Page 60 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘If I was not here, neither would you be.’ He sounded infuriatingly calm. ‘And you must certainly think a lot of yourself to imagine your mere presence enough to make him fall in love. I, for one, don’t quite see it.’

‘At least I am not so arrogant as to assume everyone in Christendom wishes to marry me!.’

‘It is only you that seems to find the idea so repulsive,’ Ashford said, smug smile falling from his face.

‘Perhaps the others have not had the occasion to speak to you at length,’ she said, anger driving her a step forward. ‘I’m sure that would cure them of the notion speedily enough.’

‘I will have you know I am widely considered,’ he snarled, stepping forward too, ‘to be delightful company.’

‘Oh, well now you’ve explained it to me,’ she said, ‘I find myself absolutely overcome with attraction.’

There were only a few inches between them now, and they held each other’s glares, neither one looking away. If anyone were to walk in on them right now, they would surely assume themselves to be interrupting a lover’s tryst. They might think it romantic, the way the flickering candlelight was casting Ashford’s face into half-shadow, drawing the line of his cheekbone and jaw into stronger relief. Not knowing any better, they might even believe Lydia and Ashford – standing as close as they were, scandalously unchaperoned – on the point of a kiss. How misled they would be. For if Ashford’s eyes were darkening as they stared into hers, if Lydia’s heart was beginning to beat rather wildly, it was out of anger, not desire. And he was the last gentleman on earth she could be prevailed upon to kiss.

‘I am not going to back down,’ she said hoarsely. ‘And I will prevail, even if circumstances are more difficult.’

‘Will you?’ Ashford cocked his head slightly. ‘Even while everything you do to me also affects your chances with Captain von Prett?’

Lydia fought the urge to scream. He was right. She had no answer.

‘You must face it: you have now run out of road.’

Lydia had had a very trying day, and the white rage that burnt through her in the face of Ashford’s smug face left no space for rational thought. She merely acted, reaching over to the table, picking up her still-full glass of lemonade and throwing it over him.

Ashford sprang back in shock.

‘What are you doing.’

He grabbed a napkin and tried to dab himself, but it appeared tan breeches were very absorbent.

‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured. ‘How clumsy of me.’

‘You child,’ he said. ‘You absolute harpy!’

She stepped neatly around him and made for the door before he could think to retaliate, hastening for the ballroom where she would have some time to speak to Captain von Prett without Ashford listening, for it would take him ten minutes at the very least to refresh his outfit.

Matters were not that simple, however. Though Lydia hastened down the corridor to the Great Ballroom where a hundred candles were burning brightly, and a quartet of musicians stood, bows aloft, by the time she arrived, she was already too late. Von Prett was thick in conversation with Miss Hesse and Lady Morton – Mr Brandon and Lord Hesse looking worriedly on – and it was all laughter and tossing hair and touching each other upon the arm.

Blast, blast, blast.

‘We appear to be rather heavy on the gentlemen.’ Sir Waldo looked round the room rather disapprovingly. ‘You ought to have considered that, Phoebe.’

‘I’m sure we can manage,’ Lady Phoebe said lightly. Her ability to throw off such comments from Sir Waldo (whose lack of organizational contribution to the house party did not prevent him from criticizing hers) was truly admirable. She clapped her hands, and the musicians sprang to attention. ‘We have five couples here. I do not know where Ashford has got to, but we shan’t wait.’

Lydia took a hopeful step towards von Prett as Lady Phoebe began to pair them up – but with no luck. As the dancing began – Waldo leading out Lady Phoebe, Mr Brandon pairing with Lady Hesse, Miss Hesse escorted by her brother, Dacre bowing over Lydia’s own hand and Lady Morton triumphantly partnered with Captain von Prett – Lydia divided her time between watching the captain and stealing anxious glances back to the doorway, with poor Lord Dacre’s toes suffering as a result.

‘How are you getting on?’ Dacre said, as they began to twirl.

‘Yes,’ Lydia said vaguely, for she was not attending.

How long did it take a person to change their breeches? And how could she prevent the other ladies ensnaring the captain, when she herself was so deplorably distracted? It was impossible. Ashford had been correct – as matters stood, he had the advantage.

‘Where is Lord Ashford, Phoebe?’ Lady Hesse called, as the five couples finished up a country dance that had them all flushed and panting. ‘Cynthia would like to save him a dance.’

And there it was. Of course. Lydia ought to have pursued this seriously from the beginning. Miss Hesse was certainly well-dowered enough to suit his mercenary needs. If she could just make Ashford see how perfect she was, then perhaps jilting Lydia would seem more appealing.

Yes. It was time for Miss Hesse to make herself useful. As Mr Brandon led her into the next dance (Captain von Prett having been ably snared by Lady Hesse for Miss Hesse’s hand), Lydia’s mind whirred with this new direction. By the time Ashford did appear, it had been more than half an hour – time enough to change breeches ten times over – and Lydia had still not managed to speak or dance with von Prett.

‘Ashford!’ Lady Phoebe called in welcome. ‘At last. Perhaps you might lead Miss Hanworth out for the cotillion – Waldo, you don’t mind sitting this one out, do you?’