Page 53 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘She might ask me herself,’ Ashford muttered, though he knew this was unfair.

For years after she had left, he would receive a billet from Paris each month.

He had not been able to open a single one.

He didn’t know what he was worried about finding inside, but he could not face it, somehow – a weakness he despised and yet …

Eventually, she had ceased writing, and that had been even worse.

‘It is not too late,’ Lady Phoebe said gently, and he turned his head to find her still looking at him, ‘to mend those fences.’

Wasn’t it? These were old wounds. Before this week, he had thought them safely healed, and yet now they felt so very close to the surface. He did not like it. Better to close that chapter, put it in in the same box as Miss Hanworth and never consider each one again.

He could not say that to Phoebe, of course. ‘I shall think on it.

‘Liar,’ Phoebe accused him softly. She shook his arm a little. ‘We must do better, you know. Speak with one another honestly – as we used to, before everything became so muddled.’

Her face was serious as she blinked up at him.

‘I should like that,’ Ashford said, adding, after a beat of hesitation, ‘If you do not wish me to remain with you here, I …’

‘I shall always be glad of your company,’ Lady Phoebe said, squeezing his arm again. ‘Though I’d rather not be used as an excuse to bury your head in the sand.’

‘Let us not begin that again,’ Ashford said imploringly. ‘There are other things we must consider: papers that we need Waldo to sign so that you may live independently, the bankruptcy to avert—’

‘Dacre has already left to meet Waldo and sort the papers,’ Lady Phoebe interrupted. ‘I have written to Christie’s to arrange the sale of the necklace – that should go some way to paying off Mr Villar’s demands.’

‘Oh? Well … good.’ He ought not have been startled by her efficiency – this was Phoebe after all – though he might have wished she had discussed the matter with him, first.

‘There are no duties for you to fulfil,’ Lady Phoebe said, as if guessing at the direction of his thoughts. ‘Goodness knows you have enough of your own – and your father’s – to deal with. I would not for the world add to them.’

Ashford was somewhat startled. ‘It is no burden. I wish to help.’

‘I know you do.’ She patted his arm. ‘But I am capable of managing my affairs, so you may only stay if you wish it.’

Ashford frowned. This was not what he had expected. He had imagined himself being put to immediate work, and though he had more than enough of his own business matters to solve – there being the small matter of the crumbling duchy still pending – this sudden lack of direction sat uncomfortably.

Lady Phoebe nudged his arm softly. ‘Your father is here.’

They were almost at the house, now, and yes, there was His Grace on the terrace, holding up a hand in greeting. Without any conscious effort, Ashford felt his expression rearrange itself into neutrality.

‘Good morning!’ the duke called cheerily – though it was by now noon. ‘May I borrow my son from you, Phoebe?’

‘Of course, Uncle,’ she said, slipping her arm from Ashford’s. She tripped over to the duke’s side and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the house.

‘Excellent girl,’ the duke said, looking after her fondly. ‘Join me for a spot of breakfast, will you? I have asked Reeves to set us up with a private room.’

‘I’ve already supped,’ Ashford said, hearing the reserve in his own voice. He always sounded so, in his father’s company. It was the only means by which he could maintain civility.

‘Perhaps we might request Miss Hanworth’s presence as well,’ his father continued, ignoring Ashford’s tone. ‘I have a notion I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding.’

‘She’s gone,’ Ashford said. ‘Some hours ago.’

The duke looked so aghast that Ashford found himself irritated. What right did he have to such an expression, when Ashford himself was managing such calm?

‘But I had desired most urgently to resolve matters between you,’ the duke said, crestfallen.

‘Not so urgently as to rise before eleven,’ Ashford muttered.

‘Ashford,’ the duke chided. ‘You know my views: rest is a man’s most crucial tool.’

It was certainly one the duke used liberally.

‘Perhaps we might speak after you have breakfasted,’ Ashford said, ‘for there are a few matters of business we ought to discuss. Did you read Ellery’s correspondence regarding the Liston estate? He said he would write to you.’

‘My boy,’ the duke chided. ‘That is not important right now. I care about you .’

I did not think such affection common, in your set , Miss Hanworth had said to him, two nights earlier, and she had said it as if he should think himself fortunate.

But in truth, Ashford would prefer that his father act a little more befitting to his station.

It did not help anyone for him to behave more as a country squire than a duke – and least of all Ashford.

‘It is important, actually,’ Ashford said. ‘Very, in fact – if we do not act now—’

‘You are using business matters as a mask,’ the duke said, ‘but you need not be afraid to feel , Ashford. Come, unburden yourself.’

‘There is nothing to unburden.’ In contrast to His Grace’s warmth, Ashford’s tone was almost comical in its froideur .

‘Now, now, I do not think that true. Hmm?’

A few choice expletives sprang to Ashford’s lips. Rather than utter them, he turned and stalked down towards the end of the terrace.

After a beat, the duke followed. ‘Would you like to explain what occurred, last night?’

Ashford pressed his hands against the cool, stone parapet that separated the terrace from the gardens, looking out across Hawkscroft’s rolling lawns. Calm, he reminded himself, calm.

‘I regret all the events that led to my behaviour yesterday,’ he said, without turning around.

‘I should hope so!’ the duke said, and from behind Ashford he heard chair legs scraping, and the sound of the his father seating himself. ‘Such dishonour, Ashford.’

He made a little tut tut sound with his tongue. The embers of Ashford’s temper reignited in one great rush, and he wheeled about, glaring at him.

‘You pushed me there!’ he accused, before he could stop himself. ‘What did you think the effect of your decree would be?’

They ought to remove to a private room to discuss such matters, but in that moment, Ashford did not care.

‘I thought it would nudge you into forming a genuine attachment,’ the duke said. ‘And I was correct!’

‘No, you were not,’ Ashford insisted. ‘I told you, last night – I never felt anything for Miss Hanworth. It was all a ploy.’

The duke chuffed out a knowing laugh that made Ashford want to yell in frustration. ‘It did not seem a ploy, to me. I have not seen you laugh in such a way for years.’

Dear lord, why was everyone so obsessed with his laughter? It was just laughing! It did not mean anything.

‘Perhaps there will be more time for laughing,’ he snapped, ‘once I can be certain we are not on the point of ruin.’

‘Such dramatics,’ the duke tutted. ‘We are not going to be ruined!’

‘If you had read Ellery’s letter!’

‘Men of business, it’s their job to find problems,’ his father said. ‘It’s our job to ignore them!’

He chuckled. Ashford did not.

‘I care a great deal more about you,’ the duke went on, ‘than silly financial matters.’

‘These are not frivolous issues, Father. We need drains, and money to build them, or we will have to begin selling land!’

‘We’ll solve all that.’ The duke gave a dismissive wave of his hand that had Ashford seeing red.

‘Who is we, Father?’ Ashford said derisively. ‘You? Do you intend to do so, all the way from Scotland?’

The smile fell from the duke’s face.

‘One must take time for oneself,’ the duke said, with great dignity. ‘If I might pass on one piece of wisdom, Ashford, it is that.’

‘Yes, you have always made time for yourself,’ Ashford said savagely. ‘Sauntering up to Scotland, resting in Bath, as if you have anything to rest from , spending days in bed after Mother—’

He broke off. Even now, he could not say it.

‘You were incapacitated!’ he rallied after a pause. ‘For months you could not do anything. My uncles had to solve everything, for you. I had to—’

His voice cracked and he turned away to collect himself, staring across Hawkscroft’s grounds. In the distance, two gardener’s boys were hauling a gigantic potted palm in the direction of the greenhouse, and he fixed his eyes upon them until they disappeared from view.

‘I will not apologize for my heartbreak,’ the duke said after a long pause, adding, in defensive mutter: ‘At the time you said you wanted to take on more duties.’

Ashford let out a humourless laugh. ‘I was ten and six.’

He had become the duke that day, in all the ways that mattered.

To be cut so shockingly adrift, the gilded softness of childhood abruptly rendered into grey – it had been terrifying.

With his father unable to explain this awful new world, he had had to look to his uncles, with their rigid Ancaster propriety, for guidance.

Their intervention had been blessed relief, at the time.

For however nauseating it had felt, in those early days, to act as if the duchess had passed away – as if that were a better, more reasonable loss – it had shown Ashford a way forward.

Had proven that, with calm and reason, one could carve order out of chaos – indeed, with the proper prioritization of rationality over sentiment, one could easily ensure that such hurt never occur again.

It was a system that had worked very well until approximately ten days prior.

‘You were always so strong,’ His Grace said, but he had not truly listened. After all that guff about Ashford unburdening himself, he did not wish to hear it when it was unpleasant.