by Jane Ashford
Lord James cleared his throat. “You should probably make some arrangements first.” He didn’t seem to wish to look at her.
“Arrangements?”
“Not a good idea to go sailing off alone with a bag full of gems in your luggage.”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone they were there,” she pointed out.
“Of course not. But it’s risky. You don’t want to chance losing them again.”
That would be unbearable. And she wouldn’t have the protection of her father’s old friend on the voyage home. Thinking of setting out on that long, solitary journey, of arriving at the island, even with the triumphant return of the treasure, made her feel desolate. Which was idiotic. She told herself that she was simply tired when she had to swallow threatened tears.
“I’ll tell you what,” Lord James continued. “You should meet my father’s man of business. Mr. Crane knows more about how to keep the finances in tune than any six bankers. He’ll be able to tell you just what to do.”
“Do?”
“According to what my father and my brother Nathaniel say, a fortune needs a deal of managing.”
Kawena had made no practical plan beyond recovering the jewels. She touched the pocket of her gown, where the bag currently lay. Now that she had them back, perhaps there was some better course of action than simply hiding them away again. She’d gained her fortune. She should…employ it. “All right.”
“It might take a day or two to set up an appointment.”
The idea that she could not embark immediately for the other side of the world was…a curious relief.
* * *
James took Kawena to Crane’s offices the following morning, after a day that had nearly driven him mad. At every moment, his body cried out that she was his, and demanded the thrill and solace of touch. At the same time, his mind insisted that he act correctly, to preserve her reputation and position, to protect her. The push and pull of these two impulses twisted him into knots, reduced him to stiff silence. Goaded beyond endurance, he retreated into the manners drilled into him in his youth. A stately formality saved him when Kawena smiled or gazed into his eyes, when she sat at his side in the cab rattling down to the City. His training demanded that he focus on the matter at hand and set aside his petty personal desires.
James had never had much to do with his father’s very superior man of business. He’d paid no heed to the ducal estates and investments, set as he was on leaving for the navy. Still, he’d met the man, and his family name got them a cordial reception and immediate admittance to the firm’s premises off one of the narrow, cobbled streets in central London.
But the man who emerged from the inner offices to greet them wasn’t the sober, middle-aged figure he remembered. “I’m Ian Crane,” he said. “My father, whom you knew, I believe, died last winter. Please come in.”
They followed him into a darkly paneled chamber, with ancient mullioned windows overlooking the narrow lane outside, and took chairs before his wide, paper-strewn desk. Ian Crane wore black, proclaiming his seriousness, but his hair was sunny yellow, and his face round and open, his eyes a guileless light blue. He looked more like one of the students in Oxford than a wily lawyer. James wondered if his father would have employed such a youth if Crane’s father and grandfather hadn’t served the Langfords in a similar capacity.
“You’re thinking that I look rather young for my job,” he said, appearing to read James’s mind. “And wondering if I know what I’m doing.”
“Ah.” James couldn’t deny it.
Ian Crane waved his embarrassment aside. “People do. My father was taken off very suddenly, at barely fifty years of age. I’d expected to become much more grizzled and wise before stepping into his shoes.” His face showed good humor mixed with sadness.
“I’m sorry to hear of it,” James replied. “I met him once or twice at Langford.”
Crane nodded his thanks. “I can assure you that he, and my grandfather and their partners, trained me quite thoroughly. If you would prefer to go elsewhere, however…”
“No, no.” James had no idea where else to go. “This is Miss Benson. A friend of mi…my family. She has recently come into a large inheritance. And she would like some advice.”
“Indeed.” Crane smiled and nodded at Kawena. “Inheritance in the form of lands or…?”
Kawena took out the bag of jewels and set it before him. She untied the drawstring so that he could see inside. The stones glittered, multicolored, in the lamplight.
“Ah.” Crane leaned forward. “That’s…extraordinary.”
“My father was a trader in the South Seas,” Kawena said. They had agreed on what and how much to tell Crane. “He took payment in gems, whenever he could. Or converted his profits into them.”
“I see.” Ian Crane reached out. “With your permission?” Kawena nodded, and he picked out a large ruby from the bag, holding it up to the light. It glowed a rich crimson. “I can’t judge the quality of these,” he continued. “They would need to be valued by an expert. I would suggest they be sent—”
“I won’t have them out of my hands,” Kawena interrupted.
James could understand why she wouldn’t wish to let the hoard out of her sight again. He couldn’t imagine just handing them over to a stranger when they had at last been found.
Ian Crane nodded. “That you take them to Rundell and Bridge, on Ludgate Hill near St. Paul’s. They are a very reputable company. Extremely knowledgeable.”
James had heard of them. He thought perhaps his father had purchased items there.
“Once you know their value, we can discuss what you wish to do.”
“What would you suggest?” Kawena asked.
Crane tapped the tips of his fingers together. It seemed to James like a gesture he’d inherited along with his family’s business. “I would recommend selling some proportion of the gems—the exact amount is something to discuss—and investing the proceeds in various ways. Jewels are not very liquid…” Noticing Kawena’s puzzled expression, he explained. “They can’t be used like money, all in a moment. They usually have to be converted into cash first, which is not always a simple matter.”
She nodded her understanding. James admired the perfect curve of her cheek, the glint of lamplight on her hair. He nearly lost himself in memories of it loose and flowing down her bare back.
“You might wish to own property or other types of assets,” Crane continued. “We can review an array of options.”
“Yes, I see.” Kawena nodded again. She glanced at James, and then away.
The change in their circumstances struck him then, as it had not, for some reason, before now. Everything was different. Kawena was no longer a waif tossed up by the ocean currents, dependent on his aid. She was a very rich woman. Her new status showed in the way Ian Crane spoke to her, to both of them. He was perfectly courteous to the fifth son of his noble employer, of course. But his attention was really concentrated on Kawena. James had become…an appendage.
The story was much the same when they reached Rundell and Bridge later that day. Crane had sent a clerk ahead to pave the way, and Kawena was received like minor royalty. They were taken to a private viewing room with a table covered in soft cloth and several comfortable chairs. They were offered refreshment and invited to sit and observe while three experts examined the jewels right before their eyes. Watching these men evaluate each gem through a lens that fitted into one eye, rather like a quizzing glass without a handle, James keenly felt his role as mere supernumerary. He might almost have been a footman, for all he was contributing. The thought rankled.
The tests were boring as well—minutes of peering at a stone, turning it this way and that to observe every angle, more minutes of note taking, and then the same all over again. Progress was painstakingly slow. And conversation was not encouraged, although other members of the firm peered
’round the door now and then, seemingly riveted by the evaluation process.
After what seemed to James like an eternity, they finished. Their verdict was favorable. The gems were of good quality. The fellow who’d been overseeing the whole congratulated Kawena and named a staggering sum as a value for the whole collection. It was not an amount they could cover themselves all at once, he intimated, but Rundell and Bridge would be happy to help her find buyers.
Kawena accepted the verdict with an almost regal calm. James watched, fascinated and strangely depressed, as she dealt with the fawning jewelers, obviously needing no help from him. She elected to sell one stone then and there, receiving a sheaf of banknotes in exchange, before tucking the others back in their cloth bag. The bowing and scraping as they departed was almost comical.
“You need a better place for those,” James said as they returned to the street. “A strongbox or something. Not to mention a troop of guards.” He was a bit stunned by the overall worth of the collection.
“No one knows what I am carrying,” Kawena replied.
“They do in there,” James said, indicating the jeweler’s display window. “And at Crane’s offices.” He spotted a hack and flagged it down.
“You said they were trustworthy people.”
“And so they are. But…people simply don’t stroll around town with a fortune in jewels in their pockets.”
“It isn’t proper?”
He didn’t understand the edge in her voice. Shouldn’t she be bouncing with glee? “It isn’t sensible,” he replied. If they were attacked by footpads and robbed, she’d probably blame it on him. James handed her into the cab and gave the driver the address.
“Now that I have money, I’d like to get some clothes,” Kawena said as they clattered through the streets toward Langford House. “So that I can return Ariel’s things.” She plucked at the fabric of the blue dress she wore. “And have something different to wear.”
“Can’t help you there,” James replied. His spirits were steadily sinking. The part of him that claimed Kawena for his own, that could barely keep his hands off her, was clamoring for action. She was drifting away from him like a vessel on a different tack, this inner voice insisted. He had to take her now, or she’d be lost to him. The urge was nearly irresistible. But not quite. His manners and training fought it to a grim standstill.
He had to get away and be on his own for a bit, to work off some of this simmering conflict. “I’ve never lived in London, you know. Still less purchased gowns and fripperies here.” He scowled at the passing scene. How he hated this filthy, clamorous city.
“Yes,” she replied.
James glanced at her. It was an odd response. He couldn’t read her expression. She simply nodded, and then said nothing more for the remainder of their journey.
* * *
Back in her bedchamber at Langford House, Kawena set the bag of jewels on the dressing table and sat gazing at it. Such a small thing, fitting easily into her two hands, and yet it had altered her world. The value the jeweler had named had seemed gigantic to her, but it was Lord James’s reaction, quickly hidden, that confirmed the significance. If a duke’s son thought she was rich, then she must actually be so. And she knew from her father, and from observations of her own in England, that this meant she would be viewed and treated quite differently.
She’d had one unsettling example already. Lord James had fled as soon as they climbed down from the hack at the front door. Over the course of the morning, he’d become more and more prickly. And then it had seemed as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. There’d been no sign of the lover in whose arms she’d found such joy just hours ago. He had been starkly and rigidly the society Englishman, the duke’s son. It had seemed to pain him to look at her.
Kawena sat back in her chair. She might have the funds to make purchases, and take action, but she felt more alone than ever. Lord James was the only person she really knew in the great intimidating mass of humanity that surrounded her, and he seemed to be…not angry. That wasn’t it. He was distant and…perhaps ashamed? But that didn’t seem right either. She couldn’t tell what he felt, just that it was uncomfortable. Remembering the way he had hustled her out of the house this morning, sneaking and creeping in fear of being caught by servants, she put her head in her hands.
It was illogical, and unfair. She’d recovered her fortune, done exactly as she’d set out to do. And here at the moment of triumph, something very like desolation threatened. It felt like a great wave curling over her head, about to break and smash her into the sand with bone-crushing force. Kawena crouched lower, braced for disaster.
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.