Page 52 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Ashford spent a long while watching after her carriage.

He had forgotten quite how abhorrent it was.

The stripes , dear lord. Garish yellow clashing so violently against the sickening green.

Where had she sourced such a vehicle? Visions of Lydia – of Miss Hanworth , he corrected himself forcibly – brandishing a paint brush, swam irrepressibly to mind, and he might have laughed, had he not felt so very hollow.

He stood there until the freshness of the morning air began to warm upon his face.

Only then did he turn his back upon the empty drive, to make his way back inside.

The entrance hall was already thick with activity, maids bustling with brooms and feather dusters, while the gardener’s boy dismantled the vast floral arrangement at the base of the stairs.

By the end of the day, Hawkscroft would be set entirely to rights. All evidence of last night’s festivities and dramatics swept and brushed and polished away, and everything back to normal. Ashford could only wish that setting his own self to rights could be achieved so swiftly.

‘Such efficiency,’ Ashford noted, as he passed Reeves in the corridor, supervising with a critical eye.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Are you … well?’ Ashford asked, pausing his feet for a moment. ‘Last night’s events were rather unsettling.’

He, at least, had been able to retreat to his bedchambers after the … after everything with Miss Hanworth – the household staff would not have been granted that luxury.

‘Indeed,’ Reeves agreed crisply – and for a moment, Ashford thought this was all he would elicit from the butler. But then, more to himself than to Ashford, he murmured: ‘The future, however, does look a little brighter now.’

‘For her ladyship,’ he added hastily. ‘Who is taking breakfast in her parlour.’

Reeves caught Ashford’s eye, meaningfully.

‘I shall join her, I think,’ Ashford said.

‘Very good, my lord.’

No one looking at Lady Phoebe, that morning, would suspect her of undergoing such distress as she had the night previous, for she was characteristically arranged in the highest kick of fashion, in a white morning dress of finest jaconet muslin finished at the bottom by a double flounce of pointed lace.

She, much like her house, recovered quickly – or appeared to, anyway.

She extended a hand towards him. ‘Sit with me?’

There were rolls, preserves and crockery on the table sufficient for two, as if she had been expecting him, though there was no maid waiting upon her. He was struck, suddenly, by how rare it was to find his cousin alone.

‘How are you?’ he said, taking the seat opposite her.

‘Oh, just wonderful,’ she said, reaching for the coffee pot. ‘Not staring into the abyss of the unknown in the least .’

Her tone was ever cheerful, but her hand, as she poured coffee, shook slightly.

‘At least you may be relieved it is all over,’ Ashford told her quietly.

Phoebe leant back into her chair with a tired sigh. ‘I am not sure relief is the correct word. If anything, I feel more unsettled than before.’

She sighed again.

‘I have spent so long building my life and world around him, you see,’ she said, almost apologetically. ‘Worrying over his every expression, anticipating his every feeling, trying to keep him from anger. It made me feel frantic, feverish , half-mad at times, but … it was my life.’

Not for the first time in the past few hours, Ashford found himself wishing that the confrontation with Sir Waldo had turned violent.

However badly he would have fared against Sir Waldo’s bulk, at least he could have had the satisfaction of landing a few blows upon his person.

He could only hope that the crossing to Mauritius was as perilous as reported – and pray for stormy weather.

Ashford reached out to touch his cousin’s hand.

‘Everything will be well,’ he promised.

The corners of Phoebe’s mouth wobbled. She pulled away from him to take a hasty sip of coffee.

‘It is strange, is all,’ she said, with more of her usual briskness, ‘to have everything so different all at once. I’m sure I shall be settled again presently.’

‘Of course you will,’ he said. ‘I will remain here a while, while you find your feet.’

She surveyed him over the rim of the teacup.

‘How charitable,’ she said, as if this were a bad thing. ‘Does such altruism have anything to do with Miss Hanworth’s departure this morning? Running away from your problems, are you, cousin?’

‘I am not running away,’ Ashford said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. She has been through a great deal, he reminded himself. Now is not the time for squabbling. ‘And everything with Miss Hanworth is resolved.’

Lady Phoebe took a bite of muffin and hummed consideringly.

‘I saw you, last night, you know. You looked as though you were having the time of your life before your father arrived. What occurred to overset you?’

‘I realized the selfishness of my actions,’ he said. ‘The immorality of deceiving him. I had to be honest.’

‘I do not pretend,’ Lady Phoebe said slowly, ‘to understand exactly what has gone on between you two. But I do not know how jilting a young lady, whatever the circumstances, can be an honourable act.’

Ashford tried not to wince. He would tell Phoebe the full story as soon as he could bear to – for now, he would have to accept such judgement, however ill it sat.

‘Sometimes the right thing is the wrong thing,’ he quoted softly, looking down to his hands. ‘I have behaved abominably, but she will be happy to be rid of me. She did not wish to marry me, you see.’

Phoebe gave a little harrumph. ‘I agree that you behaved abominably, but I do not think she will be happy to be rid of you. She did not look so, last night.’

The memory of Miss Hanworth’s shocked face swam across his mind and he winced.

‘I should never have asked her,’ he said – as much reminder to himself as it was justification to Phoebe. ‘We are entirely unsuited. I can only thank goodness I realized it before it was too late.’

Lady Phoebe set down her knife with an ominous clink. ‘Ashford, I can just about forgive you for deceiving me, these past ten days, but I do find it mortifying that you continue to deceive yourself.’

Ashford bridled. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘When Miss Hanworth first arrived,’ Lady Phoebe said, fixing him with a steely eye.

‘I thought her the most appalling choice imaginable. I could not believe you had fallen in love with such a person – and even now, knowing the truth of everything that has occurred, I still believe she is deplorably unsuited to the role of viscountess, let alone duchess.’

‘I agree—’ Ashford tried to intervene, but Phoebe raised a hand.

‘However, I do think there is something between you,’ she said. ‘You have been more yourself, this week, sniping and snarling and spilling wine upon each other, than I have known you to be for years – and that is the future I wish for you.’

Ashford did not want to hear this – could not hear this.

‘I am content with the future I have chosen,’ he said brusquely.

‘Are you?’

‘ Yes .’ Perhaps he had expected to feel more relief, watching Lydia – Miss Hanworth – be driven away from him, but some agitation was to be expected, surely? It had been a strange few days, after all.

‘It is done,’ he told her. ‘I have made my decision.’

‘You can unmake it!’ she said eagerly. ‘Ride after her ventre a terre and tell her you were wrong.’

‘ Ventre a terre? ’

‘As fast as the wind, throwing caution to the – well, you know.’

The image was absurd. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Phoebe! Will you not leave it be?’

‘No!’ Phoebe smacked a hand down on the table, shaking all the crockery. ‘One must seize happiness, Ashford. It is a rare enough thing, and you are in danger of letting it slip you by.’

‘Rest assured I am very happy!’ Ashford snapped. There was silence for a moment. Then, a tiny giggle escaped Lady Phoebe’s lips.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said at once, pressing a hand to her mouth. ‘I am not laughing at you, I promise.’

‘You wretch .’

But Ashford could not prevent an answering smile, however begrudging.

‘I just want you to be happy,’ Phoebe entreated, reaching across to press his hand. ‘Come, will you take a turn with me?’

He rose, following her through the parlour, out of the doors, and onto the gardens.

There, in a perfect mirror of the tour they had made on the day of his arrival, they made a complete circuit of the gardens.

By unspoken agreement they left the serious matters untouched, speaking only of unimportant this and inconsequential that, but even so, the distance between them felt vastly smaller.

‘You know,’ Lady Phoebe said, as they began to reapproach Hawkscroft from the rear, ‘I never liked this house. It is not very friendly, is it.’

‘I do not think anyone would describe it such,’ Ashford agreed. He took a sidelong glance at her. ‘You could leave, you know.’

‘Yes, I think I will,’ she said. ‘Though where or what I would do, I cannot think.’

‘Wherever or whatever you wanted,’ he said easily. ‘What did you think you would do in Paris with … my mother?’

‘I did not much consider it,’ she admitted. It was her turn to steal a glance at his profile. ‘Your mother promised she would organize everything.’

Ashford felt a prickle of tension run upon his spine. ‘How kind of her,’ he said pleasantly. Then, less pleasantly: ‘I suppose she has a great deal of time on her hands, with no duties or responsibilities to attend to.’

‘She asks after you,’ Lady Phoebe said, ‘in every letter we exchange.’