufflehead!’ he said, with a decisive snap of his fingers, and suddenly Lydia was biting back laughter.

‘I think your time is up!’ Lady Phoebe said shrilly.