Page 37 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘You do not wish everyone to see your ankles?’ she said, with mock gravity.

‘I should hate to cause a stir.’

‘A stir? Are they very fine ankles?’

‘I suppose that depends upon your definition.’

‘Delicacy, in a female,’ Miss Hanworth asserted, ‘is why Aunt Agatha’s so aggrieved by mine own. Boxy, you see.’

Ashford cleared his throat for want of a better response. In all his etiquette lessons, he had not been sufficiently prepared to handle conversations with Miss Hanworth.

‘Have I offended your sensibilities?’ she asked, seeming more pleased than worried.

‘If I had pearls, I should be clutching them,’ Ashford said. ‘I do not make a habit of discussing ankles in public.’

Miss Hanworth looked pointedly left and then right. There were only deserted fields all around.

‘Are you afraid of what the sheep will think of you?’

‘The gossip rags do have spies everywhere,’ he said. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’

‘It must be so very dull, always behaving correctly,’ she observed. A week earlier and he might have considered this rude, but after the past few days, Ashford was somewhat inured to her incivility.

‘You would be cautious, too,’ he said, ‘if you were as observed as I.’

‘Do you truly care so much about what people say about you?’

‘Is that an honest question? Or are you simply trying to annoy me?’

‘Can it not be both?’ She gave an impudent grin. Bumper, perceiving her inattention, made a lunge for a nearby verge of grass. ‘Have you considered deciding not to care?’ she said, wrestling him back under control.

‘Oh, what an excellent suggestion,’ he said, voice thick with sarcasm. ‘I cannot believe I did not think of it before, now all my problems are solved.’

‘Mature,’ she said.

‘I do try.’

‘I just think,’ Miss Hanworth continued doggedly on, ‘you are young, you are titled, you are not terrible to look upon …’

‘Thank you so much.’

‘What harm can they do to you? Truly?’ She wafted her hands around as she said ‘they’ as if to indicate the world.

‘Harm does not have to be physical,’ Ashford said. ‘Imagine yourself in my position, for a moment. I cannot make a single step, without it being gossiped over.’

‘Everyone loves you—’

‘That is no accident,’ he interrupted. ‘I cannot be seen at a disreputable locale, without my character being called into question – so I do not frequent such places. I cannot dance with a lady twice without my marriage being speculated over – so I spread my attentions evenly. I cannot misspeak without it being noted and discussed and exaggerated – so I do not misspeak. I am careful, every moment, and you may think it dull or deceitful, but one’s reputation can take on a life of its own if one does not control it, and that can make one go mad – why, it almost killed my—’ He broke off.

Even now, he did not like to say the words.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘I did not mean to say all of that.’

‘Do not apologize,’ she said at once. ‘I had not thought – not considered—’

‘Why would you,’ he said, without heat. ‘I am not some tragic figure – my life has been a very comfortable one, but … It is tiring, living with so many eyes and expectations upon one.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘I cannot imagine what they will say about me,’ he said, ‘if we start selling up the duchy.’

It ought to be strange to discuss such subjects with her, given her role in them, but somehow it was not.

‘A great many horrible things, perhaps,’ she said. ‘Though I still do not think that should rule you.’

‘It is not only that,’ he said. ‘We Ancasters have held that land for twenty generations, you know.’

It was a boast his father was fond of quoting, whenever he was in his cups – though pride in the longitude of his family line had yet, in Ashford’s experience, to translate into any active participation in trying to rescue it.

Whenever Ashford tried to raise the topic, the duke would chastise Ashford for his dullness as if Ashford were not trying his best …

‘And what of those before that?’ Miss Hanworth interrupted his reverie.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The twenty-first generation,’ she said. ‘Where did those fellows live?’

‘They came over with the Norman conquest,’ he said, raising his chin loftily.

Miss Hanworth gave a sceptical snort.

‘It is true! You may look at my family tree, if you do not believe me.’

‘No, thank you,’ she said, promptly. ‘It sounds a rather dull use of time.’

‘Were you about to make a point,’ he said, ‘or do you wish to be distracted by insults?’

‘My point was,’ she said, ‘matters change.’

‘So wise,’ he said. ‘Shakespeare, is it?’

‘Oh, ha ha,’ she said witheringly. ‘I am being serious.’

‘Inspiring, too.’

‘Even your family has not been here forever,’ she said. ‘And not everything has to be the same, forever, to have value.’

‘But … legacy,’ he said. ‘Tradition.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Your sentence is missing its verbs.’

‘Do you feel no attachment to it?’ he said. ‘Surely even your family—’

‘Even my family?’ she repeated, with a crow of outrage. ‘And what pray, do you mean by that? The scaff and raff don’t understand tradition, is that right?’

‘It was not meant to be a—’ He stopped, tried to regroup. ‘It is just that you do not have land, exactly …’

‘Wrong!’ she trilled out. ‘What pray, do you think the factories were built upon?’

He capitulated. ‘My point stands: you feel a connection to that … heritage, don’t you?’

Conversation paused for a moment as they negotiated their way through a gate – the others were so far ahead that they had obviously elected to shut it, in case of wandering livestock.

‘I don’t know,’ Miss Hanworth said, thoughtfully. ‘Grandfather’s achievements were considerable, but we were never encouraged to speak of them, or take pride in them, outside the home.’

Ashford recollected, vividly, the look on Lady Hesse’s face when she had heard the word ‘factory’ from Miss Hanworth’s lips.

‘Why did he take such an attitude?’

‘Oh, he wished us to be genteel, refined, to go where he could not.’ She smiled to herself rather wryly. ‘But … though we all owe him a great deal, I do not feel the same obligation, as you do.’

‘You do not feel you should honour what was built for you – seek out social ascension, if that was his desire?’

He watched as she considered it, thoughts passing across her face as ripples on a pond.

‘My mother did,’ she said, after a long pause, ‘and my aunt, but for me … No. If anything, it is my grandmother I wish to honour. She was a maid, you know.’ She shot him a quick, evaluating glance. ‘And that is a secret.’

‘I shan’t tell anyone,’ he promised easily. Then, obeying his curiosity, prompted: ‘She was a household maid?’

‘She began in the scullery, then the house, before becoming a lady’s maid.’ Miss Hanworth pronounced this last title with the same pride others announced knighthoods. ‘Which is very difficult, you know.’

Ashford could not pretend he had spent much time considering this, but he tried, now. ‘I imagine it would be. How did she – ah – adapt, to her new position?’

Was position even the correct word? After all the missteps and assumptions she had observed in him, thus far, he did not wish to offend any further. As strange as it was, he found he wanted her to think well of him.

‘I do not think she changed at all,’ Miss Hanworth reflected.

‘None of it mattered to her, really. She loved Grandfather so greatly that it would not have signified to her if he had been a pauper.’ She titled her head backwards to look directly at him under her hat. ‘That is the better legacy, I think.’

Ashford did not think he had ever heard anyone speak in such a way. In his circles, one did not openly discuss one’s family, v oicing their complexities and oddities. It was too vulnerable, too soft – and yet hearing her do so now was having rather the opposite effect. It made him feel brave.

‘My mother felt very similarly,’ he began. ‘I—’

‘Ho!’ a bellow from up ahead interrupted him, and they looked up the path ahead to see the rest of the party clustered together at the next gate, waiting for them.

‘What were you going to say?’ Miss Hanworth prompted, for they were still a hundred yards away.

But the moment was lost and he felt momentarily dizzy at how close he’d been to divulging far more than was wise. ‘It’s getting warm, isn’t it?’ he said and spurred his horse onwards.

What had he been thinking, sharing such things with her? He was at risk of turning into von Prett – or even his father, speaking endlessly of his own feelings as if the whole world shared in his own fascination …

The party reached Melford soon after and drew to a halt outside the inn where they were to partake of refreshment, relieved, for the heat was building progressively as the hour neared midday.

‘We ought to have left hours earlier,’ Ashford overheard Sir Waldo muttering to Lady Phoebe. ‘It is far too hot for such a long excursion – this was a very foolish idea of yours.’

Ashford clenched his jaw as Phoebe blushed, but Sir Waldo was not alone in his antipathy. After some discussion inside the inn, they decided to cut the expedition short.

‘No castle is worth such discomfort,’ Sir Waldo declared with finality, as they remounted their horses and turned for home. ‘Come along!’

‘Where is Brandon?’ Lady Phoebe said.

‘I’m coming!’ Brandon called. He was hurrying outside the inn, carrying a bowl of water.

‘What are you doing,’ Sir Waldo demanded irritably. ‘Come on, sir, we are waiting for you.’

Mr Brandon placed the bowl in front of a stray dog taking shade under a nearby tree.

‘Charitable,’ Mr Hanworth muttered, from a little way behind Ashford. ‘Unlikely sort to conspire against a maid.’ There was a pause. ‘Unless that’s what he wants us to think …’

Ashford threw him a quizzical look. What on earth was he talking about?

‘My apologies for the delay,’ Brandon said, hastening over to them.

‘Oh, do not apologize,’ Miss Hesse breathed. ‘It is so kind of you.’