A tenant for life - a husband

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

 

Before she quite knew what had happened, Keziah found herself inside a rather beautiful church. The reverend had rustled up some witnesses, and here she was, clutching a bouquet of lilac blossoms that the housekeeper had hastily gathered for her. The sweet scent of them filled the church, and she knew that she would always associate this moment with their perfume.

What her feelings were, however, she could not say. Guilt, perhaps, that she had accepted an offer that Ash would surely come to regret. She knew that he fancied himself in love with her, but felt that it was simply because such stressful circumstances had pushed them together and so much in each other’s company. They had been forced to an intimacy that would otherwise have not been considered by either of them. She could not help but feel that he would soon come to understand what a mistake he had made, and to rue the fact his wife was not a biddable, sweet-tempered female.

Ash, with his easy temper and kind heart, should have married someone equally good-natured, not a girl who was tainted by her past and her own bad blood. Keziah knew her temper could be uncertain, her thoughts too quickly given tongue, and that she would likely hurt and offend him without even meaning to. But the truth was that she was afraid. Ash had offered her sanctuary and she had grasped at it. Just for once in her life, she wanted to feel safe, to know that she need not fear that the bills hadn’t been paid, that bailiffs could be knocking on her door at any moment, to experience that clawing uncertainty at whether she would eat again any time soon.

Ash was giving her certainty. He was giving her security and peace and someone who would always look out for her, and after a lifetime of running and borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, she was tired and lonely, and so she had accepted.

She told herself that she would make for him a good wife, that she would do everything she could to repay him, to make him happy.

But the guilt remained.

The words were spoken and the Reverend Barclay, still looking somewhat troubled, congratulated them and wished them happy. Keziah nodded and smiled and prayed she said everything that was appropriate, but avoided Ash’s eyes. The look in them was too open, too full of honest happiness for her to bear. She felt like a fraud, like she had completed the dreadful plot that her father had begun, and now, because of that monster, she was the Duchess of Chartley, with all the wealth and power that came with that title.

Did that make her a monster, too?

Mrs Chubbly had laid a splendid table in honour of the event, and quite miraculously, too, in the time she’d had. Unless, of course, the reverend ate like this every day?

The soup course was followed by a sirloin of beef, roast lamb, and baked cod, and the table was filled with half a dozen more vegetable dishes and almost as many sauces. The second course appeared at length, with roast turkey, a pheasant, apple pie, an omelette and an harrico of mutton.

By the time the dessert course appeared, Keziah could hardly contain herself. She had tried to do justice to the cook’s endeavours, but the stress of the afternoon had quite taken her usually hearty appetite. She dared a glance across the table, which was now groaning under a weight of cakes and sweetmeats and preserved fruits, the like of which she’d never seen before. She caught Ash’s eye as he was casting a chagrined look at the table himself, and suddenly the ridiculousness of the situation was too much. Her lips twitched with mirth, an expression which Ash caught and immediately reacted to. Keziah had to bite her lip hard as Ash dissolved, burying his face in his napkin and feigning a coughing fit. This was made entirely worse as the reverend leapt to his feet as fast as his extravagant frame would allow, and pounded his grace on the back with every expression of concern.

This was too much for Keziah, who snorted and earned herself a reproachful look from the reverend, who was looking truly anxious.

“I’m quite well, thank you, George,” Ash said, clearly trying to look apologetic. “I fear, however, that it has been a rather long day and neither of us can do justice to this … this quite splendid table.”

George beamed, clearly thrilled.

“Oh, well, it is not every day I am honoured with such illustrious company.”

“And on such short notice, too,” Ash added, with a slight tremor to his voice. “One can only wonder at what delights might have been in store for us if you had been properly prepared.” George opened his mouth to speak, but Ash continued, quite ruthlessly cutting over him. “Now, do please send our compliments to your wonderful housekeeper and our apologies for not having the stamina to partake of more. If you will excuse us …”

With a charming smile Ash managed to extricate them from the dining room, leaving his cousin in great spirits and with the leisure to attack the laden table in his own time.

Keziah managed to get her foot on the stairs before she was overcome and began to laugh.

“Oh, my Lord,” she exclaimed, her voice a mirthful whisper. “When I saw all those cakes come out, I declare I was ready to sink!”

Ash grinned at her. “Well, at least you weren’t forced to choke to death, for which I hold you entirely responsible.”

Keziah snorted, shaking her head as she remembered George pounding him on the back, clearly terrified he would be deemed responsible for the young duke’s demise. “How I didn’t succumb to hysterics, I shall never know.”

Ash chuckled as they reached the top of the stairs. “Poor George, so very eager to please.”

“Well, you did please him, enormously, I should say. He’ll be eating out on the story of how he married the Duke of Chartley to a very unsavoury young woman for months to come.” The words were glib, but Ash turned and gave her a stern look.

“That, he won’t. It isn’t true, for one, and anyone who does say it will regret it.”

He sounded truly angry at the idea, and Keziah tried to smile, but the guilt that had been growing heavier all evening seemed to thicken in her throat as though it would choke her.

“Oh, Ash,” she said, blinking away tears.

The sound of footsteps further down the hall had her new husband ushering her into their room as fast as he was able. Stupidly, it was only at that moment that the enormity of what she’d done really came home to her.

They were married.

Something of what she was feeling must have shown in her eyes as Ash reached out and took her hand.

“Come now, love. I’m not a monster, you know, I would never hurt you or … or cause you the least distress.”

The kindness in his eyes, the kindness of everything he had done when she could give so little in return, made her want to cry all the more, but she refused to be a watering pot on their wedding night. She had agreed to this, she had accepted him for her own selfish reasons, the least … the very least that she could do was to play her part.

“I know that, Ash,” she said, wiping her eyes and forcing a smile to her face. “I-I’m just being silly, that’s all. Nerves, I suppose,” she added, which was true enough. She had no illusions about what happened between a man and a woman. Her father’s wild parties and low company had given her ample opportunity to grasp the mechanics of it. Nothing she had seen had made her very eager to take part herself, however, and Keziah discovered she was feeling a lot less brave than she might have imagined.

She found she was grateful to the housekeeper for placing them at the farthest corner from the Reverend’s bedroom. Any suspicion that he might have been able to hear them was too dreadful to contemplate. She remembered the raucous screams and cries that would come from the guest rooms when her father was flush and his decadent parties were legend. Oh, God. She could only hope that Ash did not expect such behaviour from her, not yet, at least, for she couldn’t begin to imagine it possible.

But Ash simply stood watching her, his eyes cautious. He held her hands in his before taking a breath.

“I made you a promise, Keziah,” he began, looking increasingly awkward. “So if ... if you would rather not … What I mean to say is … I can sleep in the chair,” he said. He gave her a warm smile, and for a moment the agreement to this plan hovered on her tongue. But then she caught the depth of sorrow in his eyes. No. She had made her bed in every sense of the phrase, now to lie in it.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t pleasing to look at. He was handsome, and she was sure he would be kind … at least, as kind as men ever seemed to be in such circumstances.

She swallowed, pushing away disturbing memories and forcing herself to shake her head.

“No. You are my husband now, and … No,” she trailed off, unable to say anything further and giving him an uncertain smile. She found herself quite unable to regret her decision as she heard him sigh and saw the happiness light his eyes.

“I know this was not what you wanted, Keziah,” he said, his voice soft and so full of understanding that she felt a lump rise in her throat. “But I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power not to give you cause to regret it.

“I know,” she whispered, meaning it and almost wishing he wasn’t so dreadfully kind, as then she’d not feel such a wretch.

He reached out a tentative hand, touching her face, trailing his fingers along her jaw.

“May I kiss you?”

She laughed at that, though it was an hesitant sound, tinged with panic. “I’m your wife,” she said, quite unable to look him in the eyes. “I imagine you may do as you please.”

His hand stilled for a moment before he took hold of her chin between finger and thumb, making her look into his eyes. “That I will never do,” he said, his voice holding a thread of anger now. “I will never take what you have no desire to give, do you understand?”

She nodded, blinking away tears as she realised she’d offended him. Oh God, this was all such a dreadful mistake.

“I-I’m sorry, Ash,” she began, but her words were stolen as his lips met hers in a kiss.