Page 110 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Why are you indulging this?’ Ashford said. ‘You have only just met these people.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘And there was a moment where I doubted it just as you did. But it would not be right to leave Elspeth and Phoebe to weather it alone. If we can help, we must try – Pip has shown me that.’

She walked over to the fire, holding her taper candle to the embers. She did not much relish trying to find her way back in the dark.

‘You did not seem surprised,’ Ashford said, ‘about Mr Hanworth.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I knew.’

‘Are he and this Simmons character … together?’ Ashford asked.

She understood his curiosity but though she had discovered she trusted Ashford, more than she would ever have expected at the beginning of the week, there were some confidences that did not belong to her.

‘You did not seem that surprised, either,’ she said instead.

‘It is not uncommon,’ Ashford said. ‘I have a cousin who prefers the company of men, as well – in our circles, it is easier, I think. People generally know to look the other way, though it is not spoken of openly, of course, the stakes being so high.’

The stakes were mortal.

‘How hard it must be,’ she said, thinking of Dacre and Reeves, ‘to hide their love in such a way.’

She finally got the taper to light, and turned back around, cupping her hand around the flame.

‘It makes what we’ve been doing seem rather trivial,’ she said, not looking at him.

‘I suppose it does,’ he said after a pause, stooping to light his own candle against hers.

‘Do you think we shall be able to do it, tomorrow?’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘When we are not behaving deplorably, we work well together.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘Given the circumstances surrounding our engagement, I think we get on rather well.’

It was the first time he had referred to their engagement without frustration. It was the first time she had heard it without feeling anger.

She took an unsteady inhale. ‘That’s true.’

‘We can speak on many subjects,’ he added.

‘We can,’ she agreed.

‘And while I proposed without knowing much of the real you,’ he said, ‘I do, now.’ Raising his eyes from the candle, he looked directly at her. ‘My father arrives tomorrow, intending to announce our engagement at the masquerade.’ He paused. The longest pause of Lydia’s life. ‘I wish to let him.’

‘You – you do?’ she breathed, hardly daring to believe her ears.

‘Yes. In fact, I …’ He took in a steadying breath. She waited, heart in her throat, not sure what she wanted him to say only that she would not interrupt, now. Could not, had her life depended upon it.

‘I think – I think we might be friends,’ he finished.

Lydia felt as if she had been doused with water.

‘I think we might be friends, if we allowed ourselves,’ he said. ‘I think we might deal well together.’

Lydia looked down. It was not disappointment. It was not. It could not be, because she did not – she did not –

Except she did, didn’t she? Lydia could not pinpoint the exact moment she had begun to look at Ashford differently, but she could no longer deny that her sentiments, somewhere along the line, had undergone a change. Perhaps there was no single moment, rather a collection of tiny instances – biting exchanges and shared laughter, lingering glances and unexpected confidences, brushing shoulders and quickening heartbeats – strung together as beads onto a necklace, and now …