Page 70 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Yes, a little pug all of my own,’ Miss Hesse said dreamily. ‘Mama sneezes around dogs, you see, so we have never had one – but once I am married, she says my husband might buy me one.’

Lydia stared at her. For days she had wondered what was going on in Miss Hesse’s beautiful, sweet head – she would never have guessed that what was going on was … pugs.

‘For clarity,’ she said. ‘The sum total of all your worldly desires, your greatest dream – is a pug?’

‘My greatest dream,’ Miss Hesse gave a charming little giggle, ‘would be to have hundreds of dogs – but no gentleman is likely to share in that. So, a pug.’

‘I see,’ Lydia said, digesting this. ‘And so, if Ashford promised to buy you a dog …’

‘A pug,’ Miss Hesse corrected.

‘A pug,’ Lydia agreed. ‘You would be happy to marry him?’

Perhaps this was a better-case scenario than Lydia could have hoped for – a marriage of convenience, with both parties happy with their end of the bargain. Ashford, the prettiest and richest girl of the Season; Miss Hesse, a pug.

‘Do you think he would?’ she said. ‘He barely looks at Brutus, you know.’

‘Brutus?’

‘Lady Morton’s Pekinese.’

‘I see,’ Lydia said. ‘Yes, a worry for us all, I am sure, but—’

‘And Mr Brandon called him a monster,’ Miss Hesse said. ‘In the stable yard.’

‘Unkind,’ Lydia agreed. ‘But—’

‘I simply could not countenance a dogless future.’ Miss Hesse paused. ‘Captain von Prett used to have a dog of his own, you know. While he was travelling through the Americas.’

‘Oh, yes – Cassie, or something,’ Lydia said, recollecting this from the talk.

‘Yes, who he tragically lost in darkest Peru,’ Miss Hesse’s eyes were shining now.

‘So when you said that you thought his talk moving,’ Lydia said slowly, ‘it was the dog that you meant?’ Not the loss of his wife?

‘Yes, of course,’ Miss Hesse said with a delicate sniff. ‘A man who speaks like that would certainly like a pug, wouldn’t he?’

‘I think I’m finished in here,’ Lydia said brightly, rather than answer.

They made their way back slowly, by way of several more shops, so that by the time they arrived at the carriages, Pip and Dacre were already waiting for them. Lydia caught Pip’s eye and sent him a questioning look. He shook his head. Nothing of use, then. Lydia was not much surprised. Surely, any thief accomplished enough to steal such a prize as the diamond necklace, would not entrust its sale to a provincial jeweller?

‘Have you seen Lady Phoebe?’ Dacre asked. ‘I lost her in the print shop.’

‘And we lost von Prett to his adoring public,’ Mr Brandon commiserated. ‘A careless bunch, aren’t we?’

‘There they are!’ Miss Hesse said brightly, pointing to where Prett was sauntering up to the carriage, Lady Phoebe on his arm. Even now, heads still turned in his direction – his visage quite as recognizable, it seemed, as he had warned them it would be.

‘Oh good,’ Brandon said. ‘I was worried we might never see him again.’

‘Let us be off, shall we?’ Lady Phoebe said brightly, and they dutifully climbed back into the carriages.

‘Would you believe,’ Prett said, as their wheels moved off, ‘that I found a shop actually selling my miniatures?’

For the first time, Lydia noticed the brown paper bag he was holding in his hand. ‘Oh?’

He opened the bag and pulled out a whole stack of wooden engravings bearing his visage. Both Lydia and Pip bent forward to take a closer look, while next to her, Ashford sat back with the faintest of harrumphs and extracted his snuffbox once more. As ever, the act prompted a rush of antipathy from her. There was something so incredibly arrogant in the way he took snuff, as if to suggest he was so infinitely above everyone and everything around him, and as she watched him take a delicate pinch to each nostril she wished, vehemently, that she could exchange the tobacco inside for pepper, to teach him a lesson and …

Well, it might not be her most elegant idea, but for now … The idea of causing Ashford any discomfort was certainly appealing.