All his cards are trumps - a lucky man
- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.
Ash stared at the sleeping figure beside him and acknowledged that he was afraid. It wasn’t something he wanted to feel, but it was there nonetheless, creeping towards him as stealthily as a cat, to taint the perfection of this moment.
There were many reasons to be afraid. Fear that the tenacious Mr Formby would find proof enough to take him to trial, or worse, that he might discover what Keziah had done to protect him. Yet selfishly, and as terrible and terrifying as those things were, it wasn’t that fear that pushed at his heart and made it clench with anxiety.
He loved her. Oh, he’d said it before, had known it for a long time, but not until last night, not until he had made her his wife, had he truly understood what it meant. He loved her beyond words, beyond reason. He would do anything, anything at all to keep her safe, and yet the knowledge that she didn’t love him in return ate away at his heart. The idea that she might never love him … that was the terror that made his breath come short.
He swallowed it down, consigning such unsettling thoughts, such fears and terrors to another place, another time. It would have to be faced soon enough, of course, they could not hide here forever, despite the temptation to do just that. But for now, for now he was happier than he had dreamed possible.
Ash reached out a hand and traced the contours of her lips, finding himself smiling, absurdly happy at the privilege of watching her sleep. She stirred and he drew back his hand, feeling guilty for having disturbed her, but finding it hard to regret the flickering of her eyelids as she woke. She blinked a little in the dim light until her eyes settled on his face. Ash held his breath, wondering if she would be shy now, awkward with him, but she just made a sleepy sound and closed her eyes again.
“Hello,” she mumbled into the pillow a moment later, sounding a little shy perhaps, but not awkward.
“Hello,” he replied, finding that stupid grin on his lips again, despite knowing he likely looked like a fool. So what? So what if he was, she knew that already, in any case. She hadn’t married him for his brains nor his brawn, as he had neither. She’d married him because she trusted him to keep her safe, and that he would do to his dying breath.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, reaching out to twine a soft blonde curl around his finger. Her eyes flicked open again, a darker blue in this light. Sapphires, he decided in that moment, as a wedding gift he would buy her sapphires.
“Lovely,” she said, stretching out, quite unselfconscious beside him. She seemed to really wake then and sat up, a little colour suffusing her cheeks as she held the bedclothes up to cover her. She sat looking rather lost for a moment before reaching out for a glass of water. She drank a little, licking her lips and setting the glass down again, and then gave a little laugh of protest.
“Stop watching me,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand. Ash reached for it, pulling to his lips and pressing a kiss to her fingers.
“I can’t,” he said, with perfect honesty. “I want to stare at my wife and congratulate myself on being the luckiest fellow in the world.”
A shadow fell over her face at that and she gave him a twisted smile. “Hardly that,” she replied.
“Exactly that,” he insisted, tugging at her hand and manhandling her until her body was close against his. She made a half-hearted sound of objection, but didn’t seem to truly mind his actions. In fact, she relaxed into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I’ll never be able to thank you, Ash,” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips. If there was one thing he did not want, it was her gratitude.
“You have thanked me, and I neither want nor need anymore,” he said, his voice firm. “Please don’t say it again.”
She smiled then and nodded, reaching out to touch his face with her hand. “I will try and make you happy, I promise.”
He laughed, despite the pain in his heart at knowing why she said it. “Don’t be such a goose,” he said, the words soft and full of affection. “You already have.”
***
They dawdled in bed as long as they thought newlyweds had the right to, when under a reverend’s roof, at least. Keziah had to admit that she’d been just as reluctant to leave that sanctuary as Ash had. He’d made love to her again, slow and tender in the daylight, and she’d found it seemed such a natural thing. Strange that her friend had become her husband, but perhaps it was not as bad a thing as she had feared.
She might have daydreamed about her warrior hero, musclebound and protective, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to safety. She might have hoped to fall in love, to understand those overpowering, all-encompassing feelings of passion and desire that poets and artists made it their life’s work to illustrate to the full. But a friend who was a kind companion, a tender lover … that was perhaps worth more than she had appreciated.
Nonetheless, the real world would not keep from her thoughts, and no matter how lovely this little interlude, she knew it could not last. So it was with relief that she saw Molly as she brought her hot water and came to help her dress.
Ash’s decision to leave Bath had been made so suddenly that it had thrown her plans into disorder. She’d had such a short time to explain the events of that previous, fateful night to her maid, and less to send Molly on her rather crucial errands. Keziah had packed by herself, hoping no one had noticed Molly’s absence at midday, and they’d barely managed to ready themselves in time.
“Congratulations, your grace,” Molly said to her, dipping a curtsey as she came through the door with the hot water.
“Oh, Molly, don’t,” Keziah replied, holding her hands to her cheeks and feeling awkward. “I feel such a fraud.”
Molly gave her an impatient look and tutted. “Don’t be silly, Miss Keziah, I mean, your grace,” she amended, looking anxious. Keziah laughed and went to speak, but Molly wasn’t done. “You’re the Duchess of Chartley now, and well you deserve to be, and what’s more your husband loves you to distraction.”
Keziah nodded, guilt pressing down on her shoulders once again. “I know,” she said, feeling wretched as she went to the basin of hot water and reached for the soap. “And I don’t deserve it.”
Molly made a sound of disgust and shook her head. “If you don’t, I don’t know who does,” she muttered, looking at the clothes Keziah had packed with such haste with deep reproach. “And this is all creased.” Molly shook the gown out as Keziah washed, and as much as neither of them wanted to speak of it, Keziah knew they must.
“Is he alright?” she asked, glancing around the screen she stood behind.
Molly nodded, catching her eye as she tried to repair the damage to the gown. “Yes, Miss … I mean, your grace.”
“Oh, do stop it,” Keziah cried, reaching for a towel to dry herself. “Miss Keziah will do fine.”
“That, it won’t,” Molly replied with a sniff, but she carried on. “He’s scared witless, mind, though he likes to pretend ‘e ain’t.”
Keziah nodded, reaching for her chemise. “One can hardly blame him.”
“Well, he’s safe enough for the moment. I paid the bill till the end of the month, like you said, and left him with enough grub for four or five days. The devil don’t like it, but I reckon ‘e’s too scared to do ought but stay put.”
“I hope so,” Keziah replied as Molly slipped the dress over her head. “No one saw you?” she added as the material slid into place and feeling her heart sink as Molly paled a little and looked rather anxious. “What? What is it?” she demanded as Molly turned her attention to tying up the back of her dress.
“Oh, it’s probably nothing, miss,” she said, but from the sound of her voice, Keziah felt it wasn’t nothing at all. “Only …”
“Only?”
Molly sighed and gestured for Keziah to sit at the dressing table so that she could see to her hair.
“Only when I got back to the house, I came in the back, all quiet-like, but … I got the feelin’ someone was watching me?” She laughed then and shook her head. “Oh, ignore me, it’s all this cloak and dagger stuff, got me jumpin’ at shadows, it ‘as.”
Keziah couldn’t feel any reassurance in those words and met her abigail’s gaze in the mirror.
“Who do you think it was?”
Molly didn’t look up, her attention focused on brushing out Keziah’s thick blonde hair.
“I dunno, honest … but … Grant, maybe.”
“Grant?” Keziah repeated, frowning and trying not to curse as Molly tugged through a knot. “The butler?”
Molly nodded, glancing up for a moment to meet her eyes. “Aye, ‘im. He’s a shifty blighter. Reckon ‘e spies on everyone. Always pokin’ his nose in where it ain’t needed.”
Keziah felt a prickle of unease at the idea they were being watched. Certainly, she wasn’t surprised. The dowager duchess had made it clear she did not welcome Keziah, and didn’t trust her an inch. It wouldn’t be unlikely for her to have the staff keeping an eye on them. Then there were his mother and sister. She’d seen neither of them, as they’d both taken to their beds, each one apparently trying to outdo the other with their display of grief.
Molly had become quite friendly with the dresser for Ash’s mother, a Mrs Grantham. Although, as dresser to a figure as lovely and well-born as the Duchess of Chartley - before Keziah had stolen her title - she was due a fair deal of deference, she was not in the least top lofty, as some of her kind could be. Though she was far above Molly’s station, she was a motherly sort and had been horrified by the state Molly had arrived in. It appeared that Mrs Grantham had not liked nor trusted Lord Todd an inch, and had warned her mistress on several occasions that he was a wolf in lamb’s clothing. Apparently, her words had not only fallen on deaf ears, but she’d been soundly scolded for having uttered them.
When Mrs Grantham had discovered who had hurt both Molly and Keziah, she felt her fears utterly vindicated, and she’d fussed over Molly’s care like the most faithful mother hen. From her, Molly had gleaned the information that Lady Anne was as much distressed by Lady Margaret’s stark warnings that Ash would marry Keziah if they didn’t do something, as by the death of her beloved and the discovery of his villainy. The idea of losing her title of duchess, and having another, younger, woman in the house and in control … well, that had brought on a fit of hysteria that the poor dresser had been hard-put to sooth.
Keziah did not hold out any hopes for a warm and motherly welcome from her new in-law.
Molly had also learned that Hannah, Ash’s sister, refused to believe that Lord Todd had been capable of such vile behaviour and thought that Keziah was lying through her teeth about the man beating her and Molly. What Hannah believed had truly happened, or thought Keziah’s motivation for lying was, Molly couldn’t uncover. But it was fair to say that none of the women in her husband’s household welcomed her presence. In fact, they all wanted her gone as soon as may be.
On top of all of that was not only the drunk who had seen her drop the pistol, but another, shadowy figure who had been lingering in the darkness of the garden behind the house on Royal Crescent. His presence had been felt before it had been seen and almost scared her to death. Keziah had only caught a glimpse and not seen his face, but there had been something familiar about him. Was it the same man who’d been watching Molly? Could it really be Grant, spying for the dowager? And if so, would he take his information to her or to Formby? Or would he decide to profit from it himself? Now she was the Duchess of Chartley, she was a wealthy woman. It must be a temptation, surely?
It was not a happy thought and did not make her want to return to Bath any sooner.
“Don’t fret, miss,” Molly said, giving her a reassuring smile and laying a hand on her shoulder. “All will be well.”
Keziah returned her smile in the looking glass but did not feel the least bit reassured. She felt she was walking along a cliff’s edge and the ground was falling away beneath her. For the moment, she’d scrambled to safety, but she felt only too sure that it would not last.
***
They spent two more nights enjoying the reverend’s extravagant hospitality, and it was clear enough that they were both reluctant to leave. For Keziah, the days had been like a brief and lovely holiday. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they’d not discussed their predicament, though it had been on the tip of Keziah’s tongue to tell Ash what had happened that night. But he was so obviously happy that whatever he thought she had or hadn’t done was clearly not enough to change his opinion of her, and she did not want to spoil his pleasure or taint their time together with such vile discussions. It would happen soon enough, of that she was only too certain.
So it was that they found themselves back in his carriage, returning to Bath as husband and wife, and with a dark cloud hovering above them and forcing their happiness to dissipate the closer they got.
Ash reached for her hand and she clung to him, finding assurance and courage in the warmth of his grasp. Whatever happened, Ash would not desert her. For that, she was lucky indeed.