Page 58 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

All the ladies deemed this Very Profound – Miss Hesse even let out a rapturous sigh – the gentlemen significantly less so.

‘Come, sir, mileage does help a little,’ Sir Waldo protested. ‘I ought to know!’

The captain shook his head gently. ‘In my experience it is the journey within that matters most. “Knowledge dwells in heads replete with thoughts of other men; wisdom in minds attentive to their own.”’

‘William Cowper?’ Lydia leant forward to catch his eye.

‘Yes,’ the captain said, turning to beam at her. ‘He is my very favourite poet.’

‘Mine too,’ Lydia said eagerly. Goodness, if that was not a sign then she did not know what was.

‘Forgive me,’ Ashford said. ‘But I thought you hated all poetry?’

Lydia had almost forgotten about Ashford.

‘You must be thinking about someone else,’ she said without looking at him.

‘You disavowed the whole form just yesterday,’ Lady Morton confirmed.

‘Such wonderful memories you all have,’ Lydia said through gritted teeth. ‘I was jesting – my apologies, I thought that was clear.’

Fortunately, the serving finished before Ashford could argue the point. Around the table, everyone turned, and this time, Lydia did not disrupt the natural flow – but she must do something. Captain von Prett’s head was turned away, deep in conversation with Lady Phoebe at the far end of the table. Perhaps … Perhaps, with a great deal of care, she might be able to progress two objectives at one time: show Captain von Prett what a marvellous lady she was, while continuing to make Ashford’s life difficult. With one eye on the captain, Lydia reached her hand towards the wrong utensil and—

‘No,’ Ashford said, pressing her hand back against the table under his own.

‘Unhand me!’ she hissed at him.

‘If you try to eat your soup with a fork,’ he said out of the corner of her mouth. ‘I shall scream.’

Mere minutes ago, this prospect – mutual public humiliation – would have thrilled her, but now … She tried to peel his fingers off her hand. It was surprisingly difficult. He placed his other one on top of that.

‘What on earth are you both doing?’ Sir Waldo asked.

The table turned to regard them.

‘A little game,’ Lydia said. ‘Though I don’t think I understand the rules, my lord – where should I put my hand next?’

‘That is not what I …’Ashford flushed and extracted himself. ‘The soup is delicious, Phoebe.’ He sent Lydia a vitriolic look.

‘I could not agree more,’ the captain said. ‘I appreciate it all the more after so many months on the road.’

‘How long do you remain in England?’ Lydia ventured – cross-table talk having been opened by others, it felt permissible to continue.

‘I have only a few more engagements to fulfil,’ the captain said, ‘and then …’ His spread his hands out. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘There is still so much to discover.’

This week was it, then. Lydia’s only chance to get to know him.

‘I think you very brave,’ Lady Phoebe told him warmly. ‘To travel so far from home – I cannot imagine it.’

‘Soon that shall be us!’ Sir Waldo said. ‘Lady Phoebe and I are bound for Mauritius in a few weeks.’

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ the captain said. ‘You must be beside yourself with excitement.’

‘A little nervous, too,’ Lady Phoebe said, with a weak smile. ‘I have no head for languages, you see.’

‘You’ll pick it up,’ Sir Waldo said robustly. ‘“May I buy this hat” cannot be so difficult to learn.’ He gave a hoot of laughter at his joke.

‘I speak only French – apart from English, of course,’ the captain reassured Lady Phoebe. ‘Kindness is the same in every language.’