What the Duke Doesn't Know

by Jane Ashford

  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 h
uge, 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.

  She stopped at the recommended dressmaker’s on the way back, and tried on several attractive gowns. The woman and her assistant pinned and prodded and agreed to make the necessary alterations and deliver the dresses the next afternoon. Kawena decided that would do; there must be places to buy undergarments and other things in Oxford.

  In the cab back to Langford House, and for a long time after she had returned, Kawena sat in her bedchamber and thought about everything that had happened since she’d left home. She reviewed things she’d heard and facts she’d learned, certain items standing out in her mind. She thought over the course of her life so far, her father’s teachings, and dreams and ambitions she’d had. She decided that she would return to Ian Crane’s office by herself and have a long talk with him. It was time now to make a plan.

  Thirteen

  James ducked, lunged, and smashed his left fist into his opponent’s ribs. The man let out an “Oof” and danced backward in the boxing ring. James followed, dodging a roundhouse right by a hair. He took a sharp blow to his bare shoulder, and then caught his sparring partner glancingly on the jaw. They moved apart again, fists upraised, sweat beading on their skins. Though not previously acquainted, they were well matched, paired up by the retired champion who ruled Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon as a courteous despot.

  Movement, action, had always been the best way for James to deal with upsets or confusion or the floods of excess energy that sometimes plagued him. Physical exertion cleared his mind as nothing else could do. He’d learned to box with his brothers as a youth, and it was good to see that his skills hadn’t been lost. Good, too, that this civilized bout was nothing like the hand-to-hand combat of the war. It called up no bad memories. His opponent moved back in with a flurry of jabs. James dodged and responded, and they danced apart again.

  Kawena had gone out somewhere first thing this morning, without telling anybody what she was up to. At this moment, he had no notion where she was, which both annoyed and concerned him. But to be with her was to want what he couldn’t have. His lapse in his parents’ house was not to be repeated. His mind still shied away from the fact of it.

  And in any case, Kawena didn’t seem to need or want his guidance now that she’d gotten what she wanted, now that she was rich. She’d sloughed him off like a tattered sail. Probably she still blamed him for the near loss of her blasted jewels. How could it be his fault that some careless boy had sold him the carving? Or that her father had hidden his fortune in such a blasted silly place? Or that it was the sort of piece that one would never mention to a young lady?

  Hadn’t he gone out of his way to help her search? Traveling up and down the country when he’d far rather have been doing something else? He told himself that he was glad the task was over, while uneasily aware that this was not the whole truth. Actually, he was melancholy and resentful and frustrated all at the same time. And so here he was exchanging blows with a stranger.

  His attention diverted, James sustained a hard knock to the side of his head. His ears rang, and he went down on one knee under the impact. Jackson at once climbed into the ring, saying, “That’s enough, gentlemen.” He moved between them, although James’s opponent had already stepped back. “Some good cross and jostle work,” the trainer added. He put a hand on James’s shoulder. “All right, then?”

  James nodded, rising to his feet. Following his sparring partner out of the ring to leave room for another pair to begin, he began unwrapping the strips of cloth protecting his fists. Fingers free, he shook hands with the other man, then went to wash off the sweat.

  James returned to Langford House late in the afternoon, having stopped at an inn for bread and cheese and a tankard of ale. He was tired of pick-up meals, too, and well aware that Mrs. Hastings was even more tired of providing them. She’d hinted more than once that her small staff was not equipped for sustained family visits. He would inform Kawena that they were going back to Oxford, no matter what she thought she was doing. As soon as he could find her, that is.

  James realized that he was hanging about his mother’s drawing room, listening for the sound of the front door like a mooncalf. With a savage gesture, he retreated to his bedchamber. But there was nothing to do there except recall the delicious, forbidden moments when Kawena had shared this bed with him—her eager lips, the tumble of her beautiful hair, the soft cries she made…

  James sprang up and paced the floor, seething with desire, a growing irritation over her absence, and fear that something had happened to her. By the time he finally heard a carriage pulling up in front of the house, well after five o’clock, he was primed for an explosion.

  He met her on the stairway landing above the entry hall. He started to ask where the devil she’d been, but when she looked up at him, he was momentarily silenced by the beauty of her face, the depths of her dark eyes.

  “Lord James,” she said with a nod. “I think it is time we returned to Oxford.”

  Those precise words died on his tongue. James endured a further surge of annoyance at the fact that she’d said it first. “Oh, have you taken charge of arrangements now?” he replied unreasonably.

  Kawena looked startled. “It is simply the sensible thing to do.”

  “Are you saying I’m not sensible?” He hadn’t been the one who stored a fortune in jewels in a lewd carving and then left it lying about where anyone might walk off with it. “And where have you been? You can’t go wandering about the streets of London on your own.”

  “I wasn’t wandering.”

  “Without a word. Anything might have happened to you. It’s one thing if you wish to discard me like a used handkerchief now that you have recovered your fortune, but—”

  “Discard? What are you talking about?”

  He stepped closer to her. “But you’ll have to take more care how you behave. You’ll attract all sorts of attention now you’re an heiress. You have to act like a young lady instead of a hoyden.”

  She met his eyes squarely—dark brown burning into blue. “A what?” She hadn’t heard this word before. It had an odd sound. She was certain it was offensive.

  “A wild, uncivilized creature, who flouts the rules of society,” he replied.

  They faced off, glaring, hurt and attraction simmering in their locked gazes. The air of the stairwell seemed to thicken around Kawena, making it harder to breathe.

  It wasn’t clear who moved first, but in the next instant they were in each other’s arms, and in a kiss that made her head spin. Resentment and confusion went up like tinder in a bonfire of arousal.

  Kawena’s back was pressed against the wall. She wound herself around him, diving into the same delightful sensations she felt whenever he held her. His arms drew her closer still; his lips intoxicated her; she vibrated with desire. This was how they were meant to be, not sniping or treading warily around incomprehensible pitfalls. She gave herself up to the delight of it, responding in every way she knew to his ardor.

  Lord James tore himself away. He p
ushed back from the wall, evaded her beseeching hands, and retreated to the other side of the landing. “No. No! You’re not going to lure me into this again in my mother’s house,” he said breathlessly. He looked around as if checking for prying eyes and backed farther away from her.

  “Lure you? I don’t believe there was any luring required.” Furious, frustrated, Kawena dug her nails into the wallpaper.

  “We can’t act like cats in heat in my family’s home.”

  Kawena knew nothing of cats, but she understood an insult when she heard one. This was what he thought of her then. “Cats are quite improper, I suppose.”

  He ignored her, looking over the stair rail, checking whether the footman was at his post, she imagined.

  “I am so very tired of that word.”

  Lord James glanced up. “Speak more quietly. Or come into the drawing room where—”

  “No one will hear,” Kawena finished for him. “Because no one in your mother’s house must know that you would kiss me.” Deeply wounded, as well as angry, she put a foot on the upper stair. “We should leave as soon as possible. Miss Jennings wishes to come along with us to Oxford.”

  “Flora Jennings?”

  “My friend, Miss Jennings.” She said it in ringing tones that surely reached the lower floor. “The one who had the trouble. The one I had to go and see last night. She requires…more assistance.”

  “All right!”

  Lord James looked hunted, which was somewhat gratifying. It helped Kawena hang on to the tatters of her pride as she started up the steps toward her bedchamber.

  “I’m just not sure Alan and Ariel have room for her,” he said as a parting shot.

  Kawena hesitated between one step and the next. She didn’t know if Flora meant to stay at Lord Alan’s house. She had no right to extend such an invitation. Was she even welcome there herself, after all that had happened on this journey? Did she wish to continue her association with Lord James’s family? Her mind a mass of confusion, she decided that it didn’t matter. She could get rooms at an inn. Or elsewhere. She could afford whatever she wanted now. The thought was less comforting than she’d imagined it would be when she had only two coins in her pockets. “You object to having her in the carriage?” she replied haughtily. “I will be happy to pay for the—”