Page 71 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Look!’ Lydia said, thrusting one of the tiny Pretts toward Ashford who, reluctantly, was forced to lay his snuffbox to the side in order to accept it.

Casually, Lydia placed her reticule gently on top and shortly after, when they exited the barouche at Hawkscroft, she swept both neatly into her hands.

Perfect. The day held hope, yet.

17

Having called for a bath to be brought to her new bedchambers, Lydia spent a full hour that afternoon scrubbing herself from head to toe – then toe to head for good measure – with vigour sufficient to remove an entire layer of skin, as well as the last of the trout odour.

It was unfortunate that the same could not be done for her clothes, but true to Lady Phoebe’s word she had sent over a selection of evening gowns that Jane had spent the afternoon altering with Elspeth’s help.

Despite Lydia’s initial misgivings, they had swiftly taken Elspeth into their full confidence, and thus far she had had no cause to regret it. Indeed, Elspeth – so grateful for their assistance – had immediately offered to help in any way she could.

‘The thing to do,’ Pip mused, from where he was lounging upon the window seat, twirling his quizzing glass, ‘is to think thief.’

‘And how does one do that?’ Jane asked, without raising her head from her needle.

Pip considered the matter. ‘If you were a criminal …’

‘Which I am not!’ Elspeth piped up.

‘Which we are not,’ he agreed, ‘how would you sell a diamond necklace?’

‘You’d break it into pieces, would you not?’ Lydia said, from her own position, at the dressing table. Jane had fetched salt and pepper from the kitchen for her, and now Lydia was engrossed in mixing small amounts of each into Ashford’s snuff mixture. Sufficient quantities that, upon inhale, were likely to cause one a shock, but not so much that one might immediately tell upon looking that it had been tampered with. ‘Far easier to dispose of it that way, without detection.’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about it …’ Pip said, turning his head slowly to regard her.

Lydia looked up, laughing. ‘Am I to be a suspect now?’

‘No stone unturned,’ Pip said. ‘Though it would pain me to send you to prison, Lydia.’

‘Oh, that’s all right then.’

‘Which rooms remain unsearched?’

‘Just Lord Dacre’s and Lord Ashford’s,’ Elspeth said. ‘There was nothing of note in all the rest.’

‘These will be our objectives tonight,’ Pip vowed, ‘while everyone is in the drawing room before dinner. Do you think you can keep everyone there, Lydia? We shall need a clear half hour.’

Lydia nodded her assent. ‘There,’ she said, regarding the snuffbox with satisfaction. ‘Done.’

‘As are we,’ Jane said, shaking out Lydia’s dress. ‘Will you try it on, Miss Lydia?’

An hour later, with dusk setting in outside, and the last alterations made, Lydia turned to view her reflection, smoothing her hands down her dress rather nervously. It was a gown Lady Phoebe must have kept from her own maiden years, for the sarsnet was a paler blue than a married woman would ordinarily wear, draped over a petticoat slip of finest white satin and fastened with clasps of sapphire and pearl. It was the finest, and certainly the most expensive, dress Lydia had ever worn, and she fancied she had never looked better either – and yet why was it, given all this finery, that she felt so much more vulnerable than she had in her yellow monstrosity?

But there was too much to do to be distracted by such insecurity now, and Lydia banished such thoughts from her mind. She had a task to complete. She must replace the snuffbox in Ashford’s pocket and as soon as possible, too, for who knew whether they would be seated together at dinner. Thus, for the first time since she had arrived at Hawkscroft, Lydia left her bedchambers early, dawdling slowly in the corridor, until he appeared.

‘Ashford,’ she said, as soon as he exited his room.

He gave a little start, turning, and then openly grimaced to see her.

‘Have you been lying in wait for me?’ he said. Then, in quite a different voice, and with a deepening frown, added: ‘A new gown? Is this for Captain von Prett’s benefit?’

‘It is certainly not for yours,’ she said.

‘Well …’ he paused. ‘The colour … becomes you.’

Lydia blinked. Was this to wrong-foot her? ‘Oh, well – thank you, I suppose I …’