What the Duke Doesn't Know

by Jane Ashford

  Flora blinked in surprise. “You do?”

  “My father would have liked that,” Kawena added. She supposed he would have. Who could tell? The question had never come up between them. But she did know that there was another, younger man who was going to be shown…a great deal.

  This point seemed to weigh with Flora.

  “And you know all about it. You could tell me how to…oh, make calls.” Kawena named an activity she’d heard of, but did not precisely understand.

  “You might choose someone who knows much better than I.”

  “No,” declared Kawena. “For although you understand English propriety, you are not…dedicated to it. So you won’t despise me when I make a mistake.”

  “Of course not!” Flora looked shocked at the idea.

  “You see.” Kawena nodded and smiled at her. “We might even have fun. Perhaps I shall learn English dancing after all.”

  Flora’s expression shifted from thoughtful to almost dreamy. “You know, now and then, I find myself wishing that I was not expected to be the serious bluestocking, upholding my father’s great legacy of scholarship.”

  Kawena nodded encouragingly. “I think your mother would like the same.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She told me she was sorry she had given up going into society,” answered Kawena. Somehow, it seemed important that she share this bit of conversation.

  “She did?” Flora looked startled.

  “I expect she would be glad for you to stay, if you were to tell her that I had asked for your help in…making my way. In the most proper manner.”

  Flora gave her a sharp glance. “It would be…interesting to see people other than my father’s old friends.” She made a quick gesture. “I have the greatest respect for them, of course. But they all see me as…one sort of person.”

  “When you can also be so much else,” Kawena suggested.

  Flora looked at her. “Perhaps. I don’t know.”

  “Of course you can. If you wish it. Why not?” She meant to demonstrate the truth of that herself.

  Flora laughed again. “You make me hopeful. And…actually”—she paused as if struck by a thought—“I might know just the woman to…lend us countenance.”

  Kawena frowned. “Doesn’t that mean face? How could anyone lend us her face?”

  “It’s another way of saying chaperone.”

  “The English have so many ways of saying the same thing. So very many words.”

  “It’s true.” Flora examined her. “You are charming as you are, you know. There’s no real need for you to learn our finicky English rules.”

  But there was. Someone had to be made sorry. She shook her head.

  “Well then…yes. Thank you for your kind invitation. As long as my mother agrees, I accept for…a while. How long were you thinking of staying in Oxford?”

  “Oh, not too long. A few weeks?” She didn’t have the patience for a much longer visit. Her business would be completed soon, and her future…would be what it would be.

  “Very well.” Flora smiled. “Then I shall write my mother a rather different letter.”

  “Splendid. I’m sure she will agree. I’ll set about the arrangements.”

  They exchanged a smile that was distinctly conspiratorial.

  * * *

  Kawena folded the last of her new clothing and added the garment to her new trunk. The servants arrived to take it downstairs as she was fastening the clasps. A few minutes more, and she would be off. With Ian Crane’s help and Flora’s shrewd advice, the details of setting up her own household had been easy. The difficulties came, rather, in the reactions of the few friends she had made in England.

  Ariel had objected the most strongly, professing herself offended at this desertion. Although Kawena could tell that she wasn’t actually angry, she’d also seen that her kind hostess was dismayed and would miss her daily company. Ariel’s husband seemed relieved at the prospect of fewer visitors, however, which altered the balance. Lord Robert seemed suspicious about the plan, almost as if it was a trick being played on him. Though why he should think any such thing she couldn’t imagine. Flora’s mother had been surprisingly easy to persuade. And Lord James… Well, Lord James had been just about as annoying as a man could be. He’d criticized every decision she made, acted as if she was incapable of rational thought. And then, he’d actually gone to tea at the home of the ginger-haired girl from the party.

  Kawena looked around the bedchamber one last time. She felt excited and a little melancholy and very determined. She’d recovered her inheritance; she had an exciting plan in motion under Ian Crane’s direction. If she could manage this third thing… Well, they would just see. There was no need to feel melancholy. None whatsoever.

  A hired carriage awaited her. Her trunk was being taken across town in a cart. Flora Jennings stood beside Ariel, her husband, and Lord James by the front door. “You really insist on going,” said Ariel.

  Kawena took her hands and pressed them warmly. “We will still see each other often.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” the other woman said.

  “Don’t hesitate to call on us if you need assistance,” said Lord Alan.

  “Thank you. And for your kind hospitality.”

  He nodded an acknowledgment.

  Kawena doubted that she would ever understand what went on in Lord Alan’s complicated mind. “Where is Lord Robert?” she asked, for Flora’s sake as much as anything.

  “Gone back to London,” Lord James answered in the clipped tone he had taken to using with her.

  Flora faltered briefly as she climbed into the carriage. Kawena stepped forward to distract attention from her.

  Lord James offered his hand to help her up. Like a proper Englishwoman, Kawena accepted the unnecessary aid. “I still can’t see why you’re setting up in Oxford,” he said, holding her back from the step. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  He’d said this before, and apparently would say it again. Kawena did not repeat the reasons she’d given. He obviously didn’t listen.

  “It seems an odd thing to do with all those jewels…”

  “…that you stole,” she teased.

  “I didn’t steal them!”

  “It may have been an accident,” Kawena said, “but the fact is, you did.” She stepped toward the open carriage door. “But you helped me find them again, and I am grateful.”

  “And the rest…did it mean nothing?” he said quietly.

  He could say this, and still pursue his proper English bride? “What do you think it meant?” she asked.

  Lord James gazed down at her, his fingers tight on her hand. His blue eyes burned into hers. Kawena’s skin prickled with memories of the feel of him, the taste of him. She longed to explore those delightful sensations all over again. Except…when it was done he would be…embarrassed? Ashamed? And then he would turn away from her to his proper Englishwoman. Her anger bloomed anew. She stepped up into the carriage and sat beside Flora, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Lord James reached through the open window as if he might touch her shoulder, then pulled his hand back as if burned. He moved away. The driver signaled the horses. The wheels turned, and the carriage pulled down the lane and away.

  * * *

  James remained outside even after the vehicle was long gone, galled beyond bearing at her departure, and his inability to do anything about it. There was no telling what sort of trouble Kawena would get into, off on her own with only Flora Jennings, of all people, to guide her. People would misunderstand things she said, did. They would judge her, snub her. Even riches, and the latitude wealth conferred, couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t be hurt. He’d tried to tell her. But she didn’t listen. She thought she knew all about the world. She didn’t! His hands closed into fists at his sides.

&nbs
p; If she met some other man that she…liked, would she offer herself as sweetly as she had to him? James was shaken by a storm of jealousy so fierce that he bared his teeth. This imaginary rival at once became the sort of blackguard who preyed on unwary females. James saw Kawena beguiled by a sneaking, insinuating rogue, used without tenderness, then despised and abandoned.

  James paced his brother’s lush summer garden, not seeing any of the nodding blooms. Even if Kawena escaped physical harm, the country was crawling with fortune hunters. Plausible, well-spoken fellows who flattered and fawned. She wouldn’t know how to spot them. What girl did? Did she realize that all her property would pass to her husband the moment she married? Of course not. She came from a place where the women owned the houses. Before she could blink an eye, she’d be bilked out of the fortune she’d come so far to recover.

  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.

  Sixteen

  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-famil
iar 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.”