Page 57 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

His eyes swung down to the yellow dress and widened.

‘If you are wondering of what the gown reminds you,’ Ashford put in, ‘we decided it was a banana.’

Lydia had never hated anyone as much as she did Ashford in that moment.

‘May I introduce Lady Hesse and Miss Hesse?’ Lady Phoebe said, moving swiftly on.

‘Good evening, sir,’ Lady Hesse said crisply, keeping a protective hand on her daughter’s arm. Miss Hesse was already blushing, as she came forward – prettily, of course. Blast. Charmingly attired in a muslin gown of the softest shade of pink, she looked as fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

‘We have met before, too, have we not?’ the captain asked Miss Hesse, bowing low over her hand.

And if he had spoken to Lydia with the same warmth, he was certainly looking differently at Miss Hesse. Blast, blast, blast. There had never been a worse moment to resemble a fruit.

‘Yes, once,’ Miss Hesse breathed, bobbing a demure curtsey. ‘I am honoured you remember.’

This was not ideal. What on earth was Lydia to do now? A moment before, her plans for the evening had run the gamut from slurping her soup to referring to Ashford as Your Highness, but she could not very well do that now, in front of the only gentleman for whom she had ever felt a tendre. She could not embarrass herself in such a way, with Miss Hesse dimpling such sweet smiles and Lady Morton thrusting forward such impressive bosoms.

‘This makes matters far more complicated,’ she said to Pip, as he escorted her to dinner a short while later.

‘Not really.’ Pip twirled his quizzing glass around his finger. ‘Von Prett can’t be the thief – wasn’t here. Stands to reason.’

‘For me,’ she said. ‘I need to rethink everything.’

The atmosphere, as they filed into the dining room, was thick with excitement. Once again, Lydia was seated towards the lower end of the table, with Ashford on her right, while Captain von Prett was at the other end, in the seat of honour next to Lady Pheobe. On the whole, Lydia felt this was to her benefit. As much as she might wish for further conversation with von Prett, she and Ashford had unfinished business.

‘About that truce,’ she began, very quietly, as they seated themselves.

‘No.’

‘You suggested it!’

‘You ought to have agreed when you had the chance,’ Ashford said, and he was smiling. ‘I imagine all your little plans are a trifle more complicated with Captain von Prett here to observe.’

Lydia could have throttled him.

‘Before we begin …’ Lady Phoebe beamed around at them all, plainly delighted by the stir the new guest had caused. How long had she been planning this very moment? Days? Weeks? ‘I would just like to say—’

‘A toast to our newcomer!’ Sir Waldo cut across her, raising his glass. ‘Welcome, sir!’

‘Welcome,’ they all intoned, raising their glasses with him.

‘Welcome,’ Lady Phoebe said, a beat later, her smile deflated.

‘Thank you so much,’ Captain von Prett said, pressing a hand to his chest, as if to emphasize how very much he meant it. ‘There is nothing more joyful in the world than breaking bread with one’s friends. I am so glad to be here.’

Spoken by anyone else, the words would have been saccharine, but somehow they did not seem so spoken by von Prett. Having spent so long surrounded by cutting tongues, hidden motives and double meanings, it felt gloriously refreshing – but Lydia was not the only one struck down by admiration.

‘And yet you have deprived us of days of your company,’ Lady Morton said with a pout. Her burgundy gown was trimmed with a festoon of lace at the bodice, drawing the eye inexorably to her teetering bosoms – both of which she now directed towards Captain von Prett. From further down the table, Hess glowered.

‘My apologies,’ Captain von Prett said with a smile. ‘I had a speaking engagement in Herefordshire.’

‘Oh, how marvellous!’ Lady Morton said rapturously.

‘I have been to Herefordshire,’ Hesse muttered, ‘for several important meetings.’

‘A less perilous journey than your usual adventures, I should imagine?’ Dacre said, managing to direct an encouraging smile towards the captain and a grateful one to Reeves (refilling his glass) in the space of a single moment.

‘Oh, I do not know,’ the captain said. ‘After all, mileage is no guarantee of adventure.’