Page 33 of The Rum and The Fox

“In their own time, your ladyship, as always. But you’ll not be disappointed, that I will say.”

The dowager gave a grunt of approval and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. They both watched as he returned to work, and Keziah was hard-put not to notice how his shirt stretched tight across his broad back as he bent to tend to the beds.

“Pretty, isn’t he?”

Keziah was jolted from her admiration by the amused voice of her companion. She felt it prudent to say nothing and merely fell into step with the woman once more.

“There have always been Mortimers’ working for the Chartley family,” she said, a slightly wistful tone to her voice that made Keziah look around. “We are an extremely old family,” she added with obvious pride. “His father was even more handsome than he is, though,” she added with a chuckle.

Keziah smiled, but couldn’t help but wonder when the woman would get to the point. She doubted a tour of her lovely gardens and an introduction to the gardener had been the reason for being summoned to walk with her. Her instincts proved sound a few seconds later.

“What are your intentions towards my grandson?” she asked. The words were not harshly spoken, but there was a look in the woman’s eyes as Keziah met her gaze that suggested she’d better speak the truth.

“I have no intentions towards him, your grace.” Keziah said, keeping her tone as neutral as she was able. “We are friends and he has been very kind to me.”

Lady Margaret paused, and framed as she was against a lovely spring sky, Keziah could only be struck at what a beautiful woman she still was. She must have been something to behold in her youth.

“So he’s not asked you to marry him, then?”

The directness and accusing tone of the question caught Keziah off guard. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment and she went to give an immediate and angry no in answer, when she belatedly realised that wasn’t true. Of course, that had simply been Ash being tender-hearted and wanting to help a damsel in distress, but how to explain that …?

As it was, no explanations were required from the dowager. Keziah’s hesitation had been all the answer she’d required. She stepped closer to Keziah and her words were angry when she spoke. “Get your head out of the clouds, young woman. You’ll not have him, so don’t begin dreaming of it.”

Keziah felt fury rise in her chest at this command and the insulting manner in which it was given. “How dare you speak to me like a common fortune hunter,” she said before good sense could tell her that insulting her host and the only person willing to put a roof over her head at present was possibly not the best of ideas.

“Is that not what you are?” Lady Margaret persisted, her eyes as cool and hard as green marble. “Your father certainly was.”

“Yes,” Keziah agreed, staring back at the woman and refusing to be cowed by her. Let the wretched woman turn her out, she’d not be belittled and insulted again. She’d suffered enough from her father, and she’d be damned if anyone else would take his place. “Yes, my father was a fortune hunter. But that is not who or what I am, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” the dowager replied, a hard expression settling on her lovely face that made her look her age all at once. “Well, just remember that Felix does as I instruct. He has this family’s great name to live up to, and I’ll not have him sully it with a penniless daughter of a man who died in scandalous circumstances.”

“No,” Keziah shot back, her voice harsh and angry now as her temper lit. “You won’t, your grace. Because I won’t have him!” And with that parting shot, she turned her back on Lady Margaret and stormed back into the house.

By the time Keziah had made it back to her room, her head was pounding and she lay on the bed feeling wretched and miserable, and indulged in a little cry, which was something she seldom did. It didn’t help her headache much, but it did make her feel a little better. After tidying up the mess such self-indulgence had wrought on her complexion, she gave herself a stern talking-to and decided she really ought to act with more decorum.

If they turned her out of here, she could go back to the house her father had rented until the lease expired, but if Martin were there … She faltered at the idea. Her father may have been a brute, but at least he’d allow no one else to touch her. Without him around to keep Martin in check, she didn’t want to be around him, and she doubted her ability to keep him out. She didn’t think she’d mistook the covetous look she’d seen in his eyes on occasion, and suspected he wasn’t the kind of man to pass up an opportunity, if he could help it.

No. Martin was best avoided. But that meant she was going to have to impose on Ash’s kindness until this mess was over. Assuming he could stand up to Lady Margaret’s insistence that she be turned out at once. She felt no great confidence in that idea, and knew that the woman must be plotting it even now.

So what then?

Further than getting the odious Mr Formby to leave them alone, she’d hardly had time to consider the future. Now, however, she did, and it stretched out before her, a vast and unfriendly landscape for a woman with no relations nor fortune. The only family she could claim - who were few, in any case - had long since disowned her father, and her by default. She could not think of one who would take pity on her, let alone look on her kindly.

No, she would have to make her own way. A governess, perhaps? The idea made her spirits sink further, especially as she had no formal education to speak of, as her father had never deemed it important or wanted to waste the money on it. Although she considered herself to be an intelligent girl, all of her learning had come from books. She was well-versed in history and geography and the classics, but she doubted that would be nearly enough. She couldn’t speak a foreign language for one thing, and though she could sew well enough, she couldn’t play an instrument, had a voice like a fog horn, and was an artist of indeterminate skill.

There was one, obvious option available to young women with good looks, but the idea made her shudder with revulsion. She would not sell herself to the highest bidder. Surely there had to be another way. But try as she might, there were no obvious alternatives.

Yes. All in all, the future looked bleak.

It was in this frame of mind that Ash came upon her later that day.

She’d spent the last hour staring out of her window before becoming so thoroughly disgusted with herself at hiding in her room that she had decided to hide in his study instead. After questioning the frosty Grant and assuring herself Mr Formby was not lurking within, she searched the shelves for a suitable title and settled herself down by the fire to read. To no avail. Her worries were too large and too immediate to allow her thoughts to be distracted, and after ten minutes trying to read the same sentence, she gave it up as a bad job.

It must have been a testament to her lowered spirits at how very glad she was when Ash appeared.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at him with real relief as he walked in the door and started in surprise as he found her curled in one of the chairs. “I hope you don’t mind,” she added. She noticed now that he looked pale and his usually sunny features were somewhat strained.

“Of course not,” he replied with a warm smile of his own, which somehow fell rather short. “I’m happy to see you here, I assure you.”