Page 84 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Lydia sat back further into her armchair, allowing its squashy warmth to claim her. She did not know what to think. A thousand questions fought for precedence in her mind.

‘Such deception,’ she said. ‘Such effort.’ She did not know whether to be more appalled or impressed. No one could accuse him of laziness, at least. ‘Is marriage truly the only way you can solve your situation? It seems so very convoluted.’

Ashford extended a palm in invitation. ‘By all means, if you have another idea.’

‘Don’t you have a grand house, such as Hawkscroft?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you sell it?’

Ashford retracted his palm. ‘I think not.’

‘You would be sure to get a good price,’ she encouraged. ‘And then you might buy a cottage or some such and be done with all the expense of it.’

‘A cottage?’

‘Well, it could be a big one!’ she said. ‘Lots of rooms. Thatched. Charming. I can see it in my mind’s eye.’

‘No.’

‘It does not have to be the estate you sell,’ she said – he was far too small-minded to consider it, clearly – ‘they say you have countless houses. A townhouse in London, a hunting lodge in Scotland, apartments in Brighton when you wish to visit the sea. Surely you do not need them all?’

‘No …’ Ashford said, drawing out the word slowly. He leant his head back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling. ‘My father has too much fondness for each of them to countenance selling. The London townhouse is where he and my mother met, after all. The Scottish lodge is where they honeymooned, and the house in Brighton is where, he believes, they were happiest.’ He huffed out a laugh. ‘It is impossible to argue with him on the subject.’

‘Oh,’ Lydia’s heart twisted. ‘Oh, how sweet.’

‘How impractical,’ Ashford corrected. ‘How maddening. It has put me in such a bind – never mind the hypocrisy of such a—’

He broke off, jerking his head as if to silence his own anger.

Against her will, Lydia found herself feeling a rush of sympathy for him. However understandable it was for the duke to treasure his wife’s memory, he could not have considered how it was affecting his son. She watched Ashford, whose eyes were now on the dying fire, his expression shot through with a melancholy she was not used to seeing on his face. Was it possible that he felt just as trapped as she did, by their predicament? Just as robbed of the possibility of great love?

‘You are giving up a great deal,’ she said. ‘I am sorry.’

Ashford quirked his eyebrow at her, not seeming to understand.

‘A marriage of convenience is quite the sacrifice,’ she explained.

‘Oh!’ Ashford said in realization. ‘Oh no, no it isn’t. Not for me.’

Lydia’s brief empathy vanished.

‘My father notwithstanding, it is not often that people of our station marry for love,’ he continued. ‘One chooses for duty, not for sentiment.’

‘What is wrong with doing both,’ Lydia said, ‘if one can?’

He twitched his head as if to rid himself of an irksome fly. ‘It is an unrealistic aim.’

‘Is it?’ she said. ‘Lady Phoebe and Sir Waldo do not seem to find it so.’

‘Oh yes, the very picture of happiness.’

Lydia’s attention was immediately diverted. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing. Pray, disregard it.’

Lydia frowned. ‘They adore each other.’

‘Yes, I have seen the fawning.’ Ashford’s voice did not sound as if he shared her admiration. ‘But they are exception. Besides, one day I shall inherit the duchy. The expectations for me are higher.’

But that was not right either.