Tavish shifted uncomfortably. “I’m a fast learner.”
David scoffed. “There are things that can’t be learned, Mr. McKenzie. For example, you look good in a suit and can drink your tea without slurping, but do you know how to give a formal toast? Do you know the events for the season—which is already in swing, I’ll have you know—the dress code for each event, the strategic social and business import of each event?” David’s nostrils flared. “And that’s just the beginning. I’ve trained my entire life for this role, waited and watched and prepared. I’m from this world, and I understand what’s expected of me and what the people I represent need.”
Tav was nodding along, and David could have shut up, but he didn’t. Apparently, he was just getting started.
“I know what they don’t need, too. As if this country isn’t dealing with enough trash washing up on our shores. Just imagining the insult of the Queen having to share Holyrood with you in a few weeks makes me ill. Of you presenting her with the crown jewels and standing by her side at the garden party. Atrocious. I can’t allow some bastard of a refugee whore to sweep in and undo everything I’ve worked for!” David’s mouth snapped shut, as if he hadn’t meant to let out all that bile but it had spewed forth of its own accord.
Portia jumped to her feet.
“Mr. Dudgeon—”
Tav’s gentle grip around her arm stopped her. He stood so that he was beside her.
“I regret that I’m going to have to turn down any offer you make,” he said calmly. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers to get the process of turning over the title and all it entails to its rightful owner—me. We have another engagement, so we’ll be leaving. Thank you for the hospitality.”
He looked down at Portia. “Shall we go?”
She didn’t know the etiquette for basically saying “fuck you” and flouncing, so she executed her most ostentatious curtsy in David’s direction.
“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon,” she said with a bat of her eyelashes, then she and Tav strode toward the door and out into the hallway.
“Are you okay?” she asked, placing her hand on his lower back. He stiffened, but then sighed and relaxed just before she was about to pull away.
There was a loud crash from the room they’d exited, echoing down the hall.
“Better than Davey, I suppose.”
“I thought maybe you’d take the money. You said you weren’t sure you even wanted this.”
“I did consider it. It would have been a huge payday with no work required from me. But then I saw the look on his face when he said refugee. Now I know where I’ve seen this git’s face before.” Tavish sneered. “He’s been in the papers putting pressure on MPs to come down harsher on migrants. Trying to get them to cut back on legal immigration, too.”
“He can’t make them do anything though, right? It’s all talk?” She was pretty sure the Duke of Edinburgh had no voting powers. It was a royal dukedom, but like much of the Monarchy, the power was symbolic.
“No. But he can present himself as the face of Scotland and pressure the people who do. He can get in all the papers with all the historical weight a title like ‘Royal Duke’ holds. He can talk to the bloody Queen. If I can stop one man who thinks about other humans that way from holding any kind of power, I have to.”
The only sound after that was the sound of their shoes tapping on the buffed tile floors, and the little voice in her head reminding her that she was in way over her head. They kept walking even when they got out of the palace, past stores and down cobblestone streets. They’d gone a couple of blocks before Tavish had even realized it.
“Thank you,” he finally said as they waited for their SuperLift. He even managed a grin. “I know Davey was scared I was gonna run him through, but I think you were the one giving that serious thought.”
“Eh, I’m always down to stab horrible men,” she said. “No need to thank me.”
“I forgot, you’re the vigilante-slash-spiritual man killer,” he said with a short, unamused laugh. “Aye, that’s about right.”
She was wavering on offended but then he looked at her, heat and something else in his gaze. “After the display David put on, I’ll remind you I’m hardier than average. We’re in this together, so don’t worry too much about killing my spirit. I’ve a feeling it’s a pretty good match for yours.”
She couldn’t think of anything to say to that so instead she just blinked up at him.
“Portia?” An apple-cheeked woman called out from the car that had pulled up. “Are you waiting for a SuperLift?”
“I call passenger seat this time if it’s another numpty two-door,” Tav said and strode toward the car, displaying once again just how good he looked in a suit.
Way, way over her head.
Chapter 17
Portia sensed the moment Tav’s mood shifted from engaged to ennui, even with the battered kitchen table between them. He ran a hand through his hair and dropped his head back in annoyance.
“Ah, that’s right. Of course I should have remembered this random inconsequential fact about fork tines. I’m a complete and utter git, obviously.”
The daily “duke lessons” they’d undertaken since tea time at Holyrood a week ago hadn’t been too bad, really, and sometimes they were even fun—too fun. But for the past couple of days Tav had been growing progressively more stressed, understandably so, and his ability to retain information was slipping.
He was still running a business and dealing with all that entailed on top of his lessons, and it was likely just starting to really sink in that this was his world from now on. Going from artisan to aristocrat meant a complete restructuring of his life, from the very foundations. It would be a lot for anyone to take in, but he was also getting years of etiquette lessons and practice at social niceties crammed into just a few weeks. Her apprenticeship was only for a few weeks more, after all, and she was trying to help as much as she could before she left.
Portia hadn’t thought enough about this aspect of helping Tav out. Setting out on a goal of improving herself was one thing, but trying to improve him felt uncomfortably like telling him something was wrong to begin with. She couldn’t help but feel like an imposter for even suggesting she knew better than him.
“Okay. So. Before we continue, you shouldn’t feel bad about not knowing this stuff already. Why would you know random minutiae of etiquette? It served no purpose to you before.” She sighed. “You’re learning skills, but lacking those skills had no impact on your worth. Your value doesn’t lie in the way you hold a glass or a knife, or whether you can make a formal toast.”
Portia generally kept their conversation light, but it was important to her that he understood this. She had spent years cringing her way through deportment lessons as fault after fault was pointed out for correction, and having to do the same to Tav was dredging up some unexpected memories.
Stop slumping! Enunciate! Chewing your nails is disgusting. Can you really not pay attention for more than five minutes, Portia?
Tav drummed his blunt fingertips on the tabletop, then lifted his gaze to meet hers.
“Thanks for the pep talk, Squire Freckles. You’re saying you like me just the way I am, then?” he asked. His expression was wary, even though he was cracking jokes.
She lifted her brows. “If you want a compliment, all you have to do is ask. And stop cursing Debrett’s.”
Tav made a motion that seemed to be the beginning of an eye roll, but stopped himself. “Fine, I’ll behave.”
“Don’t get too freaked out. We’re just going to review some basic etiquette skills you’ll need when dealing with people like David.”
Tav snorted, and then cracked his knuckles menacingly. “Think I’ve got the skills for that down already, lass.”