Homme comme-il-faut - a man as he ought to be. He must have 32 teeth, thick, curly hair, and calves six inches diameter wide each.

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

 

Felix Ashwicke, the Duke of Chartley, caught a glance of his profile in the window of the tavern and found himself satisfied, then ducked under the low lintel and headed inside. To his relief, he’d noted during that brief check that he looked just as he had on leaving home. His cravat, whilst not the complex affair of the Trone d’amour (which he found rather vulgar), was neat and tied to a nicety. His dark brown hair, styled in the Brutus - naturally - was artfully dishevelled, and he found he was really rather proud of his new silk waistcoat with bold green and gold stripes, which brought out the green in his eyes.

“Ash!”

On hearing his nickname hollered across the bustling room, Felix - or Ash as he preferred, turned and made his way in the direction of a table already taken on two sides.

Lounging back in his chair, with a spotted neckerchief tied loosely around his throat in a manner that gave Ash considerable pain, was Mr Frederick Tallow.

Freddie, who fancied himself as something of an intellectual, was having what his friends referred to as a Byronic episode. This seemed to mostly consist of dressing as though he’d fallen out of bed, wearing his hair too long and his cravat in disarray, and also meant he was apt to spout incomprehensible if heartfelt lines of poetry when everyone was having a perfectly nice time. Privately, Ash thought this was rather too much affectation without substance, but Freddie was a good-hearted sort and a long-time friend, so he bore it as stoically as he was able.

On his other side was the Lord Bertram Gilray, Earl of Manston. Bertie had no such pretensions, intellectual or otherwise, which was just as well. Ash loved him like a brother and knew that Bertie would do absolutely anything for him, but he had often been moved to observe that he really wasn’t the shiniest pebble on the beach.

These two men, however, were his closest and dearest friends, and a welcome relief from the bosom of his family, who were apt to terrify or baffle him in turn.

Ash had a younger sister, Hannah. Dark-haired and brown-eyed (unlike Ash and his grandmother, who shared an unusual mossy green eye colour), she was a pretty girl, if in a conventional style. She was also spoilt, wilful, and apt to feign tears if she didn’t get her own way. Their mother, Lady Anne Ashwicke, had been a celebrated beauty in her day and was still, at forty three, considered an extremely lovely woman. Ash would have had to concede if asked that her looks were that of a woman ten years her junior. She was sweet-natured and indolent, and had the worst taste of anyone Ash had ever met.

This could not be said of his grandmother and the source of these legendary looks, which Ash had inherited a good deal of himself. She, however, was not the sweet-natured, simple creature his mother was. In fact, the woman had a mind like a steel trap and scared the wits out of her grandson on a regular basis. Ash, according to her way of thinking, was a fribble, a coxcomb and - if she was really on her high ropes - a cod’s head. That the dukedom had been left in his hands was a source of great irritation to her, and she seemed to live in daily expectation of hearing that he’d disgraced the name or gambled their fortune away.

In truth, this was vastly unfair, though Ash rarely did much to try and justify himself, having long since decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and avoided her whenever possible. Gambling, however, was not something he found diverting, and whilst he was quite as happy to kick up a lark as the next young man, he was not prone to the kind of vices that might invite scandal or ridicule.

Today, however, he was keen to escape the society of his female-dominated household and find solace among the bosom of his closest friends. His mother had just spent an ungodly amount of money on a dress, pelisse, and matching bonnet, in a violent shade of puce. His sensibilities had been so offended that it had resulted in a dreadful headache, as he was forced to consider how the devil he could persuade her not to wear the wretched outfit in public.

“You’re late,” Freddie observed with a frown, pushing aside a notebook that Ash regarded with considerable apprehension. He really wasn’t in the mood for a recital at present.

“Yes,” Ash said, agreeing with a placid smile and helping himself to the claret that his friends had made impressive inroads with already.

“Got held up?” Bertie inquired, staring at Ash’s cravat with obvious jealousy.

“Yes,” Ash said again, taking a cautious sip of the claret and smiling with relief as he found it very tolerable indeed.

“Wish you’d tell me how you do that,” Bertie said, gesturing to Ash’s cravat with an avaricious expression that made Ash grin.

“Oh, he has done, Bertie,” Freddie replied with an impatient tone, sitting forward at the table. “Now look here, Ash, I asked you to come because I’ve something important to tell you.”

Ash’s heart sank and he returned a grave look. “Freddie,” he said, keeping his tone placating and hoping to avoid an argument. “This poetry lark is all well and good, but I just don’t get it, so really, there’s no use in trying another out on me, now is there?”

Freddie glowered a little and Ash wondered if they’d have a row after all.

“This isn’t about poetry,” the young man replied, all on his dignity. “As if I’d waste any more of my time and talent on you two … jingle brains.”

“Now, steady on,” Ash said, feeling a little affronted at that description, not to mention the fact that he’d been lumped in with Bertie.

“Oh, never mind that,” Freddie replied, pushing his long hair from his eyes and looking irritated. “The thing is that I’ve heard a rumour going the rounds, and it concerns your family, Ash.”

“What?” Ash sat up, his attention fully engaged. His grandmother might not place any confidence in his abilities, but the fact was that Ash took his position as head of the household very seriously indeed. “What kind of rumour?”

Freddie looked suddenly awkward and sat back in his chair, frowning. “Now, I don’t say as there is any truth in it, mind, Ash,” he said, a placating tone in evidence now. “So don’t go and shoot the messenger.”

Ash waved away this demand with impatience and Freddie took a breath.

“Well, it seems your mother has been seen at various affairs recently, and always in the company of … Viscount Rennard.”

“Well?” Ash demanded, for whom the name Rennard meant nothing and so was none the wiser.

“He’s bad ton,” Bertie hissed across the table, looking suddenly animated. “Fortune hunter,” he added, to which Ash looked aghast.

“Surely not?”

Freddie nodded, the brooding expression he generally practised looking downright grim. “’Fraid, so, Ash,” he said, staring into his glass with a thoughtful expression. “Though, in truth, I don’t know what you can do about it,” he added.

“Do?” Ash replied, in outrage. “I shall tell the blighter to sling his hook and hunt somewhere else.” he said, folding his arms and staring at his friend with indignation.

Freddie shook his head, but it was Bertie who answered.

“Shouldn’t do that,” Bertie said, lowering his voice. “He’s a regular devil, is Rennard. Said to have murdered a man in a sword fight. Might call you out. Bad idea, Ash. You know you’re no good with a sword. Never were. Hopeless in fact.”

Ash flushed a little, his lack of skill with a sword having long been a source of chagrin to him. Though, in truth, he was even worse with a pistol. It was galling, to say the least.

“Be better to talk to your mother,” Freddie advised, brushing past Ash’s embarrassment as only one who was a fine swordsman himself could. “Warn her off him.”

Ash considered this idea with trepidation, sensing heated scenes of recrimination and copious tears would be his reward for days after if he didn’t tread with caution.

“I think I should meet the fellow first,” he said after giving it some careful thought. “I can’t just dismiss the man out of hand on the strength of a rumour, can I?” he said, shaking his head as his two friends stared at him with blank expressions. “Well, that just goes to show you don’t have a sister or a widowed mother,” Ash said with huff. “You can’t just go around laying down the law and expect your life to be pleasant after you have, believe me.” Picking up his glass Ash took a sip, mulling the idea over. “Yes, it’s the best thing. I’ll make myself known to … what was his name again?”

“Viscount Rennard, Lord Todd,” Bertie supplied for him as Ash nodded.

“Lord Todd,” he repeated. “I’ll just give him my card and … and see what I make of the fellow. Then I’ll speak to my mother,” he said, frowning over the idea and wondering what on earth he was letting himself in for.

***

Deciding that there was no time like the present, and bolstered by rather more claret than was possibly wise, Ash set off in the direction of the house that Freddie had supplied for him. It was dark, now, and Ash was a little troubled by the rather unpleasant picture Bertie had painted for him of the viscount. An ogre of a man standing over six feet tall, broad as an ox, and rumoured to have run a man through in cold blood. Ash trembled inwardly a little at the idea. Though he wasn't a particularly imaginative young man, a combination of the dark, a good claret, and a natural disinclination for violence began to play on his mind. It was for that reason, though he knew Bath well, that he decided to hire a link boy to light his path, and hopefully keep any footpads at bay.

The young man he engaged was a gregarious sort and kept up a stream of inconsequential chatter as they navigated their path, whilst Ash kept a tight hold on his valuables. He might not be an out and outer, but neither was he a flat to be taken advantage of. Having been on the town for a few years now, one couldn’t help but pick up a bit of experience along the way, and a nose for what seemed a trifle smoky.

He was somewhat perturbed to find that Lord Todd's address was to be found in a slightly less fashionable neighbourhood than he might have expected - for a viscount, at least. It wasn't an auspicious start to find the man living in circumstances that were rather less than what one might expect, and reinforced his friend's implications about the man being a fortune hunter. However, Ash was a fair-minded young man and decided he'd keep an open mind. After all, if the fellow had fallen on hard times through no fault of his own, then who was Ash to throw stones? Whilst if his mother did remarry, he'd rather it was to a man of worth, both financially and morally. Ash had a rather romantic heart. He was neither hard nor unfair, and he wasn't so archaic as to refuse her permission to be with a man she loved simply because the man's pockets were to let through circumstances outside of the fellow’s control.

One sniff of gambling or vice, however ... that was another matter entirely.

"'Ere you are, guvn'r," the boy said, gesturing to a tall, elegant, three story house facing the green.

"Is this it?" Ash queried, slightly relieved to find the house rather grander than he might have thought. The boy nodded at him and Ash fished around for his payment. "Right, then," he replied, staring up at the building with misgiving.

"You goin' in, then?" the boy asked, curiosity in his eyes.

"Well, obviously," Ash said with a tut, but rather wondering if he would. "Else why would I be here?" he added, sounding indignant. He didn’t move, though, just stared at the front door with growing trepidation.

The boy nodded, apparently accepting he would move eventually, but added, "If you're goin', I'd go now, while 'is lordship is out."

"Oh?" Ash turned and looked at the boy with a feeling of alarm. "Why's that?"

"'Cause 'e's a proper Captain Huff, is why. A swell cove like you don't want to go messin' wiv the likes of 'im, I reckon."

Ash paled somewhat, which must have been visible even in the dim lamplight that the boy was holding, as he grinned at Ash.

"Ah, don't you fret, 'e's not there now, an' won't be 'til late. But the daughter is, and she's a sight for sore eyes, I reckon."

"Oh?" Ash said again, brightening somewhat at the prospect of meeting the daughter. He could gain a first impression from her, at least, surely? Of course, it would be most improper for him to call on a young woman he had not been introduced to, and especially at this hour, but she could always refuse to see him.

She certainly would, if she were respectable.

The boy nodded, his teeth showing surprisingly white in his dirty face in the murky light. "A prime article, she is," he continued, looking enthusiastic now. "Sweet-natured, too, stopped ‘er pa knocking seven bells out of me, an’ gave me some grub the other morning."

Ash pondered this information with increasing anxiety before steeling himself and walking up to the front door. He paused to flick a coin to the boy, who leapt to grab it before it hit the ground. It glinted as it arced towards him and the boy's eyes widened with delight as he stared at the crown in his palm.

"Corr, thank ye, mister,” he said with an awed tone.

"Stay there and guide me back and you'll have another, young Master Jaw-Me-Dead."

Ash watched as the boy tucked the coin securely into his threadbare jacket and gave him a definite nod that told Ash he’d still be there a week Monday if he didn’t return. It was a slightly comforting thought, at least, so Ash took his courage in his hands and turned to knock at the door.

After not too many moments, a slight, dark haired maid appeared to whom he gave his card. Her eyes widened as she looked at the fine white paper and the gold embossed writing. Bobbing a hasty curtsey, she disappeared, and a few moments later he was shown into an elegant parlour.

Though the paint work was faded, everything was clean and tidy, and Ash couldn't but remark that it had been furnished in the first style of elegance. Some of the pieces were undoubtedly of great value and antiquity. It was better than he had hoped for, going on the stories Freddie had poured into his ears, and yet …
Ash would have been the first person to admit that he wasn't a man blessed with a powerful intellect, and found he was grateful for the fact on the whole. In most cases, intellectual fellows seemed to be a dashed dull and argumentative lot, and Ash was content to leave them to it. But one would need to be a regular chub to not pick up a sense of when one was being sold Grub Street news, and Ash had the distinct feeling he was being sold a lie. That the young woman had consented to see him alone…that was raising alarm bells all on its own.

So it was with considerable apprehension that he turned to greet Lady Keziah Todd, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

A pair of wide, blue eyes looked back at him in a manner that was frank, to say the least. Her profile was proud and put him strongly in mind of a sculpture of Aphrodite that he'd once admired in some long-forgotten museum, and her hair was thick and framed her face with curls, a rich, dark blonde that glinted in the candlelight.

"Your grace," she said, bobbing a curtsey.

She stared at him, apparently awaiting a reason for him to call on her at this strange hour when they'd not been introduced. Ash found to his frustration that his tongue had been nailed down, and floundered as she looked at him with what was quite clearly growing impatience.

"Am I to suppose you came to call upon my father?" she suggested, with the lift of one imperious eyebrow. "As I'm afraid he is out at present."

"I ... that is, yes. Yes, I did," Ash replied, hoping the smile he was giving her was as warm as it felt. He felt really quite dazed in her presence. She bore herself with a cool, regal manner that was at once intimidating and intriguing.

"Well, it is quite irregular of me to have admitted you," she said, her words as frank as her expression as she looked him over with open curiosity. "But finding a duke on one's doorstep is really too intriguing."

Ash gave a slightly startled bark of laughter, a little wrong footed by her tone, which seemed vaguely mocking.

"I suppose you've come to investigate Lord Todd and see what sort of man he is?" she said, shocking him by the baldness of that statement and by an expression that was teetering on the brink of hostile.

Ash hesitated; he felt suddenly unsure of himself faced with this beautiful and forthright woman. He got the feeling that she was laughing at him and it was unsettling, discomposing him when he never usually floundered in social situations. Pulling himself together, he returned her gaze.

"I have heard that he has been spending a deal of time with my mother, Lady Ashwicke, that is true," he admitted, suddenly wishing he'd worn a slightly less expressive waistcoat, as Lady Todd was staring at it with a look he couldn't read but strongly suspected wasn't one of approval. "As I've been out of town for a few weeks, I merely thought it politic to make myself acquainted with him."

For a moment, a look passed over her face that puzzled him. It was an anxious, uncertain expression that seemed at odds with an otherwise forthright nature. It was quickly gone, however, and she retreated behind a mask of polite indifference.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, in that case," she said, sounding a trifle stiff and rather haughty. "Perhaps another time."

"Yes," he said, smiling despite a strange feeling that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. "Another time … I hope."

He made his bow and left, though his mind wasn't easy.

"Well, mister?" the link boy said as he walked up to meet Ash. "Told you she was a prime piece, didn't I?"

Ash took a moment to respond, lost in thought. "Eh?" he said frowning and then nodded in agreement. "Indeed, a veritable Aphrodite," he murmured, wondering what it was about her that troubled him so, and wondered how he could contrive to see her again.

Satisfied that his opinion had been seconded, the boy led him back to Royal Crescent while Ash pondered the intriguing Lady Keziah Todd. She'd held herself like a queen, an empress, her eyes cool and full of self-assurance. Yet the dress she'd worn had been ... well, frankly, shabby and ugly. That and the lingering smell of damp in the house suggested that his friends had been right and the viscount was trying desperately to keep up appearances. But there was something else, something behind those cool blue eyes that had called out to Ash, and ... he'd wanted to answer.

Only he didn't have the slightest notion what the question was.

He found himself determined to find out, though.

His first instinct before Lady Todd had presented herself had been to tell his mother to steer far and wide of Lord Todd, but it also told him that if he did that, he'd never see Keziah again, or discover what had put that strange mixture of hostility and fragility in her eyes.

For no good reason that he could think of, that troubled him more than he liked to admit.