by Jane Ashford
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?”
He gestured at his wife. “We are blessed with four children. But we have room in our home for a poor orphan waif. We only recently received word of my addle-headed brother’s death.”
“Miss Benson isn’t an orphan. She has a mother still.”
His visitor dismissed this fact with a gesture of extreme distaste.
James began to understand why Kawena’s father had settled on the other side of the world. “So you’re looking for Miss Benson in order to shelter her and support her?”
Ronald Benson’s pale eyes glinted, as if a curtain had been pulled back to reveal the fires of avarice, then swiftly dropped again. His wife’s hands spasmed, clawlike. James was suddenly certain that they’d heard about the hoard of jewels. It had been a mistake to take them to Rundell and Bridge, he concluded, however expert the valuation. They should have found a more private expert. And yet, a man who spent his life trading in gems would probably not be able to resist gossiping. The story was just too tempting. And this Benson looked like a merchant, the sort of person who would keep an ear to the ground for such news. “Is your wife mute?” James said, playing for time.
“I beg your pardon?”
“She hasn’t said a word, not so much as hello.”
“She does not wish to engage in conversation with a person such as you.”
James nearly asked why she’d come then. He did wish she’d stop drilling into him with her gaze. “So you intend to…?”
The caller drew himself up. “Aid my niece, of course. Young women require guidance…and protection.”
To get as much money out of her as he could, James translated. All of it, by choice. He started to point out that Kawena was of age and not in need of a guardian, then changed his mind. He didn’t want to tell these people anything they didn’t already know. Society had a tendency to side with older male relatives who tried to take over a young woman’s life. This Benson might stir up trouble in the law courts, even if his case was weak. And Chancery ate money like a ravenous heathen god.
James wondered what had happened to Kawena’s pistol. He’d forgotten to ask if she’d gotten it back. He’d wager she had, though, which was a comforting thought. “As I said, she isn’t here.”
“It is as I feared then. You have ruined and abandoned her.”
James wondered whether he’d heard that they’d stayed alone at Langford House. Another bad decision he’d made. And then there was the rest… “I did no such thing,” he replied. “But if I had, I would of course be happy to make it right.”
Benson didn’t like that. He’d never get his paws on Kawena’s fortune if James married her. No need to remember that she’d turned him down.
“You refuse to divulge her location?”
“Why would you think I know where she is?” That was weak.
“Oh, I think you know very well!”
James stepped closer, looming over the smaller man. “Are you calling me a liar?” Splendid, James, he thought, resort to bullying now.
Mrs. Benson pulled at her husband’s arm. The pair moved away, but he continued to bluster. “If I find that you have deceived me…”
James retreated into the patterns of his upbringing, suddenly every inch a duke’s son. “I fear I cannot spare any more time this morning,” he said. He walked over and pulled the bell, waiting in icy silence until the maid came to escort the visitors out.
“You have not heard the last of this, my lord,” Benson said as they went.
James ignored him with aristocratic thoroughness. Had the matter been less serious, he might have laughed. As it was, he waited a few minutes, to be certain the visitors were gone, then ran for his hat. On his way out, he encountered Ariel in the front hall.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
“I have to see Kawena,” he told her. “Miss Benson, that is.”
She looked gratified. “You should tell Fl—her that we had a letter from Robert this morning.” A smile danced in her eyes. “He’s coming back to Oxford, fancy that? Oh, and the oddest thing. He says Nathaniel won some sort of race in Brighton. He’s become quite the hero of the young blades. Your parents are on their…”
James didn’t even hear the last part. He was already out the door.
Seventeen
Of course James knew where Kawena had gone. The address of the house she’d taken was engraved on his memory, along with so many other things that he mustn’t think about. But did, all the time.
He hurried through the streets of Oxford under a gray sky; banked storm clouds on the eastern horizon promised rain later on this late August day. Fifteen minutes later he stood in front of a neat little house built of brick and stone. A scrap of garden added color at each side of the front door. He plied the brass knocker and waited impatiently until the panels were opened by a housemaid. “I’m here to see Miss Benson,” he said. He wished he could brush past the girl and go in. He wasn’t used to having barriers set between him and Kawena, and he didn’t like it.
“I’m sorry, sir, the ladies are not at home.”
James’s frustration mounted. “I have very imp
ortant news for her. You must tell her so. I can’t be fobbed off.”
“They’re all out shopping, sir.”
It sounded like the truth. Besides, he couldn’t think of a reason for Kawena to deny him. “I’ll come in and wait,” he replied.
The girl looked uneasy. “Mrs. Runyon said I wasn’t to admit anyone without asking her first, sir.”
“Mrs.…?” He didn’t recognize the name, but he had a dim memory of plans to engage an older woman to stay with Kawena and Flora, which he had approved of at the time. Now, it seemed just another annoyance placed between him and a woman who had been his constant companion for days at a time not so long ago. Seething with impatience, James pulled one of his cards from his pocket and handed it to the housemaid. “Please give that to Miss Benson and tell her that it is important I speak to her as soon as may be.”
“Yes, sir.” She took the card, dropped a tiny curtsy, and shut the door.
James turned away. But he couldn’t quite make himself walk meekly back to Alan’s. Although his mind told him there was plenty of time, that the encroaching Bensons wouldn’t find Kawena’s new abode all in a moment, his feelings rebelled. The thing was, he wanted to see her. She’d been part of his life for…not so very long as hours were counted, perhaps, but it seemed like forever. When she’d driven away, leaving him standing in the lane… Well, he hadn’t liked it, not the least little bit—particularly with the bewildering strain that had arisen between them. He needed to see her, to talk to her in the old, easy way.
Restless, irritated, James strode the surrounding streets, glancing into shop windows and down narrow crossways, tracing a rough circle around the house. And finally, he had a stroke of good fortune. A female figure came out of a doorway up ahead, and he recognized the lines of her figure, the burnished black of her hair. Striding toward Kawena, James was shaken by an odd combination of relief and excitement. There she was; he hadn’t lost her. She hadn’t disappeared from his life. Framed by the pavement, she was a vision of loveliness on a gray day. “Miss Benson!”
Kawena raised a hand to shield her eyes from the declining sun, and there was Lord James, hurrying toward her, outlined in light, his hair gleaming copper in the slanting rays of late afternoon. Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest as he came close.