Page 50 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

They had to speak again, just as honestly as they had last night – only this time, perhaps there might be a very different outcome.

For so much had changed, had it not? Last night, he had told her there was no chance of his ever being able to love her, but he had reached for her, just now, hadn’t he?

Had looked at her, just now, as if his sentiments had undergone the very same change hers had.

And even if he seemed more alarmed than pleased by it, surely, they had both felt it, this time?

Ashford nodded wordless agreement, but his smile had faded again. Some of Lydia’s certainty lapsed with it, but she steeled herself. She could not spend another moment in confusion. She had to be brave, had to ask him, had to know , even if the answer was not the one she wished.

They made their way across the dance floor, in silence, passing the gentleman in the emerald domino again. He took a step into their path, smiling.

Lydia felt Ashford angle as though to move past and had to bite back a smile – when had his haughtiness become endearing?

‘Good evening, sir, I am afraid we are already bound for—’

‘What’s this?’ the gentleman said jocularly. ‘No time for me, Ashford?’

Ashford stopped abruptly in his tracks.

‘Father?!’ Ashford said, blank with shock. Lydia took in a sharp breath. In all the excitement she had quite forgotten the imminent arrival of the duke.

His Grace gave a delighted chuckle, unravelling the strings of his mask to reveal a beaming face that much resembled Ashford’s.

‘But – but – when did you arrive?’ Ashford said. ‘I did not hear you announced? Phoebe did not say … ’

‘It’s a masquerade, my boy,’ the duke reminded him. ‘If one was announced, then what, pray, would be the point?’ He reached out to clasp Ashford’s shoulder. ‘Are you not pleased to see me?’

With visible effort, Ashford recovered some – but far from all – of his composure. ‘Yes, of course, I am.’

The duke turned his beam onto Lydia. ‘Now, I need not ask who you are. Miss Hanworth, I presume?’

‘Your Grace. I am – I am so pleased to meet you.’ Lydia dipped into a hasty curtsey – was it deep enough? Too deep? Why had she not prepared for this?

She stole a glance at Ashford. Was that the correct thing to say? Oh, how she wished they had had a chance to speak before this moment.

‘No, no, it is I who am delighted!’ the duke said. ‘To meet the woman who has turned Ashford’s head at last.’

‘Oh how – how wonderful.’ Again, she looked to Ashford for guidance, but he did not speak and his face was quite blank.

‘I heartily approve this match,’ the duke said, clapping Ashford again upon the shoulder. ‘You have chosen very well.’

Lydia’s eyes widened. She had not known exactly what she had been expecting, in Ashford’s father, but such open amicability was not quite it.

‘I am … so pleased you think so,’ Ashford said, though no pleasure was evident in his expression. ‘Is Lady Phoebe aware of your arrival?’

‘I have been looking for her,’ the duke said, shaking his head. ‘It took me an age to spot even you – for a while, it was as if you had all disappeared entirely. Ah, she must be the one in red – Phoebe!’

He waved Lady Phoebe down from across the room, and she hastened over, face wreathed in smiles.

‘Uncle!’ she said. ‘How dare you sneak in so! You are incorrigible.’

He laughed, not at all offended, and Lydia could not help but smile with him.

His warmth was rather irresistible – to all but Ashford, apparently, for the open joy he had displayed on the dance floor had quite vanished from his face, which was now as even and opaque as a frozen lake. Lydia’s brow wrinkled.

The duke did not appear to have noticed, patting his niece’s arm. ‘What a party, my love! You have outdone yourself.’

‘I am so thrilled you are here – there are so many people I wish you to meet.’

‘Ashford,’ Lydia said in a very low voice. ‘Ashford, what should I – how should we—?’

But he did not appear to hear her, and Lydia did not even quite know what question she wished to ask. Oh, how she wished they had spoken before.

‘Yes, yes,’ His Grace continued with Lady Phoebe. ‘I am particularly intrigued by this explorer character of yours.’

Lady Phoebe pouted. ‘Oh, I must disappoint you. It is the strangest thing. I left him with Colonel Lynton for the merest moment and the next time I saw him, he declared he was leaving! Urgent business. I am so terribly sorry.’

It seemed Reeves had been quite right about von Prett – for if the captain’s history was as he claimed it to be, what reason would he have to flee the company of his old colonel?

‘Not to worry, not to worry in the least!’ His Grace said. ‘The more important task is this announcement. How might we best achieve such a thing?’

Oh, lord! Lydia widened her eyes meaningfully at Ashford. He must ask his father to delay. They could not countenance any of this, before they had spoken.

‘Announcing the engagement, you mean?’ Ashford said calmly, reaching into the pocket for his snuffbox. Lydia fought a scowl. Could he truly not muster the smallest bit of urgency?

‘I am not sure …’ she began, throwing a pleading glance in Lady Phoebe’s direction.

Lady Phoebe leapt to assist. ‘Perhaps we should wait a little while?’

‘Oh, the poor souls have tarried long enough,’ the duke overrode her rather ruthlessly.

‘It is my fault, for requesting such secrecy. I must confess,’ he said, leaning in and speaking in confiding tones, ‘I did so on the fear that Ashford might have tricked me into approving a marriage of convenience.’

Lady Phoebe let out a tinkling laugh. Lydia felt her expression became fixed.

‘Did you?’ Ashford said, taking a pinch of snuff calmly up to his nostril.

Lydia blinked. In that moment, he suddenly far more resembled the arrogant stranger who had proposed to her with such maddening calm, than the man she had come to know these past ten days. Why had the presence of his father altered him so?

‘I mean no disrespect, my dear.’ The duke availed himself of Lydia’s hand and gave it a smacking kiss. ‘A parent’s prerogative – and of course, now I know there is nothing to worry about. I saw it at once!’

‘Saw what?’ Ashford asked, a frown marring the neutrality of his expression.

‘Why, love, of course!’ the duke said. ‘Come, there is no need to balk. I have been watching you two waltz together and one cannot perform love such as that.’

Lydia’s breath caught. Dear lord. It was the matter she herself had been intending to raise, but – not in such a way as this before they could themselves even touch upon it. And yet … To hear that someone else thought it, too …

‘No,’ came Ashford’s voice from beside her. Lydia turned her head, very slowly, to look at him.

‘Exactly!’ the duke said.

But Lydia did not think Ashford was agreeing with the statement. His face was no longer calm, but wooden, his eyes glassy. Lydia felt her stomach drop.

‘The way you looked at one another …’ The duke sighed mistily. ‘It reminded me of how your mother and I used to do so.’

Ashford’s face blanched.

‘The announcement, then!’ the duke clapped his hands together again.

‘No,’ Ashford said, more emphatic this time. The vice around Lydia’s heart clenched further.

‘Ashford?’ She reached out to tug his sleeve. If they could just speak, just the two of them, for a moment, she might draw him back from whatever precipice he was suddenly standing on – but he would not look at her.

‘Feeling shy, Ashford?’ the duke teased. ‘You needn’t be – everyone loves a love story; it will go down a storm, I promise.’

‘No,’ Ashford said, louder. ‘No, I – Father, you mustn’t.’

That caught the duke’s attention. ‘What, my boy? Whyever not?’

‘I cannot,’ Ashford said.

‘Cannot what, dear boy?’

‘Ashford,’ Lydia urged. ‘Will you please just …’

‘I cannot deceive you a moment longer,’ Ashford said, stepping back from Lydia, pulling his arm away. ‘This whole thing is a sham, Father, a performance. I did intend to trick you into approving the match.’

The duke frowned. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Perhaps we ought to move our conversation to a more private location?’ Lady Phoebe said, ushering them further away from the dance floor.

But Ashford was not listening. His face was set, grim, as he turned towards Lydia for the first time since the duke had arrived.

‘I cannot marry you,’ Ashford said.

Lydia flinched backwards from him.

‘I am terminating the engagement.’

Lydia felt each word as a separate blow. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came.

‘I need air,’ Ashford said, unable to look her in the eye. ‘I need to get this wretched mask off.’

He turned sharply on his heel and made directly for the doorway.

‘Miss Hanworth,’ Lady Phoebe began, but Lydia did not wait to hear what empty reassurance she might offer her. Picking up her skirts, she gave chase.

He had only made it into the hallway before she caught up, darting in front of him, so that he was forced to stop.

‘Ashford!’ she said, finding herself suddenly full of words. ‘You cannot just – just do such a thing as that and not explain!’

‘What is there to explain?’ he said, trying to move around her. ‘Is this not what you wanted?’

‘Yes, originally, but …’

‘Then you win,’ he said, spreading his arms.

She stared at him. His face was clear, closed. It was the same person with whom she had just danced with, minutes before, but he looked so different now.

‘It is not about winning for me,’ she said. ‘Not for a while now. And I do not think it has been for you either. Surely you can see it?’

‘What I see is that we have been making each other miserable. It is time to stop.’

‘But I thought …’ she faltered.

One had to be very brave, it seemed, to voice such thoughts aloud. So much had happened between them, so much shared, but very little of it out loud. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe it had only existed in her mind.

But she could not retreat back from it now. She would regret it forever if she did.

‘There were moments where it seemed as if we felt something for one another,’ she began, sick with mortification to say such words, while he stared at her, so unfeelingly. ‘That somehow these hellish and bizarre days of us both trying to end this – maybe was us beginning something.’

Ashford did not speak.

‘When we kissed …’ she began.

He hushed her, almost violently, looking frantically around the empty hallway. ‘You ought not to speak of that. We should never have done it.’

‘You said just hours ago,’ she said, ‘that you did not regret it.’

‘I was wrong. It was wrong.’

‘How can you say that?’ she said – implored. ‘You must have felt it. It cannot have been just me.’

He looked down and away.

‘I cannot give you what you want.’

‘That is not what I asked!’

‘That is all that matters,’ he said. ‘You said you did not want the trappings of title and duty and service. You said you wanted romance and courtship and love. That is not what I can give you.’

‘Why not?’

‘What does it matter the reasons?’ he said. ‘I cannot give you what you want. That should be enough of an answer for you. I cannot change who I am because you would wish it otherwise. You might not like it—’

‘I do like it,’ she said. ‘That is the issue. When you are not being a crushingly dense prig, I like it a great deal. And for a moment I thought—’

She broke off, a sob in her throat.

‘I suppose it does not matter,’ she said, through a constricted throat. ‘You have made the decision for both of us.’

They stared at each other for another long, long moment – the longest one of her life, perhaps, as she willed him to say anything, anything else.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose I have.’

From the end of the hall, there was the unmistakeable sound of the grandfather clock striking midnight.

It was the tenth day. And she had lost him.