Page 122 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

But he did not.

How disagreeable of him to make himself scarce when they had not discussed the events of the afternoon: Lady Phoebe, and his mother, the imminent arrival of the duke – and that kiss … Lydia brushed a hand across her mouth. Had it truly happened?

‘I do hope Ashford recovers from his migraine,’ Lady Phoebe said airily, now, ‘in time to greet the duke.’

As did Lydia. She could certainly not meet Ashford’s father before they had had a chance to decide, together, what they wished to do. He had spoken so firmly against love, last night – but after what they had shared this afternoon, perhaps …

‘I am greatly looking forward to meeting His Grace,’ Captain von Prett pronounced. ‘I sense he may be a kindred soul.’

‘I shall present you,’ Lady Phoebe promised. ‘And, indeed, you must remind me to bring you to Colonel Lynton – he oversaw the 95th, as you of course know, and has been very desirous of resuming your acquaintance.’

The captain’s serene expression faltered, briefly. ‘The colonel?’ he said weakly. ‘Oh how – how wonderful.’

‘Reeves, do remind me to make the introduction,’ Lady Phoebe instructed. ‘I mustn’t forget.’

‘Certainly, my lady,’ Reeves said, with a grim sort of satisfaction.

Across the room, Dacre turned his head towards the wall to hide a smile.

‘What illness did you say Ashford had?’ Lydia heard von Prett asking, as they made their way to the ballroom. ‘For I too am feeling a little …’

As vast as the house had seemed to Lydia on her first day, by half past ten it felt veritably crowded from the crush of persons within, and so loud with laughter and chatter that even when one was in the ballroom, one could hardly hear the music. Lydia circled through the rooms with watchful eyes. Save for the servants, there was not a single person in attendance without a mask, and amongst the sea of gentlemen wearing mantles of blue, black and grey and the oceans of ladies in lilacs and pinks, it was almost impossible to recognize anyone. Almost. For Lady Phoebe was the only lady to have worn a bright and shocking scarlet, Sir Waldo would always be recognizable for his height and breadth and –

‘Miss Hanworth?’ Ashford said, behind her.

She turned, sharply. He was wearing a simple navy domino, with matching mask, but Lydia had no trouble recognizing him. She had spent a whole week making a complete study of every tiny variation of his expression, after all.

‘You are here,’ she said, stupidly.

‘Where else would I be?’ he said.

‘I have not been able to find you, anywhere.’

‘You were looking for me?’

‘I was … concerned,’ she admitted.

‘About me?’ he said. ‘I am touched.’

He held two glasses in his hands and offered one to her. She was strangely startled by the gesture. ‘Oh – thank you!’

She stared up at him. After spending all day beset by the questions and thoughts and concerns she wished to ask and relay and share with him, she did not know where to begin. Lady Phoebe, of course, was the most urgent, certainly, but now her thoughts were fixed on a very different direction … The light from the closest chandelier cast him in such shadow, but Lydia still felt his gaze upon her as a physical thing.

‘It was quite the day,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘Did you – do you wish to speak of it?’

‘No.’

His unhelpfulness prompted Lydia back to herself, a little.

‘Yes, perfect,’ she agreed. ‘Bottle it all up, every bit. That sounds sensible to me.’

‘The good news is, I did not ask for your opinion,’ he said, irritated himself. ‘And thus …’

‘Nevertheless, you must receive it.’

A lady passing in a green domino turned sharply at the sound of their voices.

‘My lord, there you are!’ Lady Hesse, for it was she, clutched at Ashford’s arm. ‘You owe my daughter a dance!’