What the Duke Doesn't Know (20 page)

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 than 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.

“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.”

Kawena tried to wrestle her wants into one coherent, socially acceptable sentence. So many of her ideas seemed to contradict each other.

“You said you weren't looking for a husband,” the older woman prompted.

“Not as they do it here!” Kawena said. “As if it was some sort of…trading enterprise, where the…the goods must be one certain type.”

“The goods. Indeed.” Mrs. Runyon looked amused.

“Lord James is searching for a ‘proper English bride,'” Kawena blurted out. “Which he obviously believes that I am not. He is forever saying… And I don't care! Not in the least. It is a…a matter of indifference to me. If he wants some simpering miss with red hair, let him! I will never be such a person. I am myself. But it is not as if I
can't
be proper. It doesn't appear difficult. I can obey a few sil…a few rules.”

Mrs. Runyon nodded as if this mishmash was perfectly clear. “So our task is to make Lord James sorry.”

Kawena flushed. She did want that, but it sounded petty when stated aloud.

“And once he is?”

Kawena looked at her. She seemed to have no doubt that he would be. Which was surprising, and gratifying. Still, she wasn't sure what more to tell her.

“What are we to do with his remorse?” she added with another smile.

Although she'd known Mrs. Runyon a very short time, Kawena was coming to trust as well as like her. It wasn't just Flora's recommendation. There was something about the older woman—a solidity that reminded Kawena of her mother. How she wished for the latter's wise counsel right now! Still, she hesitated.

“I've been privy to many secrets in my life,” Mrs. Runyon said. “And I've faithfully kept them all.”

Kawena examined her open expression, her candid eyes. “Lord James grew up with propriety and English ways,” she began, “but he dreamed of the sea, and he sailed away to become someone quite different. Only…I'm not sure he knows.”

“Knows?”

“How different he has become.”

“Ah.”

Kawena paused for one final moment, and then made her decision. “I have a plan,” she continued, and proceeded to tell her companion the whole. She withheld only the fact that she and Lord James had already made love more than once. This seemed a step too far for the ears of a chaperone.

“Hmm,” said Mrs. Runyon when Kawena was done.

“But first I will show him that I can be as…as English as he thinks he is,” Kawena finished fiercely.

“A novel idea.”

“And whatever happens, I shall still have much more than I did when I came here.” Which ought to have been consoling, but wasn't, quite.

“Yes, I see.”

Having unburdened herself, Kawena suddenly wanted to escape from the older woman's keen, sympathetic scrutiny. “I think I will go to bed now.” She rose and hurried from the room.

“It seems life will be rather full of Greshams for the next little while,” murmured Mrs. Runyon as Kawena went out.

* * *

James left Alan's house early the next morning, partly evading his family and partly planning his approach to Kawena. He had walked for some time, scarcely aware of his surroundings, when he heard his name spoken. Turning, he found Ronald and Maria Benson standing nearby, flanked by four children who could only be theirs. Brown-haired, pale, and dark-eyed, dressed in brown, they were successively smaller copies of their parents. The two tallest even shared their elders' sour expression. The littlest looked curious.

“Lord James,” said Mr. Benson, with a sardonic twist to the name.

“Mr. Benson.” James gave them a minimal bow.

“We are on our way to call upon my dear niece,” Benson continued. “We have discovered that she is staying nearby.”

His triumphant tone grated. He'd been quick about finding the address.

“And to give her the joy of meeting her cousins,” Benson added, gesturing at his family.

James looked the children over again. They seemed an unprepossessing bunch, unlikely to charm. But he had little experience with youngsters. Maria Benson drew the eldest girl close against her side, as if she expected him to make a run at a chit scarcely into her teens. It really was too much. James bared his teeth in a predatory smile. The entire Benson clan shrank away as if he might actually bite them. James touched the brim of his hat and turned away. There was nothing to say to these people. The important thing was to warn Kawena of their imminent arrival.

But James had no sooner headed in the direction of Kawena's house than he heard his name again. This voice was far more familiar, however, and impossible to ignore. He turned back. “Hello, Papa.” Oxford was too small a place to have a family the size of his, James thought.

Resplendent in a dark blue coat and buff pantaloons, plying a tasseled cane, the duke joined him. “A fine morning for a stroll,” he commented. “I suspect it will be too hot later. Are you going this way?”

He didn't wish to take his father to Kawena's. He had to get there before the Bensons. He couldn't think of a plausible excuse to just run. James indicated a random turn.

They walked along side by side. James noticed, yet again, that he was an inch or so taller than the duke. It was a known fact that nevertheless always surprised him.

“Is something troubling you?” his father said after a while.

“What? No.” James had been immersed in thoughts of how to get away without giving offense, or revealing his mission.

“Ah.”

They crossed an arched bridge. A punt glided out from under it, and they paused to watch the young man at the oar guide the slender boat down the river.

“It's just…your mother had a notion that you were ‘brooding' about something.”

“Brooding!” James was revolted by the idea.

The duke laughed. “The word does conjure up visions of hens, does it not? But she's not often wrong.”

She was usually uncannily right, in fact.

“I understand your position about the Admiralty, and indeed respect it. But if there's anything else I could help you with?”

But a thought had struck James. “Where is Mama?”

“Oh, she and Ariel put their heads together and went off somewhere. I thought it best not to inquire about their plans.”

“Why?”

His father smiled at him. “One thing I've learned in more than thirty years of marriage is: don't ask questions if you don't wish to know the answers.”

James puzzled over this. “But how do you know you don't want to know until you…know?” He grimaced at the stupidity of this sentence.

“That's the trick of it,” replied the duke with a smile. “One learns with experience.”

“By knowing things you wished you didn't?”
What sort of dire secrets would those be?
he wondered.

His father nodded. “I could tell they had some scheme in mind this morning. And no desire for my opinion of…whatever it was. In such cases, I've found that ignorance is often the better choice.”

“Scheme?” James felt a brush of panic, mixed with a strong desire to delve deeper into his father's store of marital wisdom. But mainly, he was aware that they were as far from Kawena's house as one could be while remaining in Oxford. It was probably too late to warn her now.

* * *

Thus, Kawena's household was surprised by the appearance of six Bensons on their doorstep a short while later. All three ladies were sitting in the parlor when Ronald Benson's visiting card was brought in. Kawena had briefly discussed her relatives' arrival with the others, and so they were generally prepared.
One never knew how people would take things, however
, Kawena thought as she awaited them.

The maid returned with what seemed at first a great many people. The man and woman looked between thirty and forty. Both were small and somberly dressed and dour. Indeed, Kawena found them almost aggressively drab, as if they disdained any form of ornament, or wished to give that impression. The four children with them were dressed similarly. They looked to range from around twelve to perhaps four years old. Kawena examined the man for any resemblance to her father. Beyond his brown hair and blue eyes, she found little. Perhaps their noses had the same curve. Papa had been much taller, his features etched by laugh lines.

“I am Ronald Benson,” said the man with a nod of greeting. “Your uncle. This is my wife, Maria, and our children: Anne, John, George, and Susan.”

As their names were given, each child gave a curtsy or a bow, except for the youngest, who merely grinned up at her.

Kawena introduced Mrs. Runyon and Flora, then said, “My father never told me he had a brother.”

A look of distaste passed across the older Bensons' faces, as if they'd eaten something bitter and had to force themselves to swallow it. “Alas, we were…estranged,” her newfound uncle replied.

If Kawena had needed any further evidence of what her father's family thought of him, she would have had it in the thoroughly unconvincing way he said “alas.”

“But we are here to remedy that,” the man went on.

“Are you? Please, sit down.” Ronald and Maria Benson sat side by side on a sofa. In response to a glance from Maria, the children filed around and ranged themselves behind their parents in a graduated row.

“We've come to save you,” Maria Benson said then.

“From what?” Kawena asked.

“You are all alone in the world,” her uncle replied.

“On the contrary.” Kawena gestured at her companions. Mrs. Runyon was the picture of fashionable respectability in a dove-gray gown. Flora looked equally proper. “And of course, I have my mother and aunts and other family back home.”

The revulsion on the faces of the adults, and the two older children, dissipated any lingering doubts Kawena might have had. How dare they look so contemptuous of her mother? And what had these people told her cousins about her? Only the maid's entry with a loaded tray stopped her from making a very sharp remark. Kawena had to take several calming breaths before she could manage, “Would you care for some Madeira…Uncle Ronald?”

“I do not indulge in spirits of any kind,” he said.

Of course he did not.
What is the opposite of the word “convivial”?
Kawena wondered. “Ah, some lemonade then? And cakes for the children?”

Sparks of enthusiasm in the younger Bensons' eyes relieved Kawena somewhat. She didn't want to contemplate the sort of child who would spurn a bit of cake.

Ronald and Maria Benson accepted small glasses of ratafia and allowed their offspring one iced cake each.

“Are my grandparents still living?” said Kawena then.

“Alas, no.”

His “alas” sounded nearly as insincere as before. “You must tell me about them,” Kawena said. It was the one thing she would like to hear from him. Her father had told her so little about his family.

“Of course. They would want to be sure we gave you every assistance,” he replied. He cleared his throat. “Particularly because…we have heard…talk that you have the…burden of a sizable fortune.”

He really was transparent. Did he think she was a fool? “Burden?”

When she didn't deny the fact, Ronald Benson's pale blue eyes gleamed. It might have been enthusiasm, but seemed much more like avarice. Probably he was not aware that he was rubbing his hands together. “It is a great responsibility. And so we have come to offer you our help and protection.”

Kawena indicated her companions again. “But as you can see, I'm not without friends. I don't require any…particular help.”

“Strangers.” He rejected the concept with a gesture. “Not family.”

“When do you put the bone through your nose?” asked little Susan Benson. She had been staring fixedly at Kawena.

“Susan!” Her mother twisted in her seat and glared at her. The other children shot their youngest sister sidelong glances, appalled and silently gleeful.

“I only wear it on special occasions,” Kawena responded immediately. “To evening parties and balls.”

Maria Benson paled, her brown eyes seeming to bulge in their sockets.

“It goes with my feather headdress and oyster-shell bangles,” Kawena added. She heard a choking sound from Flora and took care not to look at her.

“Your cousin is making a joke to cover your rudeness, Susan,” said Ronald Benson. “As you can see, she is completely at home in English fashions. Apologize to her at once.”

As the little girl muttered an apology, Kawena noted that her uncle was not a fool. She mustn't forget that he was shrewd and persistent and poised to take advantage. Twitting him might be amusing, but he was clearly very serious about getting his hands on her fortune.

“Your family will have your best interests at heart,” he said, picking up where he'd left off.

“What would those be?” Kawena wondered.