Page 77 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘I do not think we served at the same time,’ Reeves said.

Von Prett relaxed minutely. ‘Yes, indeed.’ Another smile spread across his face. ‘Did you find, dear Reeves, that war changed you? For me, it was a transformative experience – nothing was the same afterwards.’

‘Oh it would take more than war to ruffle Reeves!’ Sir Waldo said, before Reeves could make an answer. ‘He faces worse each day from our Cook!’

He hooted at his own joke.

‘Indeed, sir,’ Reeves said. ‘Speaking of which … I am afraid, my lady, that dinner is to be a little delayed this evening. However, Alphonse assures me that the flambe will be well worth the wait.’

‘Will you keep until then, Miss Hanworth?’ Prett asked, all solicitation. ‘You are not feeling faint?’

‘I think I shall survive,’ Lydia said, with the air of someone triumphing over adversity against the odds.

‘Might we have some music?’ Lady Morton suggested.

‘Before dinner?’ Lady Hesse said. ‘How unusual.’

‘Only in England, my lady,’ Prett said. ‘The rest of the world does not curtail themselves so, I assure you.’

‘I could listen to Miss Hesse at any time of the day,’ Mr Brandon said gallantly.

‘You sing, Miss Hesse?’ Prett said, turning his eyes away from Lydia to Miss Hesse. ‘I ought to have known. You have such an aura of musicality.’

‘Miss Hanworth sings, as well,’ Ashford put in, an evil glint in his eye. ‘Does she have an aura, too?’

Oh no.

‘She has an unforgettable voice,’ he said.

‘Well, I should like to hear it!’

Lydia cast Ashford a look that could, if not kill him, at least cause some kind of long-term punitive disease.

‘No, I don’t think I could sing tonight,’ Lydia said, firmly. ‘I quite wore my throat out from calling for aid.’

Prett subsided at once, patting her comfortingly upon the arm. Miss Hesse, after a few pointed nudges from her mother, walked over to begin playing softly at the piano.

‘Perhaps the gentlemen ought to join the burden of such entertainment, this evening?’ Lydia suggested.

‘A famous idea!’ Lady Morton clapped her hands together.

Sir Waldo chortled. ‘What say you, Ashford? Shall you and I attempt to harmonize?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ashford said.

‘You have not inherited your mother’s ability?’ Lady Morton asked. ‘She sang so sweetly.’

The smile vanished abruptly from Ashford’s face.

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ he said.

‘Reeves, do tell Alphonse we have waited long enough, now,’ Lady Phoebe said, eyes tense upon Ashford.

‘A beautiful voice, indeed,’ Lady Hesse said. ‘Does not the story go that it was with her voice that the duke first fell in love?’

Mr Brandon and Miss Hesse both let out rapturous sighs.

‘Something to that effect,’ Ashford said and now, at last, he was reaching into his pocket in a familiar motion, though Lydia did wish – with a pang of something uncomfortably akin to guilt in her chest – that the conversation could have been on something different.