Page 64 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Lydia bit her lip. ‘Gentlemen do – but will such frequent correspondence raise brows on Bow Street?’

Indeed, was it so unlikely that one of the billets be opened, even by accident? And how difficult would it be for prying eyes – of Simmons’ fellow detectives no less – to divine more than mere friendship between the lines?

‘But the billets are not signed by me,’ Pip said, turning the page with a frown, ‘but by Miss Philippa Higglepiff – a widow of unimpeachable honour with an interest in detective fiction, with whom Simmons struck up a friendship in Lyme Regis last year.’

Pip raised his head from his notebook to give her a theatrical wink.

Only partially reassured – could Pip not have landed on a more inconspicuous name for his alias? – Lydia leant back as Ashford entered the carriage, depositing himself next to her and wrinkling his nose in distaste at the close quarters experience of her fishiness.

‘It serves you right,’ she muttered. ‘You could be having a lovely conversation with Miss Hesse at this moment, but instead you had to be difficult.’

‘I see,’ Ashford said. ‘Today’s plan of campaign, I take it?’

‘No,’ she muttered disconsolately.

‘I’d expected a grander manipulation.’ Ashford settled back next to her, his arm brushing her own in a rather distracting fashion. Distracting in how – how vile it felt. Yes, that was it. Vile.

‘Are you running out of ideas, Miss Hanworth?’

‘Certainly not,’ she said, leaning away from him. ‘I have hundreds – thousands.’

‘Very convincing.’

They quietened as the captain leapt in after them, taking the seat next to Pip.

‘Sir Waldo is still advising Dacre on best care for his lady. Truly, is there anything so joyful in the world as love?’

He turned a beaming smile upon Ashford, who did not return it. Could there be two men more different? The captain sitting there, with a heart as open as his smile, while Ashford, across from him, had all the warmth of a thorn.

‘Yesterday it was friendship,’ Ashford noted.

‘I agree entirely, Captain,’ Lydia said, frowning at Ashford. Did he have to be such a prig?

‘Oh, do call me Prett,’ he said. ‘All my friends do.’

Lydia beamed at him.

‘Such blue skies,’ Prett said, gazing out of the window. ‘It puts one in mind of a quote from Blake – goodness, what on earth is that smell?’

‘Miss Hanworth’s perfume,’ Ashford said. ‘Lavender with notes of – ah – trout? It’s all the rage in France.’

‘Oh – oh I see, how modern,’ Captain von Prett unwrinkled his nose with great effort.

‘Lord Ashford jests,’ Lydia put in hastily. ‘There was this incident with a fish, and then cotton does so absorb and …’

The noise of wheels on gravel prevented further explanation as the carriage drew off. After a beat, the captain opened the carriage window and turned his face further into the breeze. Ashford looked away to hide his smile, and Lydia had to restrain herself from throwing an elbow into his side.

It did not take them above half an hour to reach Eagleton, a pretty town whose prosperous market, priory and nearby motte and bailey Castle kept it well populated by residents and visitors alike. It being a Saturday, the streets were busy, and more than a few curious glances were directed their way as the shining equipages made their way from the outskirts to the centre.

‘I fear I may be recognized,’ Captain von Prett said, leaning his head out of the carriage. ‘Ever since my miniature portrait was copied, the places I can travel without some stranger approaching me are few and far between.’

Next to her, Ashford tried and failed to hide a grimace of distaste, but in Lydia’s view Mr von Prett appeared more fatigued than boastful.

‘That sounds difficult,’ she said. ‘Do you find it so?’

Captain von Prett turned to regard her. He did not appear to mind the fish smell anymore – perhaps he had grown used to it.

‘You are so kind to ask,’ he said. ‘I own, it does take its toll, but … I must honour my audience. I have been fortunate to experience the world in such a way. It feels my duty to share it.’