What the Duke Doesn't Know

by Jane Ashford

  “I must speak to you,” he said.

  The urgency of his tone, the fire in his eyes, shook her. Every fiber of her waited to see what he would say. And then he didn’t speak. He just stared at her, blue eyes burning into hers. How she’d missed him in the short time they’d been apart. She wanted to throw herself into his arms.

  “I met a man who says he’s your uncle.”

  “What?” Whatever she had expected, hoped, he might say, it was not this.

  “Younger brother of your father’s,” he added, then frowned. “Though we’ll make certain he really is, of course. Hadn’t thought of that. I was in a rush to warn you.”

  Surprise and disappointment warred in Kawena. “My father never mentioned a brother.”

  “Nor would I if it was this fellow. A creeping, grasping creature. And his wife’s worse. They’re looking for you.”

  So his visit had nothing to do with the two of them, Kawena thought. It was about some strangers. She felt no connection to the family her father had rejected. His parents had written him cruel, insulting letters.

  “Or, more to the point, they’re looking for your money.”

  He had no personal word for her at all.

  “Are you listening to me?” said Lord James. “This Benson fellow means to make trouble, touting himself as the head of your family. He intends to ‘guide’ you in managing your fortune. Whether you want him or not.”

  Kawena gathered her scattered thoughts. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Lord James shook his head. “There’ll be those who think a man should be in charge. I expect you’d prevail in the end, but he could tie you up in the courts.”

  “He has no right!”

  He shook his head. “There’s right, and then there’s the law, and sometimes they…don’t run quite together. If you’d left the country…” He cocked his head. “I rather thought you’d go home now you have what you came for.”

  “I have some plans to carry out first.” She would write to Ian Crane at once, Kawena concluded. The law was his business, after all. Surely he would know what to do.

  “What sort of plans?”

  She gazed up at the handsome face that haunted her dreams. He’d come to warn her, but not to see her, really. She saw no sign in his expression of the man who had held her so tenderly, kissed her until she nearly drowned in desire. Words sprang unbidden from her mouth. “How is Miss Grantham? Have you found your bride in her?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your ‘proper English bride.’ Your brother told me that you’ve been looking for one since you came home.”

  James started to ask which brother, and then realized it didn’t matter. There was always some brother or other, opening his mouth and complicating his life. Many a time he’d felt that he had far too many brothers! And never so much as now. “That was a joke.”

  “Ariel is finding her for you,” Kawena pointed out.

  By which she meant that the family wasn’t taking it as a joke. And he couldn’t deny he’d said such a damned stupid thing. He’d never really meant to act on it. Had he? He couldn’t remember now. So much had happened since he’d set foot on shore and thought of settling down. If he’d realized he’d meet a woman like Kawena… Who sounded distant and cold now, nothing like the creature of freedom and fire he’d held in his arms.

  “A sweet girl who understands all about propriety.”

  “Damn propriety.” Driven by frustration and regret and desire, James stepped forward. He needed the feel of her, the spicy scent she wore. She belonged in his arms. All his confusion would dissolve if he held her again.

  “Good afternoon,” said a melodious, cultured voice. “Lord James Gresham, isn’t it?”

  James barely heard. He reached for Kawena. There was nothing else in his world. And something tapped him—sharply—between the shoulder blades. The blow was enough to unbalance him slightly.

  “Lord James!” said the same voice.

  James turned and found himself facing a middle-aged woman with sandy hair and a decided air of fashion. She held a furled parasol with a sizable knob of jet on the end of the handle, clearly the source of the blow he’d sustained. In her face and stance he saw all the implacable guardians of virtue he’d ever encountered. Flora Jennings stood behind her, biting her lower lip as if fighting some strong emotion.

  “How do you do?” said the older woman, as if they stood in some dashed ballroom and she hadn’t just walloped him.

  “This is Mrs. Runyon,” said Kawena in an unsteady voice. “Who is being so kind as to chaperone us.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” the woman replied. “But I am acquainted with your mother.”

  In fact, she rather reminded him of the duchess, though there wasn’t the least resemblance. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something in the penetrating gaze.

  Kawena had come back down to earth with a thud. She had been about to kiss him. Proper young ladies did not kiss gentlemen in the street in England, no matter how beguiling they were, no matter how much they wished to. Confound it. She gathered her wits. “Thank you for your warning,” she said. “I will look into the…matter.”

  “Won’t you allow me to help?”

  “You must come and call on us one day,” Mrs. Runyon interrupted. “Thursday, perhaps. We are just getting settled in the house, you know.”

  As if he cared about that, as if it was a case of morning calls and advance appointments between him and Kawena. “Perhaps you should tell your…friend that we…” He closed his lips on the rest, fighting his anger. Because how did that sentence actually end? Tell her that they had spent the night in each other’s arms? Admit the ruin that he had been trying so hard to protect her from? James shook his head. For a gentleman, the only socially acceptable response was to bow and be off. Unless he could claim a close relation, that of a fiancé, say. Which was impossible.

  In that moment a great revelation came over him as an inner voice asked, “Why impossible?”

  Had there been reasons? He couldn’t remember any of them. When she’d walked out of his life, he’d felt like a ship in the doldrums. Nothing propelled him. Nothing seemed worth pursuing. And that was, he saw now, because he wanted only to pursue her. He just hadn’t known it then. Of course there were obstacles—Kawena’s views on the subject first and foremost. She’d refused him. But surely they could find a way…?

  “I appreciate your news,” said Kawena. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Runyon and Flora simply stood there, waiting for him to go.

  Impossible to speak of marriage here and now. Anyway, he had an idea that women liked a bit of romance and formality in their proposals. He’d been clumsy up to now. He hadn’t known what he was doing, what he really felt, in Portsmouth. To blurt out an offer in front of this duenna, who reminded him of his mother… He nearly shuddered. Also, he needed a plan for their future. Kawena had made some scathing comments about wives who sat at home and waited for their naval husbands to return from long missions. She would never be such a meek helpmate. Thank all the gods. He had to tempt her with an existence she would savor, to woo her with a special prospect of wedded bliss. What would that mean? He needed to think.

  Mind whirling with disconnected ideas, James bowed to the three women and turned away. He didn’t see how wistfully Kawena watched him go.

  Mrs. Runyon did. As she gathered her charges with one assured glance, she said, “You and I must have a talk, Miss Benson.”

  * * *

  James walked for quite a while, hoping physical exertion would bring him a measure of calm. He was still thoroughly distracted when he entered Alan’s house, however. He would have rushed directly up to his bedchamber, but the housemaid who let him in said, “They’re waiting for you in the garden parlor, my lord.”

  He didn’t want to chat with Alan and Ariel. But
they’d been very kind and welcoming, and his training did not allow him to be rude, any more than his affection for them would have.

  In the pleasant room that opened onto the lawn he found not only his hosts, but also Robert and, unbelievably, his parents. They all looked up from their comfortable seats when he entered, rendering James momentarily speechless. “What are you doing here?” he finally managed.

  “We’re on the way to a house party, and then on to Herefordshire for Sebastian’s wedding,” the duchess said, rightly taking the question as directed at the older members of the family. “Since we were passing so close to Oxford, we thought to stop for a short visit. Ariel has forgiven us for arriving on such short notice.”

  Alan’s wife waved this aside with a smile. “It was in the letter I told you about this morning,” she said to James.

  He vaguely recalled hearing her mention it. Hadn’t she said that Nathaniel had won a race? Which made no sense. That wasn’t the sort of thing his eldest brother did.

  They all smiled at him—Ariel encouraging, Robert sardonic, Alan inquiring, their father, the duke, with the lazy assurance that made him so formidable, Mama warmly affectionate. James was irresistibly reminded of a row of seabirds perched on a ship’s rigging, on the watch for any tasty tidbits that might turn up. Which was idiotic. Nothing could be less like a tattered gull than his father.

  Up until now, James had always been glad to see his parents. He was away from England for such long periods, it was a treat to visit with any members of his family. But just now his brain was full of chaotic thoughts about the future; he didn’t wish this to be noticed or to be questioned about it. Which they would. Particularly Mama.

  “We were just waiting for you before going in to dinner,” Ariel said. She rose, and the others followed suit.

  Seeing two of his brothers side by side with his parents, James noted, for the thousandth time, how all of them had the duke’s tall, lean frame and shades of the duchess’s auburn hair. Their faces were six variations on the theme of this union of a formidable pair of individuals. What did it take to sustain such a strong and happy bond for all these years? From what he’d seen of the world, it was a rare gift. He wondered if he had any hope of its like.

  The duchess took James’s arm as they went into the dining room. “Was there indeed a fortune in jewels in that dreadful figure you sent me? To think that it was just sitting in my parlor all this time.”

  James nodded acknowledgment.

  “I’d like to meet the young woman who came so far to find it,” his mother continued. “She sounds exceedingly interesting. Perhaps you will take me to call?”

  James looked down, meeting her brightly inquiring gaze. Sometimes Mama seemed almost preternaturally knowing. She said it was a relic of rearing six enterprising boys. There was a strong possibility that this was one of those times, and that she was probing for information about him, rather than Kawena. Or both, he supposed. The duchess had never given up watching out for her sons. Her concern was a constant, like bedrock. It was comforting, occasionally onerous, and impossible to evade, short of leaving the vicinity. As he had so often done, come to think of it.

  James felt the weight of that regard now, like a cross between a warm cloak on a frigid day and a debt of honor. It roused both a boy’s longing for help and a man’s insistence on independence. He would enjoy presenting Kawena to his parents, he realized. He was pretty sure they’d like her. The sticking point was how. He realized that he wanted to introduce her, without complications, as his future wife. He didn’t want to begin with long explanations and doubts. What if he told them his plans, and then they didn’t… He shied away from the thought. “Umm,” he said as he seated her at the table, “I hope your journey wasn’t difficult. Have you been to Brighton before?”

  “Yes, James,” replied his mother gently.

  Well, of course she had. His parents had been to Brighton innumerable times over the years. They were invited everywhere. They—he groped for a phrase—loomed over London society. James wondered how Robert managed to exist in their shadow. But perhaps he didn’t see it that way. He’d always appeared to be flourishing. Until lately, that is, when all the world seemed to be turning upside down.

  James took his seat. He glanced down the table to find his mother smiling at him in that ominous fashion she had—the one that meant you’d already told her a great deal, all unaware. Randolph called it a pretense of omniscience. Only in James’s experience it wasn’t. A pretense. He cleared his throat.

  Ariel presented her usual neat, delicious meal, along with a nice selection of wines chosen by Alan. The latter expertly carved a chicken at one end of the table, while his father produced perfect slices off a round of beef at the other. As they began to eat, the duke discussed plans for the autumn at Langford Abbey. The talk of guests coming for a shooting party and rota for the fall plowing made James a bit nostalgic.

  “Of course you must invite people, if you like,” the duchess said to Robert. “Does your friend Miss Jennings hunt?”

  It was blatant provocation.

  “No,” replied Robert in a constricted tone.

  A brief silence followed. This was one advantage of having five brothers, James thought. Sheer numbers offered many opportunities to shift attention away from his own, hopefully private, concerns.

  “Have you had any news about a posting?” Robert asked him.

  Five pairs of eyes turned in James’s direction. Diversionary tactics worked both ways. “No. There’s a great deal of competition for all the best ones.”

  “Well, we’re delighted to have you at home for a good long while,” said his mother.

  “If you would like me to put in a word?” his father ventured.

  James met the duke’s blue eyes, struck, as always, by the vitality and power his father exuded. He was far more compelling than any admiral James had met. It was something of a marvel that he’d never been oppressive. The restraint was partly his own and partly fostered by Mama, James had concluded. Not that his parents hadn’t made mistakes. James had his share of painful memories. But in every case, they’d made amends, even apologized to a child, which was most unusual as far as he could judge.

  The duke raised one eyebrow and smiled at him. Like the duchess, he could give the impression that he saw right through you. Or perhaps he simply did.

  James admired his father more than he could say. But somehow that was all the more reason to strike out on his own, to make his way without special favor. He knew he was lucky to have the love and support of such an illustrious family. Yet it could be a kind of burden, too. It intensified his desire to win their respect for his own efforts, not for things they procured.

  “James?” said the duke.

  “I’ll keep on plugging away myself for a while,” he replied. “But thank you.”

  His father nodded.

  “Tell me more about Miss Benson,” the duchess said. “A young woman who can make her way around the world on her own must be quite extraordinary.”

  “I think she is,” Ariel replied.

  “I’m sure James agrees,” added Robert.

  Trust a brother to know precisely what you didn’t wish to speak of before your parents. Once Kawena accepted his offer… Then he’d talk all they liked. Perhaps he’d take her down to Langford in a week or so. That was a happy thought. But he had to say something now. “I introduced her to Ian Crane,” he said. “To help her manage…things.” There was Kawena’s fortune, too. That was another complication to be considered.

  “How kind of you,” said his mother. She looked amused again.

  The strain was getting to James. “Did you know Crane’s father was dead?” he blurted out.

  “I did,” answered the duke gravely, but with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

  Well, of course he did. And it was well past time to sound like something other tha
n an idiot. James groped for a better diversion. “Any word from Sebastian?” he asked. “I haven’t heard how he’s getting on with the official visit. How’s the lovely fiancée?”

  “He’s been unusually silent,” acknowledged the duchess.

  “I haven’t had a letter in a week or so,” agreed Robert.

  “I hope it’s going well,” said Ariel.

  He hadn’t meant to throw Sebastian to the wolves. Well, not exactly. “We must keep an army of stationers in business, with all the letters this family writes,” James joked. “Imagine if we kept them all.”

  “But I do,” replied his mother. “Of course.”

  Of course she did.

  “I have a box for each of you boys,” she added fondly. “Every single letter.”

  James wondered how it would feel, when he was an old man, to read missives he’d written as a grubby schoolboy. Perhaps to a bevy of grandchildren. Rather good, actually, he concluded.

  “I understand Miss Benson is settled quite nearby,” his mother went on.

  If he ever got old, James amended. If this dinner ever ended.

  Eighteen

  “Sit here by me,” Mrs. Runyon said to Kawena that evening. They were alone in the main parlor of the house, a pleasant room that overlooked one of the Oxford colleges. The draperies were closed by this time, however. Flora had gone up to her bedchamber to write a letter to her mother. “And tell me about Lord James.”

  “About him?” With all the warnings Kawena had received about the spread of gossip, she didn’t know what answer to give.

  “You told me that he helped you search for your inheritance,” the older woman continued, “but I hadn’t quite… I suppose he is the one who plagues you with the word ‘proper’?”

  “How did you know?”

  “My dear, seeing the two of you together, much was…obvious.” Mrs. Runyon smiled. It was a reassuring smile, adding warmth to her somewhat commonplace features. “I am happy to help you, you know. Flora asked me to do so, and, also, I like you. But if I am to be of any use, it is important that I understand just what you want.”