Lord Gryphon was rich. Astronomically rich. Samuel had never had the faintest notion of what his foster family must be worth until he saw the money that flowed through the company books. They lived well, but nowhere nearly as grandly as half the American businessmen in Honolulu. The Arcturus fleet was better manned and better maintained than any other, and it barely broke even with the competition. It was a wealthy man’s form of amusement, with one ship always moored in Honolulu harbor for Lord Gryphon to command if the mood took him to do it.
The office agents were happy to educate Samuel as to the real source of the money: Lord Gryphon’s ancestral holdings in England, and the huge trust he managed for his wife. As Samuel listened to the details, his heart grew cold with dismay.
Kai’s parents were unthinkably wealthy. He could not offer himself with nothing.
He trained with Dojun and worked all summer at the shipping office. When September came, he told Lord Gryphon that he’d rather continue his position there than return to school. Lady Tess seemed distressed, and said his school work was so excellent that she’d hoped perhaps he would think of college—but that meant the United States or England. It meant leaving. He tried to convince her that he knew some of the boys who’d gone to Harvard, and the young men who’d returned. They were elegant and sophisticated, and liked to show it, but they were stupid. She talked of Oxford and education. He said that he enjoyed the shipping work, and promised to read all the same books they read at Oxford. She said that he deserved better instruction than Honolulu could provide. Finally, he locked his hands together behind his back and stood facing away from her, staring out into the sparkling shade of the lanai, and asked her not to send him away.
Not yet.
Please God, not yet.
And she didn’t.
Samuel decided that it was not his place to tell Lord Gryphon how to conduct his business. He worked, and learned. When the books showed that a certain Ling Hoo was skimming ten percent off the warehouse stocks each time they passed through his hands, Samuel didn’t mention it to anyone else. He simply walked up Tantalus one day and asked Dojun if it was time to go to Chinatown.
Fifteen
Somehow, Leda had thought the second day of the Jubilee would go much the same as the first. The family was again to be away, of course—their part of the procession to Westminster Abbey for the Thanks giving service was to leave Buckingham Palace at 10.45, and they were to present themselves at the Pimlico entrance to Buckingham at quarter past the hour. Leda had spent the evening listening to a detailed account of their private audience with the Queen, which had taken place just after Queen Kapiolani and the princess had left Her Majesty.
It seemed to have gone off well—there hadn’t been much time for any peculiarities to manifest themselves in the ten minutes they were with the Queen, but Lady Ashland kept saying, “Thank goodness that’s over! I’m so relieved nothing happened!”—which led to the conjecture that she was not entirely unaware of her family’s potential for social calamity, and made Leda want to hug her reassuringly.
Instead, she tried to help in whatever way she could in the preparations for the next ordeal, or adventure, or fusty old nuisance, depending on which member of the Ashlands happened to be speaking about it at the time. Leda made certain by a personal visit that Lady Catherine was up at five A.M., and consulted with her on her hair, which would not take a crimp and had to be pressed out with the iron and wound in a heavy, dark coil on top by the maid, while Leda concentrated on the placement of the headpiece for the most fashionable effect. By luck, both Lady Catherine and Lord Robert had inherited their mother’s aquamarine eyes and thick, charcoal eyelashes—a most handsome combination that was flattered by any color range from black to pastel, so although Leda would have chosen blue for her, Lady Catherine’s daffodil satin trimmed with ribbon of jade-green was very becoming.
The girl rather balked at having her corset laced tightly enough, but Leda was firm, pointing out the unattractive wrinkles which the proper lacing smoothed out. Lady Catherine then took it upon herself to seek out her mother and harass her into a similar hourglass shape. At some moment in their hasty traverses from bedroom to bedroom, Leda received her message from Mr. Gerard, again appointing the conservatory for a meeting, but she barely glanced at it before moving to check a badly wrinkled fold in Lady Ashland’s train.
By half past nine, they were all assembled in the hall, while Leda performed a last-minute inspection, making certain that Lord Ashland had the Lord Chamberlain’s ticket of admission, instructing Lord Robert to keep his cocked hat under his arm and by no means to forget that he was wearing a sword with his dark blue velvet court dress, since he seemed inclined to turn about and stab the ladies without realizing it. Lady Ashland looked so pale and uneasy in her simple, elegant, lilac watered-silk that Leda gave in to her impulse to hug, whispering, “Everything’s quite perfect, m’lady. Don’t worry a moment!”
Her Ladyship smiled suddenly, and squeezed Leda’s hand. “If only one of us doesn’t do something too very conspicuous!”
Leda stood back. “I must tell you, ma’am, that at Madame Elise’s I’ve dressed half the ladies who will be present, and there is not one of them so beautiful, nor with such handsome escorts. Not even the Princess of Wales. So if you find people staring at you, you must remember that it’s in admiration.”
“Manó!” Lady Catherine cried. “Come down and look at us! Miss Etoile says we will be the most beautiful ladies and gentlemen there! And she knows what she’s talking about.”
Leda glanced up to see Mr. Gerard on the stairway. He came down on his crutches and stopped on the bottom step, leaning on the newel post. “Obviously she does. Your magnificence is blinding.”
“Oh, I do so wish you could go,” Lady Catherine said. “And you, too, Miss Etoile. It’s not fair!”
Before either of them could answer, Sheppard stepped inside from the portico and announced that the carriage was at their service. Lord Ashland took his wife’s arm. “Let’s not ruin Miss Etoile’s good efforts by being late. Kai—can you manage to let Robert escort you out the door?”
With all the exaggerated style of a princess, Lady Catherine offered her gloved hand to her brother, who made a little bow and tucked it under his arm, turning with a careful move that kept his sword free of her train. Leda applauded.
Their parents followed, looking every inch the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashland, Leda thought proudly. She did wish it were possible to see how they shone among the noble assembly that would grace Westminster.
“It really is too bad about your injury,” she said, turning to Mr. Gerard as the butler and a footman followed the party outside, closing the door behind them. “What a shame that you can’t go with them.”
“I wouldn’t have gone in any case.” He stood with his splint resting against the lip of the stair, his trousers inset with extra material along the outside seam to cover the dressing, his foot encased in a dark sock. “Not invited.”
“Oh.” Leda gave her skirt an embarrassed twitch. “I thought—I didn’t realize—that is…I thought it was your indisposition,” she finished lamely.
“No,” he said, with a faint smile, “it’s that no one knows who the devil I am.”
She looked at him standing easily, his arm around the ornate newel post. I know who you are, she thought with a sudden tingle at the base of her spine. A thief.
An amazing, mystifying thief, who could walk the night like a jungle cat. Who moved about gracefully in cast and crutches not four days after breaking a bone.
She cleared her throat. “I see,” she said, trying to sound as if that were a commonplace revelation.
He let go of the post and put his crutch tips on the marble floor of the hall, easing himself down the last step. “I’m adopted, more or less. Fostered. In Hawaii, they call it hānai. In England, they don’t seem to know what to term it.”
“Oh,” she said again. She thought of saying more, but couldn’t quite bri
ng herself to admit that she too was—rather adopted, more or less. She glanced instead at the clock that hung over a side table. “It’s approaching ten o’clock. I believe you wished to join everyone in the conservatory again, Mr. Gerard?”
“That will be quite satisfactory, Miss Etoile,” he said.
She ignored the mocking tone and proceeded to the appointed place, fully expecting to see the same gathering of servants. It was when she reached the empty gallery, overlooking a street nearly as crowded as it had been the day before, but this morning full of pedestrians and carriages all headed south, that it dawned upon her today was not at all the same as yesterday—the procession would not pass Morrow House, of course; not on the way to Westminster. There was nothing to watch from the conservatory, and no staff gathered there.
She took this circumstance in the nature of a gross betrayal, and tried very hard to recollect how Mr. Gerard had led her into believing that the servants were to assemble today, too, in the conservatory. The fact that she could not actually determine on any specific evidence that he had said so only made her feel further misused; when he arrived on his crutches a few moments after her, she refused to be seated, but lifted her eyebrows and said freezingly, “I believe you would be more comfortable with Sheppard in attendance.”
“Sheppard has the day off,” he said, lowering himself with his arm braced against the back of the overstuffed wicker settee. He lifted his lashes. “All the staff does. There’s meat for sandwiches in the refrigerator. I hope you don’t mind fixing them?”
Leda’s mouth fell open, and then shut with a snap. “Yes, I do mind! I mind very much! I have an idea of your station, and the distinction of this house, if you do not. Who gave them all the day free, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”
He seemed a little taken aback at her vehemence. “I did.”
“And Lord and Lady Ashland agreed?”
“The staff here is my responsibility, Miss Etoile. No one else will be home until after five; there’s the Thanks-giving service and then some tremendous luncheon and review at Buckingham Palace—I doubt they’ll be back here before dark. Why keep the servants sitting, when they might be off watching the great day?”
Leda was unwilling to admit to any soundness in such a flimsy defense as that. “They need not have sat.” She began to pace up and down the conservatory in her agitation.” There is dinner to think of, when the family arrive home. The ladies’ toilettes will have to be attended to; Lady Ashland’s maid hasn’t given proper attention to cleaning the settings of her jewels—I had to redo the amethyst myself this morning. Lord Robert’s shoes could stand a far better polish than his valet has provided them to date. You yourself require attention—and I was employed to be your secretary, Mr. Gerard, not your cook.”
“Precious little you’ve done in either capacity,” he murmured.
Leda felt it best not to acknowledge such an ignoble jab. She assumed a militant pose. “I’m shocked that Sheppard agreed to this. It does not do my opinion of him any good. He should have insisted upon a skeleton staff, at the least.”
Mr. Gerard tilted his head. His mouth flexed faintly.
“He did!” Leda said triumphantly.
“He was a little obstinate, yes.”
“I imagine you see now that I am justified in my opinion.”
“I see that I seem to have an eye for engaging pigheaded employees.”
“That is just what a man would say. Gentleman cannot be depended upon to deal sensibly with servants. They insist upon taking charge, and then blame the troubles upon the staff when it is their own lack of judgment which brought about the situation. Allow me to know better than you in this circumstance, Mr. Gerard. Sheppard is an excellent butler. You should give him rein to do his job as he sees fit.” A sudden thought struck her. She turned abruptly and walked into the drawing room to pull the bell. It was a few moments, just about the time she judged it would take to proceed in an unhurried fashion from the kitchen to the hall, before Sheppard appeared at the door.
“Miss?” he inquired, with a very nice sense of sedate respect, just as if she were one of the family.
“Sheppard. I wished to know if you would be going out this morning?”
“No, miss.” He gave her an astute look. “I’ve seen Her Majesty’s carriage several times. I’ve no notion to get myself into that Jubilee crush. You must just ring for me if you need anything. Do you know what time would Mr. Gerard prefer his luncheon?”
“No, I’m afraid that I don’t.” Leda maintained a grave demeanor. “You may interrupt us at any time to ask him. Any time at all. The door will be open.”
“Certainly, miss.” Sheppard made a nod of acknowledgment and withdrew. Leda returned to the conservatory, satisfied that Sheppard understood the matter as his master evidently did not.
She sat down in the same chair where she had been told to sit yesterday, keeping her back straight. “Now, Mr. Gerard. Sheppard assures me that he will be here at your service, so we shall make do with that, considering this is a day of many unusual aspects. It is unlikely there will be any callers, so we won’t worry over that difficulty.”
He leaned his cheek on his hand, as he had done the day before. “Thank you, Miss Etoile,” he said, with a strange little smile.
“You’re quite welcome,” she said, a little flustered from being rather afraid that he would be angry at her, and somehow more embarrassed by his smile. “It’s only what I owe to you as my employer. I wish for you to be taken care of properly.”
“You seem to be a great caretaker.”
Leda blushed, and glanced at him suspiciously for any sign of mockery. He didn’t appear to be ironic in his tone, and the way he looked at her made her feel rather silly and weak inside, full of giddy pleasure at the compliment. She turned up the corners of her mouth in a skittish smile and then looked down at her hands.
“Kai likes you very much,” he said.
Leda felt the delight of his prior compliment drain abruptly away. “Lady Catherine?” She put a polite smile back on her face. “I’m honored that you think so.”
“They all do.”
“That is most gratifying,” she said. “The Ashlands are very fine people.”
He nodded slowly, as if his thoughts were not really on her answer. After a moment, he said, “She’s eighteen.”
“Is she?” Leda said, as he seemed to be leaving a pause for a response of some sort. “She is certainly a lovely girl. Very fresh and innocent.”
He lost the thoughtful look; his eyes met Leda’s with a suddenly troubled expression.
She added quickly, “I’m sure that she’ll take very well. She’s a little naive, but I understand that society is quite welcoming to American girls these days. That is, Lady Catherine isn’t American, of course, but girls with, ah—” She cleared her throat delicately. “—American ways of going on. It isn’t expected that they will know every tiny nuance of etiquette. Her family clearly has the entrée; I’m sure the Queen held very few audiences yesterday—it’s the greatest possible compliment to be commanded to attend her so soon.”
This view of the matter didn’t appear to reassure him. He scowled more deeply and rubbed one eyebrow. “Miss Etoile,” he said abruptly. “You are a woman.”
Leda bridled up a little. She put her hands together in her lap, trying to think of how Miss Myrtle would have responded to such a barefaced statement, unsure of whether to preen or to be alarmed.
“You have experience of the world,” he went on, before she could say anything. “You will…know things …understand things—that aren’t self-evident to a man. To someone like me.”
With a peculiar mixture of relief, disappointment, and pleasure in the idea that she appeared to him to be sophisticated and self-possessed, she said, “Well, yes, perhaps that is true.” Miss Myrtle had always said so. She hadn’t ascribed to this modern notion of equality between the sexes. Women were patently superior.
“Do you have a pen and notebook
?” he asked.
“Oh!” She started up. “How silly of me. I’m very sorry.”
Leda quickly went to the library, returning with a fountain pen and unused notebook from the stock. She reseated herself, trying not to appear too breathless, and looked up at him expectantly.
“I wish to begin courting her,” he said, as if he were announcing a business arrangement. “I’d like your help in planning the best way to go about it.”
Leda blinked. She closed the notebook that she’d opened in her lap. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t think I could have understood you correctly.”
He looked straight into her eyes. “You understood.”
“But surely…your courtship…that is an exceedingly private matter. You would not wish me to make it my affair.”
“I’d appreciate it deeply if you would make it your affair. I’m not well-versed in how it is that ladies wish to be courted. I don’t want to make any blunders.” He smiled on one side of his mouth.
Leda’s spine was poker-stiff. “I think you must be mocking me, sir.”
The smile disappeared. He turned his head, looking out past the bank of plants and flowers to the tops of the trees across the street. When he turned back again, his eyes were cool and intense. “I am not mocking you, I assure you.”
His somber concentration was unnerving. It was like being watched by some silver-eyed Grecian statue, come alive in the shadows of a marble hall. She pressed back against her chair. “Really, Mr. Gerard,” she said helplessly. “I cannot imagine that a gentleman such as yourself is not perfectly conversant with—the courting of ladies.”
He made a scornful sound, raking his hand across the plump, cushioned back of the sofa. He thrust against it, as if to stand up, and then abandoned the effort with a grimace. “Well, I’m not,” he said fiercely. “What makes you think I would be?”
Leda shrank deeper yet in her chair. “You must not imagine—I did not mean it as an insult. It’s only that—you really are an exceptionally well-looking gentleman…”