What the Duke Doesn't Know (14 page)

And then, between one breath and the next, she stiffened and straightened. There was no wave. She would not be engulfed. She'd been alone before, when her prospects had been much worse than they were now. She would find her way. She'd figure something out.

With that resolution, Kawena remembered Flora Jennings. Here was someone else she knew in London—or had been introduced to, at any rate. The English set such great store by introductions. She'd been impressed by Miss Jennings's intelligence and apparent strength of character. Also, she would know where to get clothes. She would go and see her and ask her.

As she hadn't removed her bonnet, it was just a matter of finding a secure place to leave the bag of jewels—she chose a small drawer with a key in its lock—and going back downstairs. Kawena found the footman standing in the front hall, as he often was when they came in and out during the day. He looked up as if expecting some instructions when she came down, and it seemed awkward to walk past him without a word. “Would you find me a cab, please?” Kawena asked.

“Just you, miss?”

“That's right.”

He hesitated, then gave her a little bow. “Yes, miss.”

When he returned with a hackney, Kawena thanked him and sent him away. She told the driver to take her to Russell Square. It was all she remembered of the address, but she was confident she could pick out the Jennings house once they arrived.

In the hurly-burly of the streets, with the constant shouts and bouncing of the carriage, Kawena didn't have the leisure to wonder about her welcome. But when the cab pulled up before the redbrick house that she had indeed recognized, she hesitated briefly. Then she squared her shoulders. She had come this far. If they didn't wish to see her… She shrugged, walked up the steps, and rang the bell.

Admitted and conducted to the drawing room, Kawena discovered that Miss Jennings was out. However, her mother, sitting there alone, greeted her. “Flora will be back quite soon,” she said, and offered a cup of tea as they sat opposite each other before the hearth.

“The English drink so much tea,” Kawena replied before she thought.

Fortunately, Mrs. Jennings looked amused rather than offended. “We do, don't we? It's a habit we form early. You don't care for tea?”

Kawena couldn't help wrinkling her nose as she shook her head.

Her hostess smiled. “May I offer you something else? I don't imagine we'll have what you're used to. But lemonade, perhaps?”

“I am not thirsty, thank you.”

The older woman nodded.

Silence descended. One was supposed to make polite conversation in these drawing rooms, Kawena remembered. “But why are they called ‘drawing rooms'?” she wondered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you draw here sometimes?” She looked around. There was no sign of artistic pursuits. Bits of her father's dictionary drills came back to her. You could draw on a bow as well. Or draw a mug of beer from a tap. But neither of those seemed any more apt.

“It's a shortened form of ‘withdrawing room,'” Mrs. Jennings said. “A place for ladies to withdraw, ah, to.”

“From what?”

“A pertinent question. The short answer is: the gentlemen. You are an interesting young woman, are you not?”

Interesting was not necessarily a favorable thing to the English, Kawena had noticed. Determined to make a better attempt at conversation, she said, “You are a relation of the Duchess of Langford?” This had been mentioned, but she didn't recall the exact connection.

“Yes, Adele and I are second cousins. We were presented in the same season, and were good friends long ago. But then she married Langford, while I chose Henry.”

“Mr. Jennings was a great scholar.”
Perhaps this was the trick of polite conversation,
Kawena thought
. Repeat information you already know
.

“It was his passion for learning that struck me, at first,” the older woman agreed. “He was mad to discover and explore. It was inspiring, and rather thrilling.”

Kawena could understand that. She enjoyed the reminiscent love in her hostess's eyes.

Mrs. Jennings sighed. “But he didn't belong to fashionable circles, or care a whit about them. And so I drifted away from old friends. And now he's gone, long before I expected he would be.”

It was sad. Kawena didn't know what to say.

“Leaving me wishing I hadn't been such a coward,” said the older woman, as if speaking to herself.

“You do not seem like a coward,” Kawena observed, mystified. The Gresham brothers had described quite the opposite sort of person.

“I was.” The older woman looked into the distance; she seemed to be lost in her own musings. “I didn't have the strength of my own…not convictions. Choices. Once I married, I felt I didn't fit with my former friends. In houses like Langford, for instance. It was mostly in my head, I see now, but I was angry whenever I ventured into society, always expecting to be snubbed. Ready to fight back. It was…fatiguing. So I stopped visiting. And now we are left alone, and I have put my Flora in an ambiguous position.”

“Ambiguous? I have not heard that word.”

“Not one thing or another,” the older woman replied absently. “Not part of a recognized social set.”

“This is important?” It sounded rather like some of the things Lord James had told her.

Mrs. Jennings looked up, blinking as if recovering herself. “I beg your pardon. I don't know why I began talking of this. I was thinking when you came in, and I… But you can have no interest in my history.”

“I do,” said Kawena. “I am ‘ambiguous' myself.” She had not had a single label for her place in England before.

Her companion examined her. “Yes, I see.”

“So I would like to know why it worries you. For my own sake.”

“Clever as well as interesting,” Mrs. Jennings murmured. “Well, Miss Benson, it is a state that can make a girl vulnerable, you see.”

Kawena cocked her head. “‘Vulnerable'? In danger, you mean?”

“I suppose that sounds silly to you. But spiteful gossip can be very unpleasant, and it certainly limits one's…opportunities.”

“What sort of opportunities?”

“Chances for a happy life.” Her hostess grimaced. “I worry about Flora's future. She knows only our old friends. She is not invited anywhere. And then she will go about town all alone.”

“Should she not? I came here in a cab.”

“Young ladies customarily take a servant when they go out. Flora frequents quite poor neighborhoods, too.”

Best not to mention that she'd sailed around the world alone dressed as a boy, Kawena thought.

“Of course, her charitable work is terribly important,” Mrs. Jennings continued. “But there was nearly an open scandal there a few months ago. Though it had nothing to do with Flora, it still could have been disastrous to her prospects. But she will not listen to my objections.” Shaking her head, she broke off.

In the ensuing silence, Kawena didn't know how to respond. But she did see that Lord James was not alone in his concern about gossip. Mrs. Jennings seemed such a solid, sensible person. Perhaps he wasn't being as silly as she'd thought.

“I beg your pardon,” the older woman said again. “Do tell me about your home. I am so very interested.”

Clearly the previous subject was closed. Kawena obligingly described the island and her father's trading endeavors until Flora came in. Her mother rose at once. “I have letters to write,” she said. “I'll leave you young ladies to talk.” Kawena had the feeling she wished she hadn't said so much to a stranger.

Flora sat down and looked at Kawena. Her greeting had been cordial enough, but she appeared curious as to why Kawena had called.

“I found the…thief,” Kawena said, then hesitated. She hadn't told the whole story at their first meeting, and she was uncertain how much to reveal now. Lord James's family would no doubt hear it, since the carving had been sitting in their house all these months. But Flora was not a Gresham. They might not wish the world to know. “And recovered my fortune,” Kawena added.

“That's splendid.” Did the very self-possessed Miss Jennings look a little wistful?

Kawena moved right to the point. “I should like to purchase some English gowns. And I hoped you might know where I could do so.”

Flora shrugged. “If you want a fashionable wardrobe, I can't really help you. I have no interest in the latest styles, and can't afford them anyway.” She indicated her dark blue gown as if it demonstrated these points.

Kawena thought that she might like ensembles more colorful and daring than this. But Flora Jennings had an air of distinction. “Your dress is very fine,” she replied.

“It is well made,” the other acknowledged, looking pleased.

“I don't understand fashion or society,” Kawena added. “And I don't know if I'm much interested.” Although she didn't know that she wasn't, either. It was like exploring a new bit of the island; you couldn't decide until you'd absorbed it all.

“What intelligent person could be?”

“Do you think I'm intelligent?” Kawena replied. “In the English way, I know only what my father taught me.”

“As do I.”

“But yours was a great scholar.”

Flora nodded. “Yes, so I can interpret Akkadian cuneiform tablets. But I'm not a very good dancer. And I can't embroider or play the pianoforte or…flirt with young gentlemen.”

“Like Lord Robert.”

“No one is like Lord Robert,” Flora murmured. “He is an utter anomaly in my life.”

“A what?” Here was another new word. They came thick and fast in this household.

“Something unusual, unprecedented.” Flora looked off into the distance. “Like a comet that streaks through the sky once in your lifetime, and then is gone.”

“I can't be so intelligent, after all. I don't understand what you mean.”

“Neither do I,” said Flora. She stared at the wall as if she could see right through it.

“Do you
want
to embroider?” Kawena wondered. She had seen this activity on her travels and thought it looked remarkably tedious.

Flora Jennings burst out laughing. “No. It's a dead bore. Dancing, though…”

“I love to dance,” agreed Kawena.

Miss Jennings gave her a frankly friendly look. “I can recommend the dressmaker I use, if you like. She's very skilled.”

“And quick? I'm not certain how much longer I will be in town.”

“I believe she keeps models made up to show. I'm sure she could alter some of them for you.”

“Thank you.” Kawena wondered if it was rude to depart the moment she'd gotten what she came for. Probably. So many commonplace things were considered rude here. She cast about for a suitable remark and found only, “Where were you?”

“I spend most of my mornings at a refuge for street children.”

“Street?” She wasn't certain what that meant.

“The children society leaves to beg or starve,” Flora added, fire kindling in her bright blue eyes. “And to be preyed upon by the worst sort of villains.”

“I don't understand.”

“Poor children,” Flora explained, “who have lost their parents to disease or accident and are left to fend for themselves.”

“But…why?” asked Kawena.

“That's a very good question. One I cannot answer. Except to say that society seems to care very little for its most vulnerable members.”

Shocked, Kawena said, “My father never told me about this.”

“People don't talk about it,” was the contemptuous reply. “Most of them choose not even to know about it. They look past begging children just as they do a rat or a pigeon.”

“But you help them.” Kawena found herself admiring this intense young woman.

Flora looked regretful. “We provide a meal or two, an occasional bed for a night, a place to recover from…difficulties. It's like trying to catch a waterfall in a bucket.” Her tone made it clear that the situation galled. “There is never enough space or money or…interest to change things.”

Kawena pulled out the roll of currency she received at the jeweler's. She peeled off a twenty-pound note. “I should like to make a contribution.”

Flora didn't take it. “I would be glad to have it, but you should not be advised by me. I am an interested party, and you cannot know whether I am trustworthy.”

“I can judge that for myself.”

Flora smiled at her. “Nonetheless, you should consult an expert.”

Kawena pushed the banknote into her hands. “Lord James introduced me to a man named Ian Crane,” she said.

“I've heard that name. I think his firm is used by many fine families.”

Their eyes met, blue and dark brown. An unspoken sense of fellow feeling passed between them. “I'll be sorry to go back to Oxford and not see you again,” said Kawena.

“You're going soon?”

“In the next few days.” She needed to return Ariel's things, and also to get out of the huge, dirty city.

“I've been meaning to visit the Bodleian Library in Oxford,” Flora mused. “They have several books I should consult.”

“You should come with us,” Kawena exclaimed.

“Us?” Flora raised her dark brows.

“I, ah, suppose Lord James will be going back also. He was staying there with his brother before.”

“He began helping you with your search,” Flora finished.

“Yes.” The other woman's steady gaze made Kawena feel self-conscious. It was as if she could see far more than most people.

“I may very well take you up on that,” said Flora. “To be honest, it would save me stage fare.”

“You must come,” declared Kawena.

Flora promised to let her know the following day, and they parted warmly. Kawena felt that a bond had begun to form, and that Flora Jennings might well become a true friend.