Page 3 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Recollect everything I have taught you,’ she said, speaking low and fast. ‘Smile, but without teeth. Speak quietly and briefly and only when spoken to, laugh at his jests, without teeth.’

Lydia followed blindly.

She could not become engaged, now, not to someone for whom she did not care a fig. Yet could she truly face such consequences as these? Her reputation tarnished, sent far away from everything and everyone she knew?

There had to be a way out. If only she could think, but it was impossible with Aunt Agatha still hissing in her ear.

‘Speak only of ladylike subjects: no talk of dowries, your grandparents, or any financial matters. You will utter no vulgarities, use no cant. You will not sing.’

‘Why on earth would I sing?’ Lydia protested.

‘No singing!’

They were downstairs, now, and nearing the library, and in the next moment, Aunt Agatha was pushing open the door and thrusting Lydia inside. Lydia blinked into the gloom. The two men standing before the unlit fireplace turned at the sound of the door: Uncle Edmund, face beaming, and … Ashford.

Lydia’s stomach sank into her shoes. Until that very moment, there had still been a part of her sure this was all some grand misunderstanding, but it really was him, dark hair and light eyes, handsome in face and frame and looking so terribly elegant, his coat and boots bearing the unmistakeable signs of the kind of expert craftmanship of which Uncle Edmund only dreamt. In appearance, he was the sort of person one might be very pleased to be in love with, if one had the inclination. Unfortunately, to Lydia, he had all the romantic allure of a tree stump.

‘Good morning, Miss Hanworth,’ Ashford said, making a very proper leg.

‘Good morning,’ she said, her voice a little hoarse. Aunt Agatha gave her a little press in the back. ‘My lord,’ she added hastily.

‘No doubt your aunt has informed you, my dear,’ Uncle Edmund said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ‘that I have just received a very distinguishing a proposal for your hand.’

‘Yes,’ Lydia said, her voice small, her courage depleting with every moment that passed. She had been raised to consider the peerage as akin to gods and disliking Ashford did not render him any less intimidating.

‘It is a tremendous honour …’ she began.

What on earth was she going to say? What words could she find to make such a rejection acceptable in his eyes? She could not anger him. One word from him, in the right ears, could destroy her reputation forever.

‘I …’

Uncle Edmund’s face darkened as Lydia hesitated. Aunt Agatha had not been making idle threats. Lydia would not be allowed to remain in this house, once she rejected Ashford.

‘Do you require some time to consider the matter?’ Ashford asked, and for the first time that morning, he was smiling, as if the thought of Lydia considering his proposal had amused him. There was no part of him that thought she would decline, then. Such arrogance!

‘Mere shyness!’ Uncle Edmund insisted, shooting Lydia a glare.

‘She is a little surprised,’ Aunt Agatha agreed. ‘We all are, my lord.’

‘I know that our acquaintance is not of a long duration,’ Ashford conceded, ‘and I could not show too particular an interest until I received my father’s blessing.’

Aunt Agatha nodded her fervent understanding. ‘No amount of time, however,’ he continued, ‘could make me any more certain of your niece.’

He turned to regard Lydia, more directly and for longer than he ever had done before … but as Lydia stared back at him, she felt no warmth. No excitement.

‘Truly?’ Lydia checked and felt Aunt Agatha’s warning hand upon her back again.

‘Yes,’ Ashford said, smiling again as if her disbelief were charming. ‘I knew it from our very first meeting.’

Their first meeting?

‘Love at first sight!’ Aunt Agatha cooed her approval.

Ashford inclined his head. Lydia felt as if she were trapped in some peculiar dream.

‘Well, tell his lordship how you answer, my girl,’ Uncle Edmund instructed Lydia.

‘He has not asked me anything yet!’ Lydia said, stung out of her silence.