Page 13 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 6

To run on tick - to run a debt

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

After an hour of practise, during which the duke managed only to wing the huge tree trunk on three occasions, Keziah was starving and more than a little frustrated. She herself was a formidable shot and not in the least squeamish as a rule, but she found that she could not contemplate killing her own flesh and blood. She hated her father, she feared him, too, and she was forever possessed with a simmering anger beneath her skin for everything that she had endured at his hands, and yet … That she couldn’t do. She hoped, perhaps, that that meant that she was not destined to be as cold-hearted and cruel as he had become, but she couldn’t pretend she was the soft, sweet, young lady that she suspected Lord Ashwicke believed she was underneath.

Her dark thoughts were momentarily suspended as Lord Ashwicke opened the picnic basket and her stomach gave an audible growl at the sight of the treats within.

“Cook’s trying to fatten me up,” he said with a wry grin as he unpacked various parcels, containing everything from meat pies, to cold roast chicken, a variety of cakes, and thickly sliced bread and accompanying butter.

Keziah fell upon the feast with delight. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so much food, and such food at that. The pastry on the pies was at once crisp and tender, and the flavours full and deep. She looked up to see that Lord Ashwicke was watching her with a mixture of amusement and consternation and realised she had moaned with pleasure at the first mouthful of pie.

“Forgive me for the question, but …” He hesitated, clearly worried about offending her, before finishing the sentence. “When was the last time you ate?”

Keziah flushed, embarrassed that he should think her a glutton for stuffing her face so. “Yesterday, at luncheon I suppose,” she said, looking away from him and trying to eat with a little more restraint.

“And what did you have?” he pressed. She was startled by the concern in his eyes when she turned back to him, and wished he wasn’t such a kind young man. He was clearly good-hearted and honest, and that she was polluting his world with her father’s poison made her feel cheap and tainted by association.

“A bowl of soup,” she said, sounding perhaps a little defiant. After all, not everyone was a duke and able to command the most exquisite delicacies whenever they desired. She knew that it was her own guilt making her prickly, but it was either that or cry, and she hated the idea of making such a spectacle of herself. Again.

Keziah usually had more control over her emotions; not her temper, no, but the softer emotions that her father would see as a weakness to be exploited, those she had long since learned to manage. But, somehow, Lord Ashwicke undermined all those hard-learned lessons with nothing more than a soft voice and a sincerity in his eyes that was devilish hard to repulse.

“Is that all?” he asked, a frown behind that green gaze that made her swallow. “No wonder you’re famished.”

“We have no money, my lord,” she said, straining to keep her voice even. “Every farthing we have, and more besides, has been spent on maintaining the farce that my father is not up to his neck in the river tick.” Keziah stared down at the pie in her hand and wondered if he would mind her taking some for poor Molly. The girl lived on next to nothing, and why she stuck it out, Keziah couldn’t fathom. “My father dresses like the regent and dines with his cronies, woos your mama, and yet there is barely enough to eat in the house, and everything we have is collateral against the loan we have taken out.”

She started as he laid his hand on her arm and wished he wasn’t so easy to confide in. Too long in his company, and heaven alone knew what she might tell him. Though surely he knew enough to realise he must stay clear of her.

“And what of you?” he asked, and her heart thudded in a rather disconcerting manner at the way he was looking at her. “Assuming things work out as we hope. Once your father is gone, and with it any hope of repaying your debts … What then?”

Keziah raised her chin, ignoring the chill of fear that shivered down her spine at his words. She’d considered it, of course, how could she not? There were not so many options open to a young woman of her class who had not a penny to their names. She offered him a placid smile, though, determined that he should not pity her any more than he no doubt did. “I’m a resourceful woman, your grace,” she said with dignity. “I’m sure I’ll contrive something.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised when he shook his head. “No, no, that won’t do,” he said, his voice at once firm and with the kind of surety she admired in a man but had seen little of in him. “But you may put your trust in me, Lady Todd. I will take care of it.”

Keziah hesitated, torn between gratitude, bruised pride, and … a suspicion as to what his intentions might be. Kind and good-hearted he may be, but he was still a man, and she doubted she had mistook the admiration in his eyes. She realised that her thoughts had betrayed her and that she was staring at him with what was no doubt a cynical expression.

The duke blushed, even the tips of his ears showing red, and she immediately regretted her doubts.

“I assure you, Lady Todd,” and from the slightly brittle tone to his voice, she knew she had offended him deeply. “That you have nothing to fear from me in that regard. I would never … never impose, or …”

Keziah held out her hand as she interrupted him. “I know,” she said, wondering how she could be so certain, even of him. But she trusted him, she realised. It was really rather extraordinary, but it was true. “I’m afraid I have unlearned the knack of taking people at face value,” she said, plucking at a loose thread on the picnic blanket in agitation rather than look at him. “I believe you to be a man of honour, your grace, else I’d not be here at all,” she added as she gave a little huff of laughter and looked up at him. “Not all men are like you, though. My father’s friends and … associates are certainly not, and … I have been made many such offers, couched in very respectable language, when all they were really giving to me was a carte blanche at best, and at worst …” Keziah shuddered and wrapped her arms about herself, suddenly cold. “My God, why am I even telling you all this?” she said, appalled and looking away from him. She saw herself through his eyes and didn’t like the picture it showed her. “You must think me a sorry hussy. We’d best get back to work, and then you can be done with this, and … and away from me as soon as may be.”

She began to pack the picnic things away, all the while avoiding his eyes, but he reached out and took hold of her hands, his grip surprisingly firm, but in no way threatening.

Keziah didn’t look up at him, couldn’t. If she saw disgust, she would be more disappointed to lose his good opinion than she cared to admit, and if she saw compassion, she would be quite undone.

“You haven’t finished your lunch,” he said, the words careful and kind, as if aware too much sympathy would destroy her composure. “And I can assure you, my opinion of you has not changed.” He picked up her plate, adding several slices of a rich, dark fruit cake and a handful of sugared almonds from the hamper before handing it back to her. Keziah offered him an uncertain smile which he returned with warmth. “If anything,” he said, as she took the plate from his hand, “my admiration of your spirit has only increased.”

Keziah occupied herself with the food, picking out the cherries from the fruitcake and discarding them. The duke quirked an eyebrow and she shrugged.

“I only like fresh cherries,” she said, taking a bite and avoiding the warmth of his gaze. He said nothing more, but the heat and sincerity of his words seemed to slide under her skin and ease the despairing aura that she felt had clung to her for months now.

Perhaps she wasn’t so terribly lost after all.

***

After spending most of the rest of the afternoon failing to hit, if not the side of a barn, then certainly a tree that represented a fair portion of one, Ash was humiliated, fatigued, and not a little down at heart.