Page 24 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 11

To live under the cat’s foot - a man dominated by his wife

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

Keziah gaped at the duke, astonished and touched beyond anything that he should say such a thing.

“No!” she replied, the word spoken rather harder and sharper than she had perhaps intended, and got to her feet so quickly that the room span in an unpleasant manner. She lurched a little, grasping the mantelpiece for support. “You will not.”

The hurt in his eyes was apparent and she sighed, wishing she’d been kinder. She wished she knew how. “You don’t want that, not really. When this is over, the last thing you’ll want is a constant reminder of last night,” she said, the words matter-of-fact and, in her view, perfectly obvious. “We would never suit, in any case,” she added with a laugh. “I’m far too …” Keziah paused, searching for the correct word. “Bossy,” she said at length. “And pig-headed, and I can never say the right thing. I have none of the softer emotions you would want in a woman, Ash.” The words were frustrated now as she felt guilt for hurting his feelings and his pride, but surely he could see that a worse match would be hard to contrive. “Besides which, you’re a duke,” she added with growing irritation. “There will be scandal enough to weather without marrying me. It’s a ridiculous idea. I shall do very well by myself, I assure you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied. The words were quiet and he was staring at the fire now, his expression unreadable. That in itself spoke volumes. She’d been cruel and she regretted it, but it had been a truly foolish idea.

“Besides, what do you think your grandmother would say about it?” she said, watching him blanch at the idea. It was a low blow. Perhaps, but stories of the dowager Duchess of Chartley were legend. That her grandson was entirely under her thumb was something that her father had been quick to discover and laugh himself sick about. Keziah allowed herself a grim smile as she wondered what her father would have said if he’d known the foolish pup he’d mocked was quite capable of murdering him. She frowned, then, knowing that she had made Ash deeply unhappy and wishing she was a kinder person, one who knew what to say and how to say it, but her father had crushed anything of that nature, if indeed such feelings had ever been hers.

She was his daughter, after all.

Ash stood in silence, and the atmosphere felt brittle between them.

“I do thank you for the offer, though,” she said, feeling awkward now. “It was … very decent of you.”

He made an amused sound, though there was in no way any happiness in it. “Decent,” he repeated, a strange smile at his lips. He turned back to her, then, and his face was placid, though she felt much of the honest openness she’d come to expect of him had left his eyes. “Please think nothing of it,” he said, all at once formal and polite.

Keziah felt her heart sink, knowing that the intimacy that had been between them just moments earlier had gone. She felt regret uncoil in her heart, which was ridiculous. Such intimacy could not exist between them when there was no future in it, so it was foolish to regret the loss of something she had no desire to pursue. The argument found favour in her mind, and so she crushed the regret that still lingered in her heart despite her surety, and moved the conversation on.

“You must ensure that the butler does not betray the fact that you left the house. Can you trust him?”

“Grant?” Ash replied, and then nodded. “He’d rather die than see the family fall into scandal. He’ll not say a word.”

Keziah accepted that with relief. “We’ll have to say that my father introduced us, I suppose,” she said, trying to concentrate on the details. “We met when I arrived in Bath, but kept it quiet because my father was very strict and I was afraid of him.” Keziah pursed her lips, considering. “We’ve been meeting in secret for weeks, but last night he discovered that I’d been meeting someone, that’s all true enough,” she added, nodding in approval. “The best lies always stay as close to the truth as possible.”

“I bow to your greater experience,” Ash replied and Keziah started in shock. There had been bitterness to the words that she’d not expected from him, and she was taken aback by how much they stung.

“Yes,” she said, glaring across the ever-widening distance between them and folding her arms. “Life with my father has provided me with a wealth of experience, you see, your grace. I can lie and I’m wonderfully proficient at cheating at cards. I’m an excellent shot, I can pick locks, and listen at keyholes. I’d be quite adept at blackmail, too, if I put my mind to it, having seen it done on very many occasions. Wouldn’t I make a perfect duchess?” she said, sneering as she dared him to look down on her.

Except that she should have known better. Ash only looked saddened.

“You’re not your father,” he said, and then added, “no more than I am mine.” There was an edge to the words that she couldn’t read but she could guess at. No doubt he felt he didn’t measure up to his sire, whereas she was terribly afraid that she did.

They both jumped as a strange scratching sound at the door of the parlour broke the taut atmosphere, and Ash called for whoever it was to come in.

The butler appeared, his face one of deep disapproval. Whether that was due to his grace being in a room alone with her and the door closed, or because of the news he bore, Keziah couldn’t guess.

“There is a … person, here asking for you,” the butler said in arctic tones. “An Inspector Formby, your grace.”

Any colour that might have returned to Ash’s face was immediately lost as his eyes filled with panic. Keep calm, she urged him silently, trying to communicate this to him without saying a word.

Perhaps she’d succeeded, though, as he took a breath, rearranging his features. “Then you’d best send him in,” he said, getting to his feet and crossing the room to stand beside Keziah.

“Well, then,” he said, giving her an unreadable look. “If such unlikely characters as ourselves are supposed to be lovers, you’d best learn to act.”

Keziah tried to hold her tongue, aware that there was an undercurrent to his words, but, as ever, she couldn’t quite manage it.

“It’s you that needs to act,” she said, her voice low. “If you will wear your emotions so expressively, it’s no wonder if people think you are less than you are. You must learn to dissemble.”

He stared back at her, as if unsure as to whether that was a slight, or a rather twisted compliment. In truth, Keziah wasn’t sure herself, but then he laughed and took her hand.

“In this case, I think I’ll take your advice and stick as close to the truth as I may.”