Page 112 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Even after all his damning utterances thus far, there was still a part of Lydia which harboured some morsel of hope as she stared at him, waiting for his response.

‘I could not,’ he said, at last, though his eyes would not meet her own. ‘I could never give you such a thing.’

‘Never?’

‘If I had thought there the veriest chance of such a thing,’ he said. ‘I should never have proposed in the first place.’

She tried to speak, but – finding she could not quite remember how – nodded, then nodded some more for good measure.

‘I see,’ she managed eventually. ‘Well, I – I am feeling rather tired, now. I will bid you goodnight.’

‘Miss Hanworth, I—’

‘We shall have a truce, tomorrow,’ she instructed. ‘Until we solve this diamond business – but after that, we are adversaries once more. Everything will be exactly how it was.’

He reached out an arm to halt her – but she was already walking away.

25

Tuesday – Two days remaining

Very little of the plan went well, of course. Pip slipped out of the house easily enough, leaving vague excuses for his hosts that they did not receive until gone eleven o’clock. After the diversions of the day before, and ahead of the planned revelry of the night coming, Lady Phoebe had suggested they all rise late and breakfast outside.

As Lydia approached the table, she saw that the only empty seat remaining was next to Ashford. Of course it was. A few hours of snatched sleep had done little to soothe her and the memory of their conversation still stung fresh in her mind, and so she seated herself without looking at him, busied herself with buttering a warm roll of pillowy bread.

Lydia leant forward to take up the sugar bowl – and Ashford seized her hand before she could take it. Lydia jumped half out of her skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said under his breath. ‘I forgot – it is salt again.’

Lydia shot him an acidic look.

‘How embarrassing,’ she said. ‘To reuse an idea.’

‘Is it?’ Ashford said. ‘Given how effective it was last time?’

Lydia flushed in remembered embarrassment and opened her mouth to retort.

‘Let us not argue,’ Ashford muttered, ‘we have a truce, recollect.’

‘Perhaps you might let go of my hand, now,’ she said through clenched teeth.

He let it go with a start.

‘The post has arrived,’ Reeves announced quietly from the head of the table, and – as he had every morning since their arrival – took a silver tray bearing billets around to each person. Ashford, with only one look at the handwriting upon his, noticeably paled.

‘Who is it from?’ she said sharply.

He tucked the billet into his breast pocket without opening it.

‘The duke?’ Lydia guessed. Ashford did not answer, which was as good as confirmation. Their eyes caught, and Lydia was the first to look away.

‘Are you excited for this evening, my lady?’ Dacre asked Lady Phoebe, taking a billet from Reeves with a small smile of thanks. Reeves’ expression meanwhile, was even and neutral and a hundred miles away from the open warmth with which he had looked at Dacre the night before.

Once again, Lydia marvelled at it. With all the adversity facing them, they had chosen to be together as best they could, no matter what. What she would not give for that kind of clarity. She had never felt so confused, in all her life.

‘Yes, though there is still so much to do!’ Lady Phoebe said. ‘We have invited all the local gentry and every room in the house will be thrown open and made common.’

‘So many nooks and crannies for us to explore,’ Lady Morton said, with a sidelong look to Lord Hesse.