Page 143 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘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?’