Page 103 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Yes,’ Ashford said. ‘She did that.’ He looked back to the window. ‘We all did, once.’

Once … ‘Did His Grace have to … harden his heart, afterwards?’ she guessed. Perhaps that was the source of Ashford’s dogged adherence to duty, inherited from a father striving for order in the face of grief.

Ashford gave a soft snort. ‘No, certainly not. He follows his heart resolutely, to this day. He is something of a family outlier, in that sense.’

Lydia’s forehead wrinkled. ‘You do not say that as if it is a good thing.’

Ashford hunched one shoulder. ‘I just think it striking how often his heart leads him away from tasks he would rather not fulfil.’

He seemed rather surprised by the bitterness in his own voice. Unbidden, Lydia’s arm reached out to him, as if to reassure, until the song, finishing with a resounding crescendo of voices, stayed her hand. Prett’s throat singing the last note heard.

‘Famous playing, Miss Hesse!’ Brandon said, clapping his hands together, as Prett’s final note at last concluded in a long throaty warble. ‘Come, Ashford, let us sing a duet!’

Lydia – who had previously felt only liking for Brandon – would have readily wished him to the devil in that moment.

‘No thank you,’ Ashford said promptly.

‘Oh, do be a good sport,’ Brandon said, taking a few bounding steps toward him.

‘Does he mean to capture me?’ Ashford asked Lydia, eyeing Brandon’s outstretched arms with some misgiving.

‘It appears so,’ Lydia said, edging out of the way.

‘Recollect I am the faster runner, Brandon,’ Ashford said.

‘That is such a lie!’

‘I wonder if I might take the opportunity,’ Prett declared, ‘since it is our last night together before the Grand Masquerade, to distribute a few little gifts?’

‘Gifts!’ Lady Morton clapped her hands with delight.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have,’ Lady Phoebe said.

‘Nonsense!’ Prett said, ‘I must say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for such a wonderful visit.’

‘Brace yourself, Brandon,’ Ashford murmured, recognizing the little brown bag at the same moment Lydia did.

‘Would you believe there was a shop selling miniatures in town,’ Prett was saying, ‘which had two of my portraits in stock?’

‘You shouldn’t have!’ Sir Waldo said, accepting one of the miniatures.

‘This one, my lord, was dubbed “The Grecian Profile”,’ Captain von Prett said, handing it over to Ashford.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ Ashford said, in quite a different tone.

‘What,’ Mr Brandon said, voice low enough that only Ashford and Lydia could hear him, ‘am I meant to do with this?’

‘I think,’ Ashford said, ‘that one … carries it around. Or I have seen persons display them on their mantelpiece.’

‘Does he truly think I will display this?’ Mr Brandon muttered.

‘It takes a great deal of skill to paint such a thing,’ Lydia said, primly. ‘You must admire the Grecian Profile.’

‘I do not,’ Ashford said, ‘and cannot, admire the Grecian Profile.’

Across the room, Lady Morton was in loud transports about her own miniature, declaring her intention of wearing it about her neck.

Ashford and Brandon began to snort with laughter.