Page 51 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Wednesday – The last day

No one else was there to bear witness to their parting the next morning, for after the festivities and dramas of the night previous, Hawkscroft was quiet.

No one had seemed in any particular hurry to rise, and Pip, Lydia and Jane would certainly not have woken by such an hour, if it were not for the fact they were returning to London that very morning.

After the events of the previous night, Lydia did not wish to linger for even an hour longer than needed.

Outside, on the front steps, Ashford was waiting for them. For a moment, Lydia’s treacherous heart leapt with hope – had he come to say he had made a mistake? Admit he had been wrong? But as soon as she saw his expression, neutral and distant, she knew he had not.

‘I came to say goodbye,’ he said. ‘Lady Phoebe is still resting.’

‘At last,’ Lydia said.

Ashford nodded.

‘Goodbye, then,’ he said. ‘I hope you have enjoyed your visit.’

Lydia gave a small, incredulous shake of her head. After all they had shared, such formality was ridiculous.

‘Oh yes, marvellous,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Do keep us in mind for the next one.’

Ashford’s expression remained perfectly benign. ‘My family owes yours a great debt of thanks, for your aid last night,’ he continued, so very formal.

He looked to Pip. ‘I underestimated you,’ Ashford said. ‘I am sorry.’

‘That’s all right,’ Pip said, cheerfully. ‘Fact is, people often do.’

A screech on the driveway had them turning to see the hired chaise draw in. It was the same one they had arrived in, looking, if possible, even more garish than it had before. Ashford did not appear to notice.

He extended a hand to Pip, who shook it firmly before leaping directly into the carriage, Jane – carrying Lydia’s reticule – following behind.

Ashford turned to Lydia. He opened his mouth, closed it, then held out a billet.

‘This should explain matters satisfactorily,’ he said. ‘For your aunt and uncle.’

She took it from him, noticing instantly its thickness. There were several sheets enclosed, at least.

‘They seem to have received a great deal more explanation than I did,’ she noted.

Ashford bowed, but did not answer. ‘Farewell, Miss Hanworth. It has been …’

‘A pleasure?’ she suggested.

The smallest of smiles twisted his lips for a moment.

‘Something along those lines.’

When the carriage began to move, the urge to look back was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to resist it, setting her jaw and staring determinedly ahead.

Jane reached out to touch Lydia upon the arm.

‘It will be all right,’ she said softly. ‘At least you are free now.’

‘Yes,’ Lydia agreed. ‘Yes, how – how marvellous.’

For he had achieved her goal, yes, but … it did not feel anything close to what she had thought it would.

Nothing about him had been what she had thought. He might have given her what she had wanted – but instead it felt as though something had been taken from her.

‘I wish we had never come here,’ Lydia said, as they drew out of Hawkscroft’s gates. ‘I wish none of this had happened.’

A sob rose in her throat, and she squashed it ruthlessly down.

‘Bound to feel blue-devilled,’ Pip encouraged. ‘Feel better in a bit, I should think.’

Lydia let out a strangled laugh. She hoped he was right. She did not think she could carry this feeling with her for long, for it felt a physical weight within her – from which there could be no distraction.

There were more blows in store, that day. Ashford’s billet was read by Uncle Edmund as soon as they arrived at Berkley Square, and though Lydia was given to understand it excused her entirely, it was not enough. She was still to be sent to Aunt Mildred.

The majority of her schemes – the social gaffes, the singing – had not, in fact, reached her aunt and uncle (the benefit of the slower summer months meaning that gossip did not travel as fast or as far as it might usually), but most unfortunately Aunt Agatha’s cousin, Miss Slater, had spotted Lydia leaving the inn where she had changed into her puce travelling address on that very first day.

Thus, though Ashford’s letter had been reportedly extremely apologetic, claiming all the blame for himself, the travelling dress was sufficient for Aunt Agatha and Uncle Edmund to announce their intention to remove to Brighton for the rest of the summer – so as, they declared, to wait out the resulting scandal, when it came – and banish Lydia to the north and Aunt Mildred.

Lydia did not protest, watching her baggage piled onto the chaise. There was a certain inevitability about it, truly, that after all she had done to hold onto her agency, all of the fight and effort and perseverance, it simply amounted to the same conclusion in the end.

In all of it, there was only one consolation to be had.

‘A good thing I pack lightly, isn’t it,’ Pip said, sauntering up to the carriage, quizzing glass around his neck, and a small suitcase swinging in his hands. ‘Not much room left.’

‘You aren’t – you aren’t coming, too?’

‘Course I am,’ he said. ‘Pretty shabby of me, if I didn’t.’

‘Pip …’ Lydia swallowed around a lump in her throat. ‘It is so kind of you. But truly – I shall be all right by myself.’

She could not allow him to make such a sacrifice for her. She could not.

‘Fact is,’ Pip said, ‘wherever you are, I am too. Stands to reason.’

Lydia had yet to shed a tear over any of the events over the past ten days, feeling that to do so would be to open herself fully to the whirl of emotion inside of her. But now she could not help the tears springing to her eyes.

‘What about Mr Simmons? You have been away so long already.’

‘Yes, well …’ Pip hesitated. ‘Thing is, we need to lay low for a while, anyway. After he gave his assistance with Mr Villars, there have been some mutterings …’

‘Nothing serious!’ Pip added hastily, seeing the look upon Lydia’s face, ‘more about undue influence than anything else – but better to be safe than sorry and all that rot.’

‘You cannot see each other?’

He shook his head. ‘Not for a while.

‘Can you write?’

‘ I cannot,’ Pip said. ‘Miss Phillippa Higglepiff, however …’

He gave a theatrical waggle of his eyebrows, an obvious attempt to amuse her that would, ordinarily, have worked – but Lydia was not easily amused, these days.

‘I am sorry,’ she said heavily.

‘It is not ideal,’ he said, ‘but all is not dark. Simmons intends to visit family in Harrogate later in the summer … and by then, things will be easier.’

He looked down to Lydia. ‘For both of us,’ he added.

Lydia threw her arms round his waist, more relieved than she could say that she would not have to do this alone. She had a chance, now, to make the best of whatever came next.

At the very least, the company might offer some respite from the relentless return of her thoughts, over and over again, to the front steps of Hawkscroft, and the cold morning light on Ashford’s face.