Page 50 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 21

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.