To run on tick - to run a debt
- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.
After an hour of practise, during which the duke managed only to wing the huge tree trunk on three occasions, Keziah was starving and more than a little frustrated. She herself was a formidable shot and not in the least squeamish as a rule, but she found that she could not contemplate killing her own flesh and blood. She hated her father, she feared him, too, and she was forever possessed with a simmering anger beneath her skin for everything that she had endured at his hands, and yet … That she couldn’t do. She hoped, perhaps, that that meant that she was not destined to be as cold-hearted and cruel as he had become, but she couldn’t pretend she was the soft, sweet, young lady that she suspected Lord Ashwicke believed she was underneath.
Her dark thoughts were momentarily suspended as Lord Ashwicke opened the picnic basket and her stomach gave an audible growl at the sight of the treats within.
“Cook’s trying to fatten me up,” he said with a wry grin as he unpacked various parcels, containing everything from meat pies, to cold roast chicken, a variety of cakes, and thickly sliced bread and accompanying butter.
Keziah fell upon the feast with delight. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so much food, and such food at that. The pastry on the pies was at once crisp and tender, and the flavours full and deep. She looked up to see that Lord Ashwicke was watching her with a mixture of amusement and consternation and realised she had moaned with pleasure at the first mouthful of pie.
“Forgive me for the question, but …” He hesitated, clearly worried about offending her, before finishing the sentence. “When was the last time you ate?”
Keziah flushed, embarrassed that he should think her a glutton for stuffing her face so. “Yesterday, at luncheon I suppose,” she said, looking away from him and trying to eat with a little more restraint.
“And what did you have?” he pressed. She was startled by the concern in his eyes when she turned back to him, and wished he wasn’t such a kind young man. He was clearly good-hearted and honest, and that she was polluting his world with her father’s poison made her feel cheap and tainted by association.
“A bowl of soup,” she said, sounding perhaps a little defiant. After all, not everyone was a duke and able to command the most exquisite delicacies whenever they desired. She knew that it was her own guilt making her prickly, but it was either that or cry, and she hated the idea of making such a spectacle of herself. Again.
Keziah usually had more control over her emotions; not her temper, no, but the softer emotions that her father would see as a weakness to be exploited, those she had long since learned to manage. But, somehow, Lord Ashwicke undermined all those hard-learned lessons with nothing more than a soft voice and a sincerity in his eyes that was devilish hard to repulse.
“Is that all?” he asked, a frown behind that green gaze that made her swallow. “No wonder you’re famished.”
“We have no money, my lord,” she said, straining to keep her voice even. “Every farthing we have, and more besides, has been spent on maintaining the farce that my father is not up to his neck in the river tick.” Keziah stared down at the pie in her hand and wondered if he would mind her taking some for poor Molly. The girl lived on next to nothing, and why she stuck it out, Keziah couldn’t fathom. “My father dresses like the regent and dines with his cronies, woos your mama, and yet there is barely enough to eat in the house, and everything we have is collateral against the loan we have taken out.”
She started as he laid his hand on her arm and wished he wasn’t so easy to confide in. Too long in his company, and heaven alone knew what she might tell him. Though surely he knew enough to realise he must stay clear of her.
“And what of you?” he asked, and her heart thudded in a rather disconcerting manner at the way he was looking at her. “Assuming things work out as we hope. Once your father is gone, and with it any hope of repaying your debts … What then?”
Keziah raised her chin, ignoring the chill of fear that shivered down her spine at his words. She’d considered it, of course, how could she not? There were not so many options open to a young woman of her class who had not a penny to their names. She offered him a placid smile, though, determined that he should not pity her any more than he no doubt did. “I’m a resourceful woman, your grace,” she said with dignity. “I’m sure I’ll contrive something.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised when he shook his head. “No, no, that won’t do,” he said, his voice at once firm and with the kind of surety she admired in a man but had seen little of in him. “But you may put your trust in me, Lady Todd. I will take care of it.”
Keziah hesitated, torn between gratitude, bruised pride, and … a suspicion as to what his intentions might be. Kind and good-hearted he may be, but he was still a man, and she doubted she had mistook the admiration in his eyes. She realised that her thoughts had betrayed her and that she was staring at him with what was no doubt a cynical expression.
The duke blushed, even the tips of his ears showing red, and she immediately regretted her doubts.
“I assure you, Lady Todd,” and from the slightly brittle tone to his voice, she knew she had offended him deeply. “That you have nothing to fear from me in that regard. I would never … never impose, or …”
Keziah held out her hand as she interrupted him. “I know,” she said, wondering how she could be so certain, even of him. But she trusted him, she realised. It was really rather extraordinary, but it was true. “I’m afraid I have unlearned the knack of taking people at face value,” she said, plucking at a loose thread on the picnic blanket in agitation rather than look at him. “I believe you to be a man of honour, your grace, else I’d not be here at all,” she added as she gave a little huff of laughter and looked up at him. “Not all men are like you, though. My father’s friends and … associates are certainly not, and … I have been made many such offers, couched in very respectable language, when all they were really giving to me was a carte blanche at best, and at worst …” Keziah shuddered and wrapped her arms about herself, suddenly cold. “My God, why am I even telling you all this?” she said, appalled and looking away from him. She saw herself through his eyes and didn’t like the picture it showed her. “You must think me a sorry hussy. We’d best get back to work, and then you can be done with this, and … and away from me as soon as may be.”
She began to pack the picnic things away, all the while avoiding his eyes, but he reached out and took hold of her hands, his grip surprisingly firm, but in no way threatening.
Keziah didn’t look up at him, couldn’t. If she saw disgust, she would be more disappointed to lose his good opinion than she cared to admit, and if she saw compassion, she would be quite undone.
“You haven’t finished your lunch,” he said, the words careful and kind, as if aware too much sympathy would destroy her composure. “And I can assure you, my opinion of you has not changed.” He picked up her plate, adding several slices of a rich, dark fruit cake and a handful of sugared almonds from the hamper before handing it back to her. Keziah offered him an uncertain smile which he returned with warmth. “If anything,” he said, as she took the plate from his hand, “my admiration of your spirit has only increased.”
Keziah occupied herself with the food, picking out the cherries from the fruitcake and discarding them. The duke quirked an eyebrow and she shrugged.
“I only like fresh cherries,” she said, taking a bite and avoiding the warmth of his gaze. He said nothing more, but the heat and sincerity of his words seemed to slide under her skin and ease the despairing aura that she felt had clung to her for months now.
Perhaps she wasn’t so terribly lost after all.
***
After spending most of the rest of the afternoon failing to hit, if not the side of a barn, then certainly a tree that represented a fair portion of one, Ash was humiliated, fatigued, and not a little down at heart.
If he’d been the man his grandfather had been, or even his father, come to that, he’d not be wasting time in this manner. He would have faced a brute like Viscount Rennard without so much as a flicker of concern, and driven the devil out of town by now. Either that, or challenged him to a duel and killed him outright. Either way, the lovely Lady Todd would have swooned into their powerful arms and been in love with them before the sun had set.
As it was, the poor creature was stuck with him as her champion, and if the despairing look in her eyes wasn’t illustration enough of her feelings at that fact, her exclamations of frustration whenever he failed to follow her advice certainly were. His pride, such as it was, had taken a severe knock, and he found he could hardly meet her eyes. This only increased when she demonstrated how it should be done and proved herself to be something of a crack shot.
Humiliating barely covered it.
They packed everything away and began the journey back into town in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, and Ash sunk into gloom. The reality of the fact that a man really wanted him dead was beginning to come home to him with some force. There was a large part of him that simply wanted to take to his heels and run, and, perhaps if not for Lady Todd, he might have done it. But that would sink him beyond reproach in her eyes, and there he had no desire to go. Added to that the fact that he couldn’t stay away forever, and there would be no one to protect his mother if he didn’t face this now. He could take her, too, of course, but then he was condemning the young woman at his side to her fate, and his conscience would not allow that either.
As they drew closer to town, his fears for her safety returned.
“I don’t like the idea of you going back to that house,” he said, knowing she would likely sneer at him and think he believed her as hen-hearted as she so clearly thought he was. “Are you quite sure you will be safe?”
Rather to his surprise, she didn’t react as he’d feared, but merely nodded, though she kept her eyes on the road ahead. “I’ll be fine, I assure you,” she said, though there was little tone to her voice, and none of the spark he’d seen in her the night they’d first met.
“If you should need anything,” he began, hoping she would take him at his word. “If you should be in the least bit uncomfortable or worried or … or anything at all. I beg that you will inform me at once, or seek shelter under my roof.”
“You are very kind, your grace,” she said, and he could not determine what lay behind the words, but he thought she sounded weary. The idea of her going back to a home where she had to face a man like her father - who had gained a monstrous face in his own imagination, and to endure it all with hunger lashing at her, too – well, it was more than he could bear. But this, at least, he could do something about.
“Here,” he said, wrestling his coin purse out and pressing it into her hand. “Take this, and hide it from your father. Make sure that you have enough to eat, at least.”
“Lord Ashwicke!” she exclaimed, flushing as she stared at the heavy purse. “I cannot take this, it … it is most unseemly and … and quite improper.”
Ash snorted and shook his head. “And I suppose secret rendezvous to prepare for murder are perfectly proper?” he said with the faintest lift of one eyebrow.
Her blush deepened and he realised he’d unwittingly discomforted her further.
“Forgive me,” he said, turning his attention back to the road to negotiate a particularly tricky corner. “I simply meant that these are unusual circumstances and I am not cut out to be the hero you are in such desperate need of, as you’ve seen all too clearly this morning.” He realised the words had sounded rather more dejected than he’d meant them to, but pressed on with a smile that felt rather forced. “But I intend to do my best, such as it is, and this at least I can do.”
To his relief, she tucked the purse away in the small bag she carried where he had also insisted she take what remained of the fruit cake for her supper. She seemed very fond of fruitcake, he thought with a smile. At least she wouldn’t go hungry tonight.
“You still have my card?” he asked, watching her nod though she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. He had written on the back that she was to be given shelter, no matter the circumstances, just in case she should be in desperate need and found him away from home. He’d done his best to consider every eventuality, but at the end of the day, it seemed to come down to one, rather inevitable point.
Either he killed Lord Todd, or his days may well be numbered.