Page 21 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Miss Hesse,’ Brandon finished delicately. ‘Yes, some people have been wondering.’

‘These “people”,’ Ashford said. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘Friends of mine,’ Brandon said. ‘Not sure you are acquainted.’

Ashford suppressed a smile. Even if Brandon had yet to admit it aloud, the candle he held for Miss Hesse was obvious to anyone paying the least bit of attention.

‘I am not courting Miss Hesse,’ he said.

Brandon did not look convinced.

‘She does meet all your requirements,’ he said. ‘I would understand if your heart had been caught.’

Ashford considered, for a moment, whether he might tell Brandon the whole truth. He was the closest thing Ashford had to a confidante, and already knew, after all, of Ashford’s intention to wed and some of the difficulties he had encountered along the way, though Ashford had never fully explained his financial motives, nor His Grace’s more sentimental demands. It was tempting, but no. To admit the duchy’s financial difficulties was insupportable and he could not risk his father finding out the truth. For if the duke caught even a whiff of Ashford’s true motives, he might well withdraw his approval and ruin the whole thing.

‘I am not courting Miss Hesse,’ he repeated, perceiving, from the worried cast to Brandon’s expression, that he did need some further reassurance. ‘I am, however, looking forward to getting to know Miss Hanworth better.’

Get to know her, discover what on earth was going through her mind, what the hell she was thinking – it was all much of muchness. To think, only yesterday, Ashford had thought Miss Hanworth sensible, pleasant, inoffensive.

‘Oh!’ Brandon said, much surprised. ‘Oh! Yes, well, of course, she is, ah, very …’

He trailed off, plainly at a loss for how to conclude the sentence.

‘Isn’t she,’ Ashford agreed pleasantly. She had been ‘very’, after all. Very strange, very impolite, very vulgar – the list went on.

‘La,’ came a voice from behind Ashford, ‘what a fine morning.’

Brandon’s eyes had widened as they looked over Ashford’s shoulder, but even with this warning, Ashford was unprepared for Miss Hanworth’s riding dress. It was a habit of bright green ornamented with a band of lilac stripes running down the front, and no less than five precariously drooping ostrich feathers emerging from a monstrously large hat. All in all, she bore a striking resemblance to the circus troupers who peddled tickets outside Astley’s Amphitheatre.

For a moment, Ashford’s mind was utterly blank. What did one say, to a woman so befeathered? It defied belief.

‘A very fine morning,’ he agreed at last, groping in his pocket for the reassuring shape of his snuffbox, as he always did when he wished to steady himself – in recent days, it seemed hardly out of his hand.

‘And you are a confirmed bachelor, Lord Dacre?’ He heard Mr Hanworth say from over his shoulder.

‘He has you on the ropes now, brother!’ Sir Waldo crowed.

‘Oh dear,’ Miss Hanworth breathed, gazing over Ashford’s shoulder. ‘He has a notebook.’

‘He does,’ Ashford confirmed.

Her eyes had widened in concern, and Ashford found the sight oddly reassuring. She had not lost all her commonsense, then.

‘Everyone is taking it in good humour,’ he reassured her, and her eyes moved back to him. As their gazes met, she seemed to startle.

‘I am so nervous,’ she confessed abruptly.

Ashford felt his vexation ease a little. The young lady he had known in London still existed, she was there, under the ostrich feathers – just besieged by nerves he had not thought she possessed.

‘I did wonder if that might be the case,’ he said, as gently as he could manage, ‘but I assure you—’

‘For the ride,’ Miss Hanworth added, in a rather rude interruption. ‘Do you think we will go far?’

‘Oh, I should think only an hour or so,’ Ashford said, ‘and then, once we return, perhaps we might speak—’

‘An hour?’ Miss Hanworth interrupted again, and a snappish retort was on the tip of Ashford’s tongue – would she not let him finish? – when the clattering of hooves had him turning. Soon, the yard was taken over with the business of mounting, made only noisier by Brutus, yapping furiously.

‘Ought the little monster be shut inside?’ Mr Brandon said, watching with concern as Miss Hesse’s horse gave a nervous skip away from the noise, just as she was being helped into the saddle. ‘He is upsetting the horses.’