What the Duke Doesn't Know

by Jane Ashford

  “Miss Benson,” said a man.

  In the next moment, she was surrounded by a circle of young gentlemen. She recognized some of them. They’d been among her admirers on an earlier occasion.

  “Quite an eye-opening look into the past, eh?” he said.

  She nodded. “Pardon me, but I must—”

  “Not so surprising to you perhaps?”

  “I don’t know why you would say so,” she replied in her best Mrs. Runyon voice.

  “We were just hearing…er, wondering,” said another of the group, “what sorts of…costumes do you wear when you’re at home?”

  They pinned her with speculative, lascivious gazes. Fleetingly, Kawena felt like a beached fish surrounded by sharp-beaked gulls. If only her pistol lay in her pocket, instead of a useless handkerchief. “My father preferred English dress,” she replied, biting off the words. It was perfectly true that he had never abandoned his native garb, even if it had nothing to do with her habits. Jettisoning politeness, she pushed between two of the young men and away. This crowd seemed much denser than those at other events she’d attended. She was beginning to feel trapped.

  “There she is,” declared an elderly voice.

  Kawena tried to turn away from it, but the circle of gentlemen was too near.

  A wizened old woman in lavender lace moved to block her way. “Do you really wear a bone though your nose?” she asked. Leaning on a cane, she peered up at Kawena’s nostrils as if trying to see how it would be done.

  This question brought Kawena up short. It could have only one source. She scanned the room and, sure enough, spotted her uncle and aunt in a far corner. They were small people, and had been obscured by the crowd until now. Watching the flow of chatterers, she worked out that the people with insulting questions had drifted toward her from that direction. Her dear relatives were feeding the emotions roused by the lecture with malicious stories about her.

  “Well, do you?” said the old woman. “Seems a rather disgusting idea to me. What sort of bone would you use? How do you clean it?”

  Kawena ignored her and her offended huff when the old lady stalked off. She shoved past a young woman in a flowered bonnet, reeled around an animated group, moving toward the Bensons. She was going to do whatever it took to stop them. English propriety could just—what was the phrase?—go to the devil. It wasn’t so much the idiotic questions, or even the way these people had started to treat her. It was their utter disrespect of her mother’s life, the distortion of half—more than half—of her heritage.

  “Yes, that’s the girl,” she heard someone murmur behind her. “Plenty of money, but I understand her parents were never really married. Her father just went through some tribal rigmarole to get what he wanted, eh?”

  Kawena whirled, and found that the source of this remark was the man who’d wanted her to kill turtles. His eyes glittered with scorn. Kawena’s hands curled into talons.

  Before she could lunge at him, Mrs. Runyon appeared at her side. “I’m afraid we have quite a…situation developing here,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure why.”

  “My uncle,” replied Kawena bitterly. She made no effort to lower her voice. “He is behind it.”

  “Well, it’s getting out of hand.”

  Kawena had never heard Mrs. Runyon sound so rattled.

  “Perhaps we should go,” her chaperone suggested.

  “And leave them here to say whatever they like about me?”

  The older woman frowned. “It’s just…difficult to counter such open malice without creating an even worse scene.”

  “I don’t care what kind of—”

  “Oh, I daresay she’s seen her share of sacrifices,” said the turtle man, louder, looking right at her. “Perhaps even presided over them. It’s what they do, isn’t it? These primitives.” He mouthed the last word with salacious contempt.

  “Do you hunt?” replied a deep, familiar voice behind her. “Have you watched the dogs tear a fox apart?”

  Kawena turned to find Lord James at her shoulder. He stood there like a guardian warrior.

  “I suppose the odd dog tears out a vixen’s heart,” Lord James added, holding the turtle man’s eyes.

  There were murmurs of distaste around them. “That’s quite different,” the other man said.

  “Is it? Have you been to a public hanging over at Newgate? Watched some poor sod flail and kick at the end of the rope?”

  Someone in the crowd made a shocked sound.

  The turtle man drew himself up in outrage. “You cannot compare the King’s justice to the capering of a bunch of savages.”

  “I can compare you to a damn fool,” Lord James said loudly. “I can compare the lot of you to a pack of jackals,” he added, even louder.

  Heads turned. People drifted closer to see what the fuss was about. The crowd around them thickened even more.

  “Miss Benson comes from a society kinder than ours,” Lord James continued. “They’re nothing like the people that fellow was talking about tonight. They don’t mock strangers like this, either. I know. I’ve been there.”

  “And brought back a tasty side piece just like her father had,” sneered the turtle man.

  Moving like lightning, Lord James lunged, his right fist drawing back, and delivered a roundhouse punch to the speaker’s jaw. The turtle man went down like a felled tree and lay on the wooden floor, stunned. Kawena nearly cheered.

  “Here now,” said a man on his other side. “This isn’t done. Quite improper to brawl in a—”

  “Propriety be damned!” Lord James shouted.

  This was the man she’d fallen in love with—strong and passionate, decisive, assured. Kawena wanted to throw herself into his arms. She would have, if the way hadn’t been blocked by all these stupid people. She saw Flora gazing at Lord James with an arrested expression, Mrs. Runyon looking at once appalled and reluctantly impressed. At a touch on her arm, Kawena turned, ready to hit out herself.

  “I think we should slip away before the riot starts,” said the Duke of Langford in her ear. “We are rather outnumbered.”

  Startled, and a bit overawed, Kawena let him take her arm. Lord James pulled his mother from behind the duke and linked her arm with Kawena’s free one. Then he grabbed his brother and muttered something.

  Shoulder to shoulder, the two tall noblemen forged a way through the press, trailed by the rest of their party. Flanked by a duke and a duchess, Kawena watched many pairs of eyes follow their progress to the doors. The murmur of comments had risen to a roar by the time they reached them.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Runyon when the group paused in a quadrangle well away from the lecture hall. She loosed a long breath. “That was…” She seemed at a loss for words.

  “It was inexcusable,” said Lord James. “What a lot of hidebound idiots.”

  The duke was gazing at him. Kawena wondered if he was in trouble with his aristocratic father. And Lord Alan had friends here who might have been—probably were—offended. Ariel was laughing, so perhaps it was all right.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Lord James went on, every inch the captain of the ship. “Mama, you will go out with Ka…Miss Benson tomorrow. Shopping or some such thing. Doesn’t matter. Just make certain you’re seen by all and sundry. I know you can stare down the gossips.”

  “Can I?” said the duchess. There was an odd catch in her voice. Not an objection or a doubt. Kawena couldn’t tell just what it was.

  Lord James faced her, resolute. “You know you can. And I’m asking you to do it. For me.”

  Kawena’s throat tightened with tenderness and anxiety. She loved him so much. But she didn’t want to be the reason for a breach in his family.

  “Then of course I shall,” replied the duchess with a warm smile.

  Lord James nodded, as if to a junior officer. “Papa, you will he
lp me see what can be done about Ronald Benson.”

  “Indeed, I will be happy to,” answered the duke. “How I despise such petty malice.”

  “I hope it won’t be a great deal of trouble,” Kawena put in. Although she adored seeing the man she loved so in command, she wasn’t certain this was the way to talk to a duke.

  “My dear, it will be a pleasure,” the latter replied. “I won’t have a…member of my family treated with disrespect.”

  He had such a genial, well-mannered air. Yet in that moment, Kawena decided that he was a dangerous man to cross. “I’m not a member of your family,” she murmured.

  “I suspect you soon—”

  Lord James…twitched. There was no other way to describe it.

  Smoothly, in the blink of an eye, the duke changed direction. “There’s Alan to think of, you see.”

  “Oh, yes.” Kawena felt oddly sad at the correction.

  “He lives here and has friends here. We must do all we can to keep up his reputation.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” said Lord Alan wryly. “I expect I shall manage. Every family has its bad apples, after all. I shall tell everyone that we sent James off to sea because he was mad.”

  “Piker,” said Lord James.

  “Ape,” said Lord Alan.

  They both laughed.

  A group of people passed by the edge of the garden. They must have been coming from the lecture, because there were whispers and discreet pointed fingers.

  “We should all go home,” said Mrs. Runyon. “And…recover.”

  To Kawena’s chagrin, the others agreed. And Lord James made no mention of accompanying the three of them. She’d been sure that he would. In fact, they parted with courteous bows and polite farewells, as if the wearisome veils of propriety had dropped over them once again.

  “A duke’s family is not at all what I imagined,” Flora said as they walked away. She sounded deeply thoughtful.

  “If you imagine that was typical, you will find you’re mistaken,” Mrs. Runyon replied.

  “But they didn’t seem bothered by the…upheavals,” Flora said.

  “The Langfords have always gone their own way,” their chaperone conceded. “And since they don’t give a snap of their fingers for most people’s opinion, they’ve usually gotten away with it.”

  “Have they?”

  Flora didn’t speak again on their short walk home. Kawena scarcely noticed. Her mind and heart were far too full.

  Twenty-three

  The duchess arrived at Kawena’s house the next day at midmorning. Ariel was with her, but not Lord James. Kawena tried not to show her disappointment. She had more than half expected that he would escort them on this expedition. She’d dreamed of him through the night.

  “Ariel has plotted out a plan of campaign for us,” the duchess said with a smile when they had greeted each other. “The best shops and a call or two.”

  “The dressmaker?” Mrs. Runyon asked.

  “Oh, I think so.”

  “But what are we to say?” wondered Kawena. “Are we to explain?”

  “Nothing,” declared her chaperone, who had regained all of her assurance overnight. “This morning is not about explanations or, still less, excuses. It is a…demonstration, for any who might need such a thing, that you are accepted at the highest levels of society.” She offered the duchess a respectful nod. It was returned with a smile. “And that you have exquisite manners, of course, and a high degree of polish.”

  “Do I?” said Kawena.

  Flora laughed.

  “Of course you do,” said Ariel.

  Mrs. Runyon ran her eye over the younger members of their party. “The duchess and I will manage the conversations.”

  “You mean I should show my exquisite manners by keeping quiet,” Kawena concluded.

  “Demure would be an effective strategy after last night.”

  “If people ask me the same sorts of offensive questions, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay silent.”

  “Trust us to put a stop to those,” said the duchess.

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Runyon agreed. “You may exhibit wide-eyed astonishment. You too, Flora.”

  “Not even a little outrage?” replied the latter wryly.

  Their chaperone shook her head. “The ideas are too ridiculous to inspire anything but amazement.”

  “Ariel might look pitying at their provincial ignorance,” suggested the duchess.

  Mrs. Runyon nodded approvingly. “We will drop a few hints about bad feeling between your father and your uncle.”

  “Who has found it expedient to return to London,” said the duchess. “It seems his business required attention.”

  Kawena remembered her realization that the duke was a dangerous man. “I wouldn’t want my uncle ruined or…anything of that nature. I just want him to leave me alone.”

  “That is the idea,” answered the duchess. She looked around the group. “Are we ready to begin?”

  Bonnet strings were tied. Gloves were donned. The five ladies left the house and walked along the street toward their first objective.

  “You don’t think this is all…beneath you?” Flora asked the duchess as they went.

  Kawena had an odd sense that the two older women grew suddenly more alert, though there was nothing in their faces or demeanor to explain it.

  “A diminishment of my consequence, you mean?”

  “Well…yes.” Flora looked away, then back again. “You’re a leading light of the haut ton and…” She hesitated, then went on as if compelled, talking fast. “Kawena is my friend, and I like and admire her, but as far as society is concerned, she’s…nobody. I know Mama would expect you to be angry that Lord James…” She flushed and turned away again. “Never mind.”

  “Society is composed of individuals, you know.” The duchess acknowledged Flora’s discomfort by speaking gently. “With different opinions.”

  “Agatha never understood that,” commented Mrs. Runyon.

  “Mama received the cut direct from one of her oldest friends after she married,” snapped Flora, eyes flashing with indignation. Kawena was glad to see her spirits restored.

  “Lydia Fotheringay”—their chaperone waved the name aside—“who has the brains of a pebble and the heart of a rabid stoat.”

  “And the morals of a Covent Garden abbess,” commented the duchess.

  Ariel choked on a laugh. Flora’s mouth hung a little open. Kawena simply watched them all in fascination. There was something quite reassuring about this exchange, though she didn’t understand every detail.

  “I asked your parents, and you, to all my parties, and down to Langford every summer,” the duchess pointed out.

  “Mama thought it was pity,” Flora replied.

  “Well, it wasn’t,” the duchess said with some asperity. “I’ve always been very fond of Agatha. And she ought to know it.”

  Flora frowned at the cobbles under their feet like a person with a great deal to ponder.

  Kawena watched Mrs. Runyon and the duchess exchange a satisfied look.

  Ariel looked pleased as well. “Here is our first stop,” she said, indicating a house just ahead.

  * * *

  As the ladies made the rounds of shops and calls, James set off on a different errand. He was absolutely determined that the next time he asked Kawena to be his wife, she would agree. Joyfully. Ardently. He didn’t think he could bear another…equivocation. Or whatever it was he’d gotten the last time. He needed a plan before he plunged in again, and the best plans were based on adequate intelligence. So he’d decided to seek advice from somebody who’d successfully passed through this ordeal and come out happily on the other side.

  He found his brother Alan in his customary daytime haunt, his laboratory. The large, high-ceilinged room was filled with arcane e
quipment, some of which was buzzing in quite an ominous way. Two young assistants tended a twisted maze of metal tubes at the other end of the space as if it was a living creature. They were well out of earshot, and didn’t even look up when James came in.

  Alan waved and came over to greet him. “Need to speak to you,” James said.

  “Is something wrong? Have you knocked out a college dean’s teeth or some such thing?”

  “That fellow deserved it, after what he said!” James exclaimed. “And nothing’s wrong, no. Not as such.”

  Alan simply waited, one eyebrow cocked in inquiry.

  When it came down to it, it was difficult to begin. Despite the familial relationship, after so many years away, James scarcely knew his youngest brother. The silence stretched a little longer. Either he was going to speak or he wasn’t. “I intend to ask Miss Benson to be my wife,” he said finally.

  “Really? You surprise me.”

  “I do?”

  “No, James,” replied Alan gently.

  “Then why say…?” He sighed. “You’re rather like Papa, aren’t you?”

  “I would be delighted to think so.”

  “The thing I’m trying to ask,” said James, mildly aggrieved, “is: how did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get Ariel to marry you. I mean, obviously she did. And you seem happy as a pair of doves.”

  “You just ask,” said Alan.

  “I did, but it…didn’t go well. You got it right the first time. What did you say?”

  Alan looked self-conscious. “Technically, it wasn’t the first time.”

  “Technically,” James repeated. He looked around at the mass of apparatus surrounding them. Was this some scientific term? “What did you say the time it worked?”

  “I’m not really certain I should share that.”

  “I’m coming to you as a brother in need of a bit of help,” James declared.

  Alan relented. “As I recall, we were having an argument about honor and intellect.”

  “An argument?” That didn’t sound promising.