Page 17 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Perhaps you read about Rundell and Bridge the jewellers’ affair?’ Pip’s air of theatricality heightened even further. ‘It was my first case.’

The room regarded him, curiosity chasing away their outrage.

‘You must be very brave,’ Lady Morton said, moving to touch Pip upon the arm.

‘Famous,’ Mr Brandon declared.

Lydia breathed out a sigh, her heartbeat beginning to calm to its normal tempo.

‘How … sordid,’ Lady Hesse observed, mouth puckering as though tasting a sour plum, and Lady Phoebe shot Ashford a quick glare.

‘I wonder that they could spare you for the week,’ Lord Hesse said, in a tone caught somewhere between envy and sulkiness, ‘given you are so important.’

‘It was a difficult decision,’ Pip said. ‘But Mr Simmons – my … mentor – agreed I might use the house party as an opportunity to practise my investigating skills. If her ladyship does not mind?’

He looked enquiringly toward Lady Phoebe.

‘You mean to investigate us?’ Lady Phoebe said, looking as though she did not know whether to find this amusing or alarming.

‘You will find us dull subjects, I am sure!’ Sir Waldo said jovially.

‘I do not think so,’ Pip said. ‘Everyone has secrets, after all.’

A strange shiver passed around the room. For a moment, not one person appeared to want to make eye contact with anyone else in the room.

‘Ah, surely you are not suggesting …?’ Ashford began.

‘Everyone,’ Pip repeated darkly. ‘Especially those with moustaches.’

The moment broke.

‘Oh, you rotter!’ Sir Waldo said, slapping Pip upon the back again.

Laughter reigned again – all save Lady Phoebe, who was glaring at Ashford – and Ashford himself, who was gazing from Lydia to Pip and back again, blinking rather dazedly, as if trying to wake himself from a dream. At last, at last! Lydia was awash with sudden relief. Thank goodness for Pip. His methods might have brought them close to disaster, but they were undeniably effective, and Lydia opened her mouth to continue their momentum but—

‘I think it must be almost time for dinner,’ Lady Phoebe proclaimed, before she could speak.

As if in obeyance to her words, the grandfather clock behind her struck a single bell tone, and in the same moment the butler appeared in the doorway, giving her a significant nod. Lady Phoebe took in a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing down her spine, and held out her arms as if to conduct an orchestra.

‘Please, won’t you follow me?’ she said, and, with a few deft movements, had them each paired for the walk to dinner, and the evening back under her control.

Everything in Lady Phoebe’s life seemed to run perfectly to plan: the adoring husband, the wondrous home, the luxurious life. This house party would doubtless be the same: each moment designed according to her vision and executed to perfection.

It was almost a shame Lydia was going to have to ruin it.

5

Lydia’s sense of victory in the drawing room had been precipitous. Pip might have rocked Ashford’s indefatigable calm for a moment, but by the time they were seated in the West Dining Room, it had been entirely restored. What’s more, Lydia’s nerves had made a reappearance, too. For the grandeur of the dining room was such that she felt overwhelmed anew: panelled entirely in dark oak and hung in crimson damask, it boasted a glittering chandelier overhead and a gleaming mahogany table at its centre, laden with pies, pates, jellies, fondues and blancmanges past counting.

Lydia cast an evaluating eye to the fleet of footman lining the walls. Just how many hours of preparation had this opulent repast required?

‘A sinful amount of housework,’ her grandmother would have tutted, had she been there to witness such a display. Having begun life as a maid, Mrs Hanworth had a strong aversion to excess, and as Lydia took a seat between a beef tremblant and pigeon à la Crapaudine, she had never felt more in agreement. For even between ten of them, they should never finish all these delicacies.

Lydia had bigger concerns, however, as she, the lowest ranking woman, and Ashford, the highest-ranking gentleman, had been seated at opposite ends of the table, rendering most of her planned methods of revolting him impossible. She berated herself, furiously, for not considering this earlier. What on earth was there to do that he, so far away, would be certain of noticing? There was one wild moment, as the rest of the table began to sup on the mountain of dishes ladening the table and Lydia’s hands hovered above the row of cutlery sitting either side of her plate. Did she have the gall to use the wrong fork?

Before she could act on the impulse, Lord Dacre had tilted towards her.

‘I believe it’s outside in,’ he murmured in her ear, so quietly that not a single person other than she could hear him. It was such an unexpected piece of kindness that Lydia could not help but heed him, taking the correct cutlery in hand.