Page 94 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Tell me,’ Ashford said, still speaking as quietly as before, ‘when you were imagining this great romantic fellow, thoughtful and heartfelt and brave, did you also foresee he would refer to himself in the third person?’

Lydia jerked her shoulder away from his. The clock was nearing ten. She had given Pip and Jane two hours and that was surely sufficient.

‘I am going to bed,’ she said, standing.

‘The Earl believes he has won that round,’ Ashford intoned quietly, and Lydia stalked away rather than retort – chiefly because she could not think of one.

‘Mr Hanworth found nothing,’ Jane said, when Lydia reached her room again.

Lydia was not surprised – but where did that leave them? That was the last guest chamber he had to search. Was it time to admit defeat and call in reinforcements? Pip was exchanging almost daily letters with Mr Simmons – surely he would come, if asked?

‘But our mission went very well,’ Jane went on with a proud smile. ‘I have never sewed more quickly in my life. Lord Ashford is going to look quite ridiculous.’

‘Perfect,’ Lydia breathed. That ought to make him less smug.

‘Was it difficult?’ Jane asked. ‘Keeping him in conversation?

‘No,’ Lydia said, truthfully, not quite able to meet her own eyes in the mirror as she set about unpinning her hair. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

21

Monday – Three days remaining

When Ashford stepped into his riding breeches, he suspected something to be amiss. When his valet helped him on with his jacket, he knew something was very wrong.

‘Dear God,’ he said, looking down upon himself, ‘have I grown? Can that happen?’

Walter stared at him, dumbfounded. ‘I – I do not know …’

Ashford cast a glance into the looking glass. He looked as though he had just climbed into the clothes of a schoolboy.

‘Is this a new fashion?’ he said. ‘I wish you might have consulted me, Walter – it is not very flattering.’

‘It is not my work,’ Walter said indignantly. ‘I should never do such a thing.’ He pulled back the sleeves to examine the cuffs. ‘This is not my stitching!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Someone has altered it,’ Walter said, perplexed. ‘But I cannot think who—’

‘I can,’ Ashford said, rather grimly.

How on earth had she done it? He had barely let her out of his sights the past day but this was most certainly the work of Miss Hanworth.

‘It has been done to all of them,’ Walter said, rifling through Ashford’s wardrobe. ‘All your riding wear.’

Of course it had. Miss Hanworth did not do things by halves, did she? It would be admirable if it were not so very vexing.

‘Can you unalter them?’ Ashford asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

‘The stitching is so tight,’ Walter said, shaking his head. ‘It has been done by a clever hand – it will take me hours to unpick.’

Ashford took a swift look at the clock. They had all breakfasted in their rooms, that morning, so that they might begin their expedition to Chaffington promptly at nine. Since Ashford did not believe a gentleman should spend more than ten minutes dressing, it was now five minutes to the hour.

‘You might wear your morning breeches, though they are entirely the wrong colour,’ Walter said, shuddering a little at the thought. ‘But …’

The clock struck nine. Ashford groaned. He would pay her back for this – with interest!

‘It will have to do,’ he said grimly.