What the Duke Doesn't Know (18 page)

The thought of Kawena married in such a way filled him with bewildered fury. What convoluted thought process had brought him to this topic? She had no intention of marrying in England. Hadn't she told him so? Hadn't she flat-out refused
him
? She wouldn't take some other fellow.

Of course she wouldn't. Sometime, years from now, back on her island, she would no doubt have a husband and children. She would be content, happy. This picture should have been comforting, but somehow it wasn't.

Nothing made sense. She wouldn't pay him any heed. When had he been able to make her do anything?

James stopped abruptly. He was standing on the very spot where he'd first seen her, he realized. She'd lunged from behind that bush there, in her absurd boy's garb, waving her antiquated pistol and calling him a thief. The memory brought a tender smile to his face. Looking back, he suspected that sally had required every ounce of courage she possessed. But she'd been determined, and she'd done it. She had the spirit of a heroine. She'd been intrepid, gallant…adorable.

This led to other, more intimate, recollections. James stood stock-still among the flowers, both savoring and enduring reflections of the ecstasy they'd shared. She was so soft and sweet, as well as courageous. She was so beautiful, and so intractable. She was…gone.

He made himself turn and walk back to the house. This path led straight to insanity. He couldn't take it. He needed to return to a world he understood, where events were ordered and clear.

The next morning, James set off early for London, to pay another visit to the Admiralty offices. But when he inquired once again about a new posting, the naval administrator who had received him was not encouraging. “There are a great many officers eager for posts, and fewer places now that the war is over,” the thin, very upright man told him.

“I know, but—”

“And many of these men rely on their naval position for their entire living,
Lord
James,” the man added.

James examined him, wondering if they'd met before. He didn't think so. The fellow's face wasn't remarkable, but surely he would recall if he'd offended him at some point? No, it was more likely that word had spread through the offices about the favors he'd called in to aid Kawena.
Favors that had turned out to be totally unnecessary, in the end
, he thought wryly. It was common to use personal connections to get things done in the service, but some resented it. There were rumblings about reform. It was just his bad luck that such a one had the power to thwart him.

James surveyed the man's tight jaw and unyielding gaze. He thought of telling the fellow that his opposition would, ironically, push James into pulling more strings, even perhaps soliciting help from his father, the duke. But he stifled the impulse. It would only make matters worse. Besides, he didn't want to go to Papa about this matter. He wasn't a boy, to be begging for protection and a leg up. In the end, he indicated his understanding with a curt nod, and took himself off.

Back in Oxford the following day, he distracted himself from wondering how Kawena was getting on by starting a tally of those he might enlist in his cause. But the idea of scheming and maneuvering—not by sail and rudder, but through covert conversations and hinted favors—made him tired. It seemed alien to all the things he liked about the navy—the order and clarity and regulation. He didn't want to play politics. He hated the necessity. Yet he knew this sort of twisty plotting just got worse the higher up you rose. No one became an admiral without such skills, by all accounts. Few achieved a major command by simple ability. Years of squirming lay before him. In this moment, he thought he would rather chuck the whole thing than plunge into that.

He rose from the desk where he'd been sitting and went to look out the window. The spires of Oxford poked up beyond the trees; the garden was lush and welcoming. The scene spread before him was lovely. But…it wasn't the sea. He missed the sea. There was nothing on Earth better than standing on the deck of your own ship, feeling it respond to your orders, filling your lungs with salt air. He couldn't give that up. But what he had to do to get it… Morosely, he turned back to his list. He'd thought of no new names to add for half an hour, when Ariel entered the parlor, a welcome interruption.

“We're going out to a concert,” she told him.

James stood, appreciating her fresh beauty in a pale green gown. “I suppose I must come along,” he replied, not nearly as averse as he would have been if engaged in some more pleasant activity. He tried for a joking tone. “Will you be trotting out a third bride prospect? Miss Grantham was rather too…enthusiastic for my taste.”

Ariel gave him a long, steady look. “As Lily Randall was too opinionated?”

James couldn't interpret her gaze. “Well, she seemed to find my views…quite irritating.”

“Can you really dismiss a person after one or two conversations? Are you sure you're giving them a real chance?”

She sounded grave, and looked it. James was nonplussed. He'd never meant this “hunt” to be serious. It had started as a game, in his mind, and grown even less important as time passed. “One can learn a lot from first impressions,” he attempted.

“Neither of them tried to shoot you,” she replied.

“What?” Ariel was looking at him as if he was slow. “What are you talking about?”

“It's not something I can tell you. You have to figure it out for yourself.”

“Figure out…what?”

Ariel turned away. “You are welcome to come with us if you wish to. There is no obligation.”

James went. He didn't really enjoy himself, but the crowd and the music and even a further conversation with Miss Grantham about the Battle of Trafalgar diverted his mind from his own concerns.

Kawena walked through the public rooms of the furnished house she'd taken with Ian Crane's assistance. It had been described to her as comfortable rather than large—hardly more than a cottage, Mr. Crane had said. Clearly, this was an English point of view. The place had a spacious parlor, a dining room, and a study on this floor, without even taking into account the bedchambers upstairs and the big kitchen and pantries below.

What it didn't have was the sea, naturally. Here in Oxford she was miles from the sea. How she missed the sight of surging water, an endless sky. Every day of her life, before this stay in England, had featured the sound of waves. Calm or stormy, placid or wild, the ocean was in her blood. Something deep within her missed its presence all the time. This house was a fine place to pass the weeks until her plans were complete, but she knew she could never settle so far from the shore.

Kawena settled in the back of the house, on a window seat covered with cushions in several shades of blue, and gazed over the roofs of the town. She put an elbow on the sill and rested her chin in her hand.

She missed Lord James. Her dreams were filled with echoes of their intimate encounters—his lips, his hands on her body. She woke frustrated and aching, only to face a day without his companionship. With him at her side, England had been a fascinating place, full of amusing quirks and half-familiar phrases. There had always been something to discuss, opinions to compare. She'd felt like an explorer, not an alien. She'd thrilled to their kinship, as she had with no one else in this country.

Because he wasn't like other Englishmen, she decided, not the ones she'd met at least. He'd been called by the sea. He'd roamed the world, driven by the eager curiosity and thirst for experience that she knew so well. He'd visited her home. He'd had the chance to gain a new perspective on the world.

Kawena looked down. Her free hand was clenched in her lap. Because the truth was, he didn't have such a new perspective. Home from his travels, he was searching for a proper English bride.

Those three words still stuck in her throat like a bit of unchewed fruit. They stood for everything she was not, according to the infuriating Lord James Gresham. And so she knew the next step very well—to show him! She would demonstrate exactly how wrongheaded he was, and then…

Then was then. She couldn't do anything about then. Now, she must begin.

“Kawena?”

She looked up to find Flora Jennings in the doorway, accompanied by an older woman she didn't know.

“Mrs. Runyon has arrived,” Flora added.

Kawena rose and went to greet the newcomer. Flora had assured her that her mother's third cousin, Harriet Runyon, would be a good choice to chaperone them, as well as oversee a cook, a housemaid, and a boy to run errands.

Kawena surveyed the sturdy woman beside Flora. Mrs. Runyon looked to be in her midforties. She had sandy hair, regular features, and a gown that proclaimed fashionable good taste. She looked quite intelligent, with an air of brooking no nonsense that Kawena liked.

“We also have our first callers,” Flora said.

Kawena immediately thought of Lord James, but her hopes were dashed by her friend's next words.

“A lady and her son who met you at a lecture.” She handed over two visiting cards. “Met
you
, not me,” she added with a rueful smile. “I was not mentioned when they inquired.”

Kawena read the names and didn't recognize them. There had been so many thrown at her at the last event she'd attended with Ariel.

“It appears that the establishment of our new household has been noticed,” Flora said. “The gossips are as efficient here as anywhere.”

Kawena remembered the young men who had surrounded her after word of her newfound fortune got out. They'd been like…like flies swarming around fallen fruit. The comparison was unpleasant, yet apt, she decided. “Have the English nothing better to do than talk, talk, talk?” she exclaimed.

“We will refuse them,” said Mrs. Runyon. She showed no surprise at Kawena's vehemence. “I don't think we are quite ready to receive callers. We have some plotting to do first.”

She smiled. It was a rather…wily smile. Kawena could think of no other word for it.

“If I'm to be your chaperone—”

“People keep using this word,” Kawena put in, “but it doesn't even sound English.” The sense was clear enough, of course.

“It isn't; it's French,” Mrs. Runyon replied. “It comes from
chape
, I think, a kind of protective hood. Chaperones are supposed to shelter the virtue of young ladies like a…a cozy garment.”

Kawena stared at her. Her knowledge was surprising, but the dry tone she used was even more striking.

“Cousin Harriet is very well educated,” said Flora with a grin. “Even better than I was.”

“But I have the sense to keep quiet about it in company,” replied the older woman. “Flora shoves her knowledge down unwary throats. At least, those of certain young noblemen.”

Flora flushed. “I don't know what you may have heard—”

“No you don't,” the older woman interrupted. “But we will discuss that later. First things first. I'll have Annie tell the callers you are not at home.”

“But I am.” Kawena brightened as an idea surfaced. “Do you mean I should slip out the back door to avoid them?”

Mrs. Runyon smiled. “No. We shall…tell them a lie.”

“But won't they be offended if they discover that?”

The older woman held up a hand. “A social lie. Which is different from an actual lie.” She went out.

“Different how?” Kawena asked. “If it is not true.”

“She is my favorite relative,” was Flora's odd reply.

“Are you sure she will be a proper chaperone? She seems…” It was difficult to find a phrase for what she was.

“She will be splendid. Wait and see.”

She had no choice but to do so, Kawena thought. It wasn't as if she had other candidates for the position.

“All right, they've gone,” Mrs. Runyon said when she returned a few minutes later. She turned to Kawena. “Tell me all about yourself. One needs full information in order to plot effectively.” With a gesture, she indicated that they should sit. Such was her air of command that they all immediately did.

Kawena was growing more and more curious about this woman with each remark she made. She was also beginning to like her. She seemed very forthright for an Englishwoman. “I grew up on an island on the other side of the world,” she began. “My father was English.” She told the story of her journey and the jewels. Flora hadn't heard the whole before either, and her eyes widened in surprise at some points.

When she finished the tale, Mrs. Runyon nodded. “And now you are settling in England.”

“No. I'm here for a few weeks more on…business. Then I shall go.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Runyon eyed her measuringly. “So you are not looking for a husband?”

“A proper English husband?” Kawena grimaced. “No, I am not!” Both the others stared at her. She hadn't meant to sound bitter, or angry.

“What are you doing?” was Mrs. Runyon's mild reply.

It was a complicated question. And Flora was clearly interested in her answer as well. Kawena did not intend to reveal all her purposes to either of them. “I wish to become better acquainted with my father's…world,” she said. “And to
show
the, uh, the English that I…fit here. As ‘properly' as anyone.” Kawena raised her chin in defiance of every one of Lord James's niggling complaints. “I shall prove that I can be a proper Englishwoman, just as…as my father would have wanted. And then I'm leaving.”

“Proper,” murmured Mrs. Runyon. “Someone has been throwing that word at you?”

“Throwing is a good way to say it!”

“Inevitable.” When both of the young women raised their eyebrows, she added, “Miss Benson is lovely and confident and rich. Lesser mortals will always wish to…deflate such a person. As they see it. And what do they have but their petty regulations?”

“Are you a rather unusual chaperone?” Kawena asked.

“Yes, I am. But in a way that will serve you well, I think. If I came to your island, you could show me all the interesting spots and keep me out of danger, could you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I can do the same for you here, because I have made a special study of these matters.”

“Special?”

“Cousin Harriet is an expert on society,” Flora offered. “The way I know cuneiform, she understands all its ins and outs.”

It took Kawena a moment to remember that cuneiform had to do with Assyrians.

“I made the same choice as Agatha—Flora's mother—you see,” Mrs. Runyon explained. “I married a gentleman that my family thought much beneath me. But while Agatha withdrew from society, I wormed and weaseled my way back in.” She smiled at Flora. “And now, at last, Flora is going to let me use my skills on her behalf.”

“On Kawena's, you mean.” Flora looked startled and uneasy.

“Indeed, and yours, my dear not-exactly-cousin. Have no doubt that I can deal with your noble suitor.”

“He isn't!” Flora practically squeaked.

“What is weaseled?” asked Kawena, partly to aid Flora, and partly because she was curious.

Smiling as if she understood the effort at diversion, Mrs. Runyon turned to her. “A weasel is a small animal that can wiggle into the tightest places and is known for its cunning. I found that I could get what I needed from my aristocratic relatives, as long as I had the wit to approach them just right. Some were vulnerable to flattery. Others craved amusement. A few really wanted to help. Since I have a great many of them, I never had to lean too heavily on any one person.”

“And you would do this…weaseling for me?” Kawena asked.

Mrs. Runyon waved off the question. “Oh, it's all done long ago. You will simply benefit from bygone efforts.”

“But why would you wish to help me? Or…are you really here for Flora?”

“You're clever. Good.” The older woman gave her an approving nod. “I have often longed to aid Flora, as I said. But I find you interesting. With my own children settled happily, I'm glad to have a new…project.”

Uncertain, but wanting matters clear, Kawena said, “I will bear any expense you might incur.”

Mrs. Runyon interrupted with a laugh. “No need. My dear husband confounded them all by making piles of money in the India trade.”

“Which made your situation much easier than my mother's,” Flora pointed out.

“I know, my dear.” The woman patted her hand. “All the more reason that I am determined to help you with Lord Robert. I spoke to Agatha, you know. She is quite pleased at the idea.”

“I don't want any help! That is, there is nothing about him to help
with
.”

“If you believe that, then you're not as intelligent as people claim.”

“I am. I do. Oh, why must everyone be so insufferably silly?” Flora surged to her feet and left the room.

“Perhaps it's not the mind at fault,” Mrs. Runyon mused quietly. “Perhaps it's the heart.”

The next few weeks were going to be more interesting than she'd realized when she first made her plan, Kawena thought.

* * *

The following afternoon, James was frowning over his list of potential helpers once again when the maid came in to announce visitors. “They asked for you particularly, Lord James, but they wouldn't give their names.”

“They?”

“A man and a woman.”

“And they refused to tell you who they were?”

She nodded uneasily. “They said it was important, though.”

That was odd. James shrugged. Even a rude caller was better than stewing over his situation, or wondering what mischief Kawena was getting up to. “Bring them in.”

“Yes, sir.”

She returned with a middle-aged couple. The man, small and wiry, wore an old-fashioned skirted coat over a plain shirtfront. He had pale skin, light brown hair, washed-out blue eyes. The woman was small as well and very thin. Her gown and bonnet were the same dark brown as her hair and eyes. Both of them looked as if they had just eaten something sour.

“Good day to you, my lord,” the man said. “I am Ronald Benson. And this is my wife, Maria.” The latter was silent, staring at him as if her gaze could drill right through his torso. “I see you recognize the name,” the man added.

“I have recently met…” James began.

“The young woman you wronged is not so friendless as you believed,” the visitor interrupted.

“What?”

“We have come to remove her from your clutches.” His tone was at the same time smug and accusing.

Had he actually used the word “clutches”? And who the devil were these people? “If you are referring to Miss Kawena Benson—”

“My niece!” the fellow interrupted.

The woman's stare was unnerving. Kawena hadn't mentioned any family.

“I warn you, if you have secreted her somewhere, to be a slave to your desires, we will expose your foul scheme.” The fellow scowled at him. His wife stared.

James nearly laughed. “I think perhaps you've seen too many melodramas, Mr. Benson.”

“I do not attend the theater,” the man replied coldly. “Now, I must insist that you take me to my poor niece. Immediately.”

James wondered what Kawena would think of being called a “poor niece”? He wished he might see it. “She's no longer staying here. She may be on her way back home, for all I know.” It wasn't exactly a lie. The flash of rage in the man's pale eyes told him something about the pair's true motives. “You're her father's brother then?” he continued.

“I am. My family and I are her only English relatives.”

“Your family?”