Page 43 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Nothing you can do,’ Brandon said. ‘But when you are married, you’ll solve it: you’ll see.’

‘How? By sending her to the madhouse?’ Ashford said. ‘What kind of asylum could fix her?’

Mr Brandon considered. ‘One that provided singing lessons?’

12

Friday – Six days remaining

The next morning Ashford could not bear to look at Lydia. He had attempted it, once, but a single glance at her walking dress (a figured muslin gown of hideous orange to which Jane had added a dozen flounces) had him swallowing convulsively and fixing his attention determinedly elsewhere.

As the party readied themselves for the day’s outing, he involved himself in a deep conversation with Lady Hesse, ignoring all Lydia’s attempts to catch his eye. He even made sure they were not seated next to one another in the barouche that was to take them to a nearby village, where a picturesque walk would take them to the top of a ruined keep.

It boded well for the day – Lydia could taste victory on the air – but she would not get her hopes up prematurely and had a most diverting plan of attack for this outing.

‘I believe you will find the ruins most interesting,’ Lady Phoebe declared as Sir Waldo handed her down from the barouche. ‘One can still make out much of the church and gatehouse, and there is some rather fascinating carved stonework that—’

‘My darling girl, you will bore our guests to tears if you continue on in such a way,’ Sir Waldo interrupted with a chuckle.

‘Oh – of course!’ Lady Phoebe said, pinking in embarrassment.

The whole party was in attendance, save for Pip, who had claimed to have caught a chill.

‘Fact is,’ he had said over breakfast, ‘cough, cough.’

The household was by now too used to his idiosyncrasies to think this odd, allowing Pip to take advantage of their absence to continue his search. Lydia now sent a silent prayer that he not be discovered somewhere he shouldn’t.

She pushed her concern away as the rest of the party paired up in predictable fashion for the walk, Mr Brandon offering his arm with prompt eagerness to Miss Hesse, before Lady Hesse could prevent it, and Lady Morton seizing Lord Hesse’s arm before she could prevent that.

‘May I walk with you, my lord?’ Lydia said sweetly to Ashford. Ashford turned to regard her, valiantly managing a moment of eye contact before looking quickly away again.

‘Of course,’ he said, tugging unhappily at his cravat. ‘In fact’ – he lowered his voice as he offered his arm – ‘I should be glad of a chance to … discuss some matters with you.’

And there it was.

Lydia had to work to keep the victorious grin from her face. Finally – finally. Today was the day he was going to jilt her! She sent another prayer, this time of thanks, to the heavens. At last. Deliverance was upon her – and ahead of schedule, too.

Ashford and Lydia brought up the rear; he walking at a slower pace than usual, brow furrowed as if deep in thought. Planning, no doubt, how he was going to break the news. Lydia remained quiet. Her work was done and all she had to do was wait for him to speak.

She concentrated her thoughts instead to what she and Pip would do afterwards. They would need to remain until the business of the diamond necklace was concluded, of course – having promised Elspeth their aid, Lydia was now as determined as Pip to see it through. At least once she was freed from Ashford, she could dedicate herself entirely to this cause. Pip had managed to see to Mr Brandon’s rooms the night prior, but Lady Morton’s had proved elusive – her lady’s maid was the conscientious sort who rarely left her post, no matter what Elspeth did to tempt her away. Perhaps, with Lydia helping more actively, they might have better luck. Then, once they had found the thief, they could return to London and life would be open before them once more.

Her mood lifting higher than it had been in days, Lydia took in the scenery around her with genuine pleasure. However ill at ease she might feel in Hawkscroft itself, with its forbidding luxury and overly manicured lawns, it was situated in the most beautiful countryside. The path ahead wound through a forest of lush green, the branches above dappling the sunshine down through the leaves onto them, the only sounds to be heard birdsong – and the strident tones of Sir Waldo.

‘The tarn is man-made,’ he was explaining, as the gentle curve of the path took them in view of a wide pool of water, its surface thickly coated in bright algae. ‘By old Capability whatsit, you know.’

‘Capability Brown, in the year—’ Lady Phoebe began.

‘Goodness, another fact!’ Sir Waldo said. ‘You risk becoming quite the bluestocking, my love!’

Underneath her high-poke bonnet, Lady Phoebe’s cheer dimmed, though Sir Waldo did not appear to notice that his teasing had hurt rather than amused on this occasion. Ashford, however, had his eyes upon his cousin’s crestfallen face, a tiny frown between his eyebrows – and, really, Lydia could not have his attention so divided.

She slowed her pace to a dawdle, pretending to admire the tarn. Ashford huffed a sigh and slowed his pace, too. The rest of the party disappeared around a bend.

Lydia looked away from the tarn to take a sidelong view at Ashford under the brim of her bonnet.

‘We ought not tarry,’ Ashford said. ‘We might lose our way.’

‘Very well,’ Lydia said, though she made no effort to quicken her steps. They had been walking in such close formation, and would Ashford really jilt her in the presence of eavesdroppers?