Page 151 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

They had turned the last corner, reaching the maze’s heart. At its centre stood a decorative fountain, with a vast half-moon tastefully illuminated at its centre. Magnificent in size and depth, it was said to be modelled, as Mrs Lindell frequently boasted, on the Fountain of Neptune, though neither Lydia nor Ashford spared it more than a cursory glance.

‘I own I was not expecting quite so fierce a reception.’

Lydia whirled on him with a furious glare.

‘How could you not?’ she demanded. ‘You rejected me, you sent me away, and now, when I am finally feeling easy again, here you are like some deluded scent hound – for what?’

‘I told you, to apologize and to—’

‘You might have written the same lacklustre apology,’ she interrupted, ‘not—’

Ashford raised his voice to override her. ‘I did not think a letter would have felt quite as romantic a gesture!’

This took some of the wind out of her sails.

‘R-romantic?’ she faltered. Then, valiantly rallying the last of her ire: ‘Attending Mrs Lindell’s waltzing-ball is not exactly a Herculean task.’

Lydia did not know why she was still being so abrasive, only that she could not stop and it was tethering her to normalcy.

‘Actually, it was.’ Ashford took a step towards her. ‘First, I rode to London – ventre a terre I might add – then to Brighton. Then, once I had extracted your location from them, I made my way here – a journey of two days in any case, had my wheel spoke not broken twenty miles outside of York.’ He took another step forward. ‘Then, a wrong turning took us to the other Marnsley – did you know there were two? – where I was looked upon as some lecherous villain, trawling the village for young ladies. A lowering experience, I assure you.’ Another step. Lydia had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. ‘So yes, I should think that constitutes arduous.’

Lydia swallowed. ‘All for what?’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘To tell me you are sorry?’

Ashford took in a deep, deep breath.

‘Yes. But also to tell you: it was not just you. You were not making it up.’

He spoke carefully and deliberately, as if he had rehearsed what he intended to say ahead of coming.

‘I did not plan for all this, you know,’ he said. ‘And – as you have pointed out – I do enjoy making plans. But you … you just crashed into my well-ordered life, ridiculous and dramatic and shameless and brilliant.’

He shook his head, a disbelieving smile crossing his face. ‘When I thought I hated you – I could cope with that. But the moment I realized I did not … I panicked.’

Lydia was silent. She had no sharp words left.

‘I ran away,’ he said. ‘But I do not wish to run, anymore.’

‘What does that mean?’

Ashford swallowed. ‘I suppose – well, this is my first visit to Marnsley, but what I have seen, thus far, is very nice.’

‘Truly?’ She would have thought it far too provincial for him.

‘I have rented a delightful cottage,’ Ashford said primly, ‘and intend, indeed, to remain for the summer.’

‘But … why?’ She had to hear him say it. If she allowed herself to feel hope now, she would be crushed.

‘So that I might see you. Might call upon you for morning visits. Invite you out for drives. Perhaps even escort you to the local assemblies,’ he said gently. ‘If you will save me a dance, next time.’

Lydia stared at him wordlessly.

‘Dancing, courting, flirting,’ he said softly, ‘that is what I want.’

They were the same words she had used, in the library. Lydia let them sink in. For the long moment, the only sound was the gurgling from the fountain.

Ashford’s eyes moved uncertainly across her face ‘Do you … have any thoughts on that?’

‘I’m thinking,’ she said.