What the Duke Doesn't Know

by Jane Ashford

  “It seems my newfound relatives are being so kind as to find me a husband,” she replied.

  James stopped moving, causing a lady behind them to bump into Kawena. “What?”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said to the stranger, stepping back to allow her to pass.

  James pulled her into the refreshment room, then over into a corner where the buzz of conversation was not quite so deafening.

  “A proper English husband,” Kawena said then. She gazed up at him.

  Staring into those mesmerizing dark eyes, he couldn’t seem to find words. The roar of conversation receded to a muted buzz. He was aware only of her, how he ached for her. He needed to speak. Now was his chance.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Flora Jennings, popping up at Kawena’s side like a cannon ball through the rigging.

  “Yes, you do,” answered his brother Robert, an equally unwelcome arrival at his own shoulder.

  “I assure you I do not.” Flora planted herself next to Kawena with the air of a female who did not intend to be dislodged. “Did you enjoy the music?” she asked her.

  “Couldn’t have,” said James. “That load of screeching and wailing?”

  “Santini is being hailed as the leading soprano of our age,” said Robert. He sounded almost as irritated as James felt.

  “By a raft of simpering toadies,” James retorted.

  “Is there lemonade?” said Kawena. “You mentioned lemonade.”

  The other three looked at him. James was seized by a longing for the heaving deck of his warship. There, he could simply order everyone away. He could shout, if he wanted to—which he vehemently did. He could rake the…deserving over the coals. Here in this blasted chattering hell, he could only…go and fetch the thrice-damned lemonade. Fuming, he did so.

  When he came back, Alan and Ariel had joined the party. James handed off three glasses to the ladies, and kept the fourth for himself, wishing it was something far stronger.

  “None for me?” said Robert. “Or Alan?”

  “Get your own,” James growled.

  “Are we ten years old again?” murmured Alan in mild reproof.

  “More like five,” muttered Robert.

  James wished they were. If they were children again, he could punch one of his brothers—Robert, by choice—without disastrous consequences.

  Across the room, the duke and duchess observed their offspring, and the three lovely young ladies beside them. “You’re right, my dear,” said the duke. “James is clearly laboring under some…cloud.”

  “And Robert,” she replied in a low voice.

  “Not quite so much.”

  “Nearly,” she answered. “Ah, those are the Bensons.” She indicated the couple with a subtle gesture.

  The duke examined the somberly clad pair. “These are the ogres I am expected to quash? Hardly up to my weight, do you think?”

  “He’s more devious than he looks.”

  “He would have to be. You really think it necessary that I intervene? James doesn’t like it, you know.”

  “That’s true.” The duchess watched the group of young people a while longer. “You’re right. Let’s wait and see. The boys may manage things for themselves.”

  Her husband returned an admiring look.

  * * *

  James learned that the second part of the evening was to feature a string quartet. Knowing this would be more than a man could bear, and aware that the Bensons and this Haskins fellow were lurking, ready to pounce, he abandoned good manners and pulled Kawena away from the group. Ignoring Flora’s frown and Ariel’s raised brows, he hustled her over to one of the long windows, where some draperies offered a thin illusion of privacy. “I need to speak to you,” he declared. “This Haskins fellow…” Wait, he hadn’t meant to begin with that.

  “Do you think perhaps that is what Papa would have wanted for me?” Kawena replied. “A proper English husband like Mr. Haskins?”

  James felt as if all his blood rushed to his head. “It’s the last thing he would have wanted!”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because…” He couldn’t race off and throttle this Haskins, James told himself. Besides, Kawena was the one who mattered. “Your father left England, and never looked back, for his whole life.”

  “True,” said Kawena, as if she was really considering his argument.

  “He chose a wife who had nothing English about her.”

  “That is also true.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t give a hang for propriety.”

  Kawena fixed him with a steady, unreadable gaze. “He kept a watch over me, and didn’t let me go to the port when ships were in,” she pointed out.

  James silently applauded her father. Sailors on shore leave were a randy lot.

  “So, you don’t think I should marry a proper Englishman?” she added.

  Too late, James saw the trap he’d fallen into. He’d been so bent on routing an unexpected rival that he’d paid no heed to his own case.

  “If you want a husband, take me,” he blurted out.

  “What?”

  “I…that is…I’ve been trying to call on you ever since… I wished to ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife.” He muttered it, not wanting to alert the people all around them. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to make his offer. But he couldn’t wait any longer for an opportunity, blast it.

  “What?” said Kawena again.

  She had to have heard him. “I’m as proper an English husband as you’ll find.” It came out sounding inane, and not at all what he meant.

  In a single flash, Kawena remembered sitting at her mother’s feet and asking for the story of how her parents met. She’d heard it before, many times, but she never tired of the tale. Her mother always indulged her, recounting how her father had come down off his ship, looking to buy fresh food and take on water. She’d been among the group who greeted him, and when their eyes met, it was as if they recognized each other, instantly familiar strangers. Her mother had not believed in it, though. She had scoffed inside and turned away. Not until Kawena’s father had let his ship sail on without him, not until he had learned the words in her language, not until he had knelt at her feet and declared that he could not live without her had she admitted the reality of that bond.

  Kawena raised her chin as she imagined what her mother would have done if, instead, he’d said, “If you want a husband, take me.” She wouldn’t have bothered to listen to anything else from such a man. It had to be the most offhand, infuriating offer any woman had ever received. Had he even noticed her efforts to show him she could be as proper as any Englishwoman? Had he complimented her on her gown, or her oh-so-correct demeanor? She felt like hitting him. He’d ruined everything.

  Anthony Haskins came up to them before she could muster a reply. “Excuse me, Miss Benson, your uncle wondered if you would care to go in for the next part of the concert.” He looked from Kawena to Lord James.

  It would have taken a dolt not to sense the tension between them, Kawena thought. And he didn’t seem to be a dolt.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Lord James said. He shouldered rudely forward and glowered at Haskins.

  “I don’t believe you asked a question,” Kawena replied acidly. “Take me” was not a question. Not at all. It was a…an idiocy.

  “It was…the question was…implied.” His expression said he knew how foolish this sounded.

  “No,” said Kawena. She took Haskins’s offered arm and turned away.

  “No, it wasn’t a question? Or, no, you won’t? Or, no, you haven’t answered?” Lord James looked massively frustrated at his own jumbled words.

  It seemed there was nothing she could do but leave him standing there. She didn’t want to. Every part of her yearned toward him, except the bit t
hat insisted she deserved more than, “Take me.” And so she went, allowing Haskins to lead her away.

  Lord James followed, like a looming bank of storm clouds. He proceeded to take up a post by the wall, leaning against it and brooding over the remaining debacle of the evening. His sullen presence quite spoiled Kawena’s enjoyment of the admiration she received from a variety of other young men. Her only consolation was that the Bensons soon grew as glum as the duke’s son. They watched her like carrion birds whose anticipated meal was being stolen away. She would have laughed at their transparency had she been less irritated.

  For his part, James was far beyond irritation. Indeed, he was feeling nostalgic for his leaps onto the decks of French fighting ships. It would be so satisfying, right now, to pull out a cutlass and slash something. Of course he wouldn’t kill anyone, here in an Oxford concert hall, but it would be a true pleasure to watch them scatter before his blade, bleating.

  “A dashed fine-looking girl,” said a voice on his left.

  Turning, James discovered a friend of Robert’s, gazing admiringly at Kawena. He’d met the man some time or other. He couldn’t recall his name.

  “They say you’re acquainted with her?”

  “They.” That was the target he’d like to impale—the throng of tattling tongues that constituted “they.” This mess was their fault.

  The newcomer gave him a sidelong look. “Thought you might introduce me.”

  Across the room, Kawena laughed at some idiot’s remark. James ground his teeth.

  “Not your type?” said his unwanted companion, misinterpreting his expression. “Even for a fortune?”

  He chuckled, and James turned on him with murder in his eyes.

  The fellow took two steps back. “What the devil?”

  “Find someone else to make your introductions,” James growled. He knew it was rude, but he really couldn’t help it. And it was far milder than what he really wanted to say.

  Muttering about some people’s execrable manners, the fellow backed away. The music was starting up again. James couldn’t bear any more. He walked out.

  Twenty

  Morning did nothing to improve James’s state of mind. For the first time in his life, the presence of family members grated on him unendurably. He left Alan’s house and took to pacing the streets of Oxford once again, offending several distant acquaintances by failing to notice them as he passed. When someone called his name as he turned off High Street, he nearly didn’t stop. But that was going too far, even in his current, desperately foul mood. He turned to acknowledge the hail, and then was very glad he’d done so. Ian Crane stood near the door of an inn, a hand raised in greeting. “Good day,” the man said when James walked over.

  He nodded a hello. “Crane. Have you come up to see Miss Benson?”

  “Yes, I’ve just arrived from London. I brought some documents for her signature.”

  “Because of her uncle?” James felt relieved. Crane would know ways of keeping grasping fingers off Kawena’s money.

  “Her…? No.” The man of business frowned. “Miss Benson never mentioned an uncle.”

  “He just turned up. When word of her fortune started to spread. Says he’s her father’s brother. Wanting to ‘guide’ her.”

  “Ah.” Crane’s expression showed that he understood the implications of that. “I’ll mention it when we discuss the other business.”

  Which was what? James wanted to ask. Something to do with the jewels, most likely. Perhaps she was converting them into cash, or investments. She hadn’t bothered to confide in him, even though he’d helped her find out how it was to be done. “All going well with that then?” he tried.

  “Indeed. The purchase has gone through, after a good deal of back and forth, and the work Miss Benson ordered is in train.”

  What purchase? Crane seemed to take it for granted that he knew Kawena’s plans. Wanting to preserve that illusion, he said only, “That’s good.”

  Crane nodded. “It seems it can be done as quickly as she wished. I wasn’t sure.”

  “You, ah, need…skilled workers for that, I suppose.”

  “The best, and I have been making inquiries about hiring…” Crane hesitated. His expression suggested that he’d realized it wasn’t appropriate to discuss his client’s affairs with another person, in the open street.

  “Hiring…more workers,” James assayed.

  It was the wrong choice. The other man frowned, then put on a bland face. “Miss Benson can tell you all about that,” he said. He bowed. “Very pleasant to see you, my lord.”

  Crane went into the inn, leaving James puzzling over the sparse information he’d gleaned. Kawena had bought something that required work. A house? Was she making repairs on a new home? And then hiring…what, staff? He’d thought she was against settling in England. Did this have to do with her daft new idea of finding a proper English husband? James clenched his fists at his sides. He would go and see her later on, once Crane was out of the way, and thrash this out. And by God, they would let him in.

  Until then, sitting still was out of the question. He craved action like a parched man longs for water. Wishing there was a boxing parlor like Jackson’s in Oxford, James walked on. As morning passed into afternoon, his stomach protested its emptiness. James was debating whether to head back to Alan’s and forage for food or stop at an inn, when he saw Robert coming out of a taproom up ahead.

  His fashionable brother looked uncharacteristically disheveled. His neckcloth was slightly twisted. The bottom button of his waistcoat was undone. Concerned, James hurried to catch up to him.

  The face Robert turned toward him was fuzzily morose. “James,” he said. “Hullo.” He had a bottle of brandy under his arm, and he’d clearly sampled it after purchasing.

  “Bit early for that, isn’t it?” James asked.

  “It’s what I’m reduced to,” Robert replied. He threw out his free arm. “You see before you the ruin of a once-contented man.”

  “Do I?” James was sympathetic, but also a bit amused.

  His brother pulled out the bottle and started to uncork it. “Let’s drink to understanding women, a fool’s dream.”

  James put a hand over his. “No, Robert, we are not going to swig brandy from a bottle in the open street.”

  Robert stared at him. He looked around as if just now realizing where he was, and what he’d proposed. “Oh God.” He rubbed his eyes, let out a sigh, and handed the bottle to James. “That tears it. I give up. I can’t stand any more. I’m leaving.”

  “Back to London again?”

  “No! I’m done kicking up my heels in town on the off chance… I never spend the summer in town. Nobody spends the summer in town! I’m going…” He seemed to grope for an idea. “I’m going to a house party in Derbyshire.”

  “Just a random one?”

  “No. I’m invited, of course. Killdene Priory. Very exclusive guest list. I’m invited all sorts of places, you know. Lots of people eager to see me. And to hear what I have to say as well! Some people value my opinions. Quite a bit, actually.”

  “Of course they do,” replied James.

  “Don’t humor me,” Robert snapped. His fuzziness seemed to be dissipating rapidly. “It’s not as if your case is any better.”

  This was true enough to be sobering. James frowned. At the same moment, his stomach growled loudly.

  Robert laughed. “That brings us nicely down to earth, doesn’t it? Shall we feed ourselves, and maybe just one tot of brandy after?”

  This seemed like a capital idea. They walked along, in charity with each other again, until they found a promising inn. Inside, they ordered a substantial spread, deciding on mugs of ale rather than the brandy. Robert raised his in a toast. “Here’s to brothers. No women among us, eh?” He blinked. “Might have been easier if we’d had a few sisters to learn from.”
<
br />   James took a healthy swallow. “What can’t you stand?” he asked, recalling Robert’s earlier comment.

  Robert looked at him. There seemed to be a good deal of pain in his blue eyes, which shocked James. He thought of Robert as up to anything, unflappable. He couldn’t remember a time when his next-oldest brother had looked so forlorn.

  “Sniping,” said Robert. “Lack of faith. Indifference? Who can say?”

  “Miss Jennings?”

  His brother smiled thinly. “Obvious. The one thing I vowed never to be, and my stolid naval brother sees right through me. You see what she’s reduced me to?” He drank. “Miss Jennings indeed. But I’ve had enough.” He waved a hand. “Strike the colors, boys. I’m giving up.”

  “What did she do this time?” James inquired. He drank a bit more as well.

  “Nothing. That’s the point, isn’t it? No matter what I try, she turns away.” He cleared his throat, swallowed, sipped from his mug. “A man needs to know when he’s beaten. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

  James felt a chill. Sympathy for Robert’s plight combined with worry over his own. Kawena had turned away from him last night. She’d treated his offer of marriage as…an annoyance. That was the only word he could find for the look she’d given him. A woman wasn’t supposed to be angry when you asked for her hand. Overjoyed, quietly pleased, satisfied. Those were things a man might hope for. Regretful, embarrassed, kindly negative. That should be the bad side. Where did anger come into it? It made no sense.

  The brothers drank together in silence for a time.

  “What the devil’s happening to us?” Robert said then. “Nathaniel’s all right. His marriage seems to have turned out well, and I’m dashed glad of it. Alan and Ariel, regular turtledoves there. Couldn’t ask for better. Maybe the odds are against the rest of us, eh? Stands to reason? A third of us manage happy matches. A third squeak by with tolerable results. And a third make a complete mull of it. But which are we? Sebastian’s run mad. Randolph seems to have sunk into a terminal sulk.”

  “What?” James wasn’t certain he heard right. He’d been brooding a bit. “What do you mean, Sebastian’s run mad?”