Page 61 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Sir Waldo – flushing red, clenching his jaw and stomping over to the side of the room as an overgrown child – plainly did mind, though Lady Phoebe was too busy curtseying to Dacre to notice.

Lydia, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes at Ashford as he approached. There was a self-satisfied curl to Ashford’s lips that she could not like.

‘What has you looking so pleased?’ she muttered at him as she lightly placed her hand in his to be led to the starting position.

‘Oh, you know.’ Ashford squeezed her fingers just a shade too tightly. ‘Oncoming justice, the promise of retribution – the usual fare.’

Lydia frowned. ‘What have you—’

But the music began before she could finish the question. They bowed and curtseyed to one another.

‘I fear you shall find me a most clumsy partner,’ Lydia warned, teeth bared in her most fearsome smile.

‘Funny,’ he said, with a matching grimace. ‘I was just about to warn you of the same.’

15

Saturday – Five days remaining

Lydia awoke the next morning to aching toes and the overwhelming scent of fetid trout. She sat bolt upright and looked wildly about the room, half expecting to see a pail of fish at the foot of her bed, for what else could have caused such a stench? There was no pail, only Jane, standing before the fireplace, hands pressed against her face.

‘What on earth is that smell?’ Lydia gasped.

‘I don’t know,’ Jane wailed through her fingers.

Lydia’s stomach gave a threatening heave. She scrambled out of bed and dashed across the room to throw open the nearest window, thrusting her head out to take in a great gulp of fresh air.

‘Did something crawl in here to die?’ she said, trying to calm her rolling stomach.

‘I shall go for help,’ Jane called, running for the door.

Lydia turned back to the room to take a tentative inhale. The hour was nearing ten, and she needed to dress for breakfast. Perhaps the smell would not be so bad, now … She gagged and turned swiftly back to the window, cursing her own bad luck. She had spent hours last night awake in bed, replanning her campaign, and not one of her plans had included missing breakfast. She could not cede the field to Ashford so early in the day!

By the time Jane reappeared, Reeves in tow, the situation was bad enough that Reeves – who had hitherto expressed no emotion stronger than a mild smile – physically flinched, before ordering a fleet of maids and footmen to move Lydia to another set of chambers at once. By the time this was achieved, however, and Jane could finally help Lydia into her dress – a gown of simple, unadorned blue crepe of Aunt Agatha’s selection that would, she hoped, drive all thoughts of bananas out of Captain von Prett’s mind – it was nearing eleven. Breakfast would almost be at a close.

‘I can still smell it,’ Lydia said, wafting her hands back and forth in front of her face.

‘It lingers on your gowns,’ Jane said, sniffing and wincing. ‘Perhaps a spritz of lavender water …?’

There was a knock at the door and Lady Phoebe swept in full of apologies, and closely followed by a maid bearing a tray of bread rolls and chocolate.

‘I shall send over a gown for this evening while your others air,’ Lady Phoebe offered through the handkerchief pressed to her face, while Jane began dousing Lydia in lavender water. ‘With some swift altering they will suit.’

‘Thank you,’ Lydia said, blinking with surprise. It was a piece of kindness that – given Lydia’s behaviour this week – she could not have expected.

‘You might find them a trifle … simple for your preference,’ Lady Phoebe warned. ‘My wardrobe is sorely lacking in flounces.’

A piece of kindness with a slight sting in the tail.

‘And you will wish to remain at Hawkscroft to recover your energy after this horrible start, of course,’ Lady Phoebe went briskly on. ‘Most of the party is bound for a shopping expedition, but Sir Waldo intends to remain here, so you shall not be entirely alone.’

‘No, no,’ Lydia said hastily. ‘I shall join you.’

‘Are you certain? You have not had breakfast …’

Lydia took a hasty sip of chocolate and a bite of a roll.

‘I am ready,’ she insisted.