How To Love A Fake Prince

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Aaron, do you have....” she started, walking into the dining room. She immediately knew that something was wrong from the way he looked up at her. He had both arms on the dining room table, and was hanging his head. His eyes were glazed, the piercing blue now a lighter color. “Aaron!”

  She knew right away what was going to happen, but she hadn't experienced it for nearly two years. Aaron had been prone to fits his whole life. They were dangerous, and they were the reason his death was believable. Every time she thought he wasn't going to pull back from a particularly nasty fit, he did, although sometimes it took longer than others. Fits almost seemed common place, if it wasn't for the fact that they could kill him at any moment and there was no cure.

  She worried about him out on the high seas, especially now that they were pirates and didn't have a surgeon on board.

  “Come, on, Aaron,” she moved forward, grabbing him around the waist. Aaron was much heavier than she was, and she tried to make a choice for the best place to brace him. His eyes rolled back and she had no other choice but to shove his body against the table, pushing the dishes off the table.

  They went clattering to the floor, shattering along with the food on them as she braced herself against his seizing. She knew he wasn't in any control, but she still spoke with him, trying to protect him from hurting himself.

  “It's alright, Aaron. It's alright. Ah!” she protested as his arm flew into her face. “Somebody help me!”

  Luckily, Wesley had dragged himself downstairs to see for himself what Aaron had to loan him. Lola could see from Wesley's face that this was something he was more used to than before they left together.

  “Lola, move,” he said, moving forward at break neck speed.

  “If I move, I will drop him,” she said, through clenched teeth as she tried to hold his limbs down.

  “Here, I've got him,” Wesley managed as the clattering brought Harold to the door, and the curious children, who gasped in horror.

  “Let's get him on the floor,” Harold said as he entered the room, moving to assist Wesley. With both of their muscles bulging, they managed to get him onto the carpeted floor.

  “Father, what's happening?” came James's scared voice at the door.

  “Can you go and get your mother?” Harold said, looking up. “Quickly, James.”

  He obeyed his father without question and Wesley looked up at Harold.

  “Do you think that's necessary?”

  “She's going to be upset that dishes are broken,” Harold answered, with a half smile. “And I want her to directly blame her brother. But more so, Annabelle has dealt with his fits her whole life. She is going to be the most comforting person to him after this is over.”

  “Is he going to be alright?” Lola asked, having not lately seen them so bad.

  “Yes,” Wesley said. “I don't suppose he hit his head last night?”

  “No,” Harold said. “Not that I know of.”

  “So he's un-triggered currently,” Wesley winced as his own head throbbed. “That's just wonderful.”

  The seizures slowly went away, and Aaron lay still. It wasn't the worst they had ever seen, but it was frightening none the less.

  “Lord help us if he broke the dishes that are 17th century,” Annabelle appeared in the door way then, showing compassion to her brother even through her anger. Nonetheless, she crouched beside him. “He's alright.”

  “I count myself lucky that I walked in when I did,” Lola said. “He was alone in here.”

  “He'll be fine now,” Annabelle said, quickly, brushing his hair back from his face as his breathing returned to normal. “Wesley, you're shaking.”

  “Ah,” Wesley looked at the floor a moment. “I'm alright.”

  “Just a rough night?” she asked and he nodded. “Well, you certainly didn't need any more excitement this morning. We're alright. You two have appointments to keep.”

  “We can stay a moment,” Lola said, squeezing Aaron's hand. “I thought he was getting better.”

  “No,” Wesley said, bluntly. “Not obviously.”

  “Oh,” she answered, sadly. “Well, I'm glad you are home, then.”

  “I think we are all are glad you're home,” Annabelle said to Wesley and Harold.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Well, that was not the easiest morning,” Lola said, once they were finally in the carriage. They had both managed to get dressed and into the carriage with a few moments to spare.

  “I'm just glad he's alright,” Wesley said. “And to be honest, I am grateful that there are others here to help. It's hard on the ship, being alone.”

  “Is the crew not supportive?” she asked.

  “Yes, but we don't put it on full display,” Wesley replied.

  “Of course,” she answered, squeezing his hand. “You're a good first mate, Wesley.”

  “Not something I intended to be,” he answered. “I know I'm smart, Lola, that my intelligence soars above others. But the leadership, the charisma, traits that come so easily to other leaders. I feel so much struggle there.”

  “Well, I think you're wonderful,” she answered, laying her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you don't like honoring your title, so I appreciate it.”

  “I was the one who gave you a title, the least I could do is assist it. I do dread if they ask what became of my Navy career, though.”

  “Just tell them that you're enjoying life by the Irish sea,” she smiled, as the carriage rattled along. “Oh my.”

  They weren't going far to the library, and it appeared word of their appearance had gotten out. Wesley raised an eyebrow.

  “Nobody gathered like this in Ireland to see my father cut a ribbon,” he said. “Could it just be the English energy?”

  “Oh, I don't think so,” Lola answered, as their carriage pulled up. The crowds gathered started to scream in excitement.

  “This is to do with your name?”

  “Unfortunately,” she answered, as the carriage door opened. “I'm sorry, I didn't tell anyone, but...”

  “But the name Countess Rippon is simultaneous with actress Lola Montclair,” Wesley said, as the footman reached to open the door for them.

  Wesley opened the door first, to assist his wife onto the street. The screams started as the crowd pushed forward.

  “LOLA! LOLA!”

  She put on the smile she reserved for the public, signing autographs and shaking hands.

  However, as they got closer to the entrance of the library, there was a well dressed woman, clearly having been a patron of the library, on the arm of her husband.

  She looked Lola and Wesley up and down as they neared the officials.

  Then, she spat on them.

  Lola jumped back in shock, stunned into silence.

  “You deserve that, both of you,” the woman said. “Soiling a noble title with an actress whore.”

  Her husband looked appalled by his wife's choices,

  “My dear!”

  “Isn't that right, dear?” she turned to her husband. “You were saying it just the other day. Do not be afraid to speak out now that they are in front of us!”

  “You will not show my wife such disrespect!” Wesley raged, stepping forward. “I demand an apology.”

  “Wesley, it's alright,” Lola yanked at his arm. “It's alright, let it go.”

  “It's not alright,” he protested. “It's not alright that anyone treats you that way. You will apologize for your wife, sir!”

  “I will not!” the man said. “My wife speaks the truth, however rude she was about it. Shame on you. Your father would be embarrassed by your choices.”

  “You know nothing about my father!” Wesley turned nearly purple. After the morning he had, he was not willing to take any sort of slander or act with dignity. He would break this man's face if he spoke another word, direct from the pirate ship. Wesley had hardened over the years on the ship; seeing violence and death as a means to productivity. There were some dark
periods, where his letters were filled with anger. Things had gotten better, but she could see the old habits start to flare up.

  “If you have something to say about my profession,” Lola spoke up. “Then you speak to me. And if you have a judgment about my marriage, which was a love match, you can also speak to me. But you do not make a comment on my husband's title, which he had given up at the time of our marriage.”

  To that, they had nothing to say, and Lola held a steely gaze.

  “Are you a Duke?” she asked him. The man sputtered.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Are you an Earl then? A Count?” she didn't recognize him, so she was gambling on the fact that her assumptions were correct.

  “No,” he said, growing red.

  “Then you may disrespect my rank, but you will bow to my husband's, who is your noble superior, born into his title, chosen by God. Is that clear?”

  The man and his wife sputtered, but they knew she was correct. They dipped low and Lola held their gaze.

  “Thank you. Now, step aside and let us pass.”

  They stepped aside without incident. Wesley was shaking with anger, but she tried to smile, leaning into him.

  “I told you that I could handle this. It's alright, Wesley. It's alright.”

  “This is worse than you told me.”

  “You knew there would be opinions,” she replied. “You knew marrying an actress would bring a black mark to your title.”

  “Nothing could bring a black mark after my father's very existence,” he replied. “And although we've disagreed on some of the things your profession brings, I will not let others speak on choices that should be between us.”

  “Mm, hush my love,” she said, as they finally approached the officials. “Let's do our duty.”

  These were the very ceremonies that he hated; the very places that he didn't want to be in. His father had been abusive, and he wanted nothing to do with the title, the duties, or the history.

  Lola was a good countess, no matter what anyone said. She was used to be in public; used to smiling through any emotion and making people think she was the picture of glamour.

  By the time the crowds vanished, they were nearly late for the luncheon. Wesley hadn't said much, letting Lola take over their interaction during the ribbon cutting ceremony. She snuggled up beside him in the carriage, interlocking her fingers with his.

  “What are you thinking right now?”

  “Nothing,” he said, but she didn't believe him.

  “No one is thinking nothing.”

  “Why do you accept the invitations for these things?” he asked. “You could easily just ignore them.”

  “Because...” she bit her lip. “Because I'm protecting the title.”

  “But you don't have to stand out in public like a museum exhibit in order to protect the title.”

  “I do,” she said. “I was visited by the King's own messengers”

  “What?” his head whipped towards her. “What do you mean?”

  Lola took a deep breath.

  “Don't worry. I can handle it.”

  “You will tell me,” he said “I am your husband, Lola, and I am the one who put you in this position.”

  “In order to keep the title, we need to keep up appearances. Support our tenants, respond to requests such as this....Noble duties.”

  “That title is mine,” he answered. “The lands, the house, the money, that is mine.”

  “But you forget the King can take away anything he wants,” Lola answered. “Especially if he disapproves of the marriage you've made, that you made without his permission.”

  “No,” Wesley covered his face with his hands. “They said that to you?”

  “I can handle it,” she answered.

  “You shouldn't have to,” he said. “Lola, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through this. I'm so sorry that you had to go through that alone. I should have been here; I should have been with you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and she took a moment to revel in the comfort. She was used to being strong. She was used to being alone, independent. The idea of someone taking care of her was foreign and yet so welcome.

  “Well,” she said, after a few moments. “It's not that you can do anything about it. You have to sail and I have to be on stage. We agreed long ago that we never would. So this is our life, and it's alright...but it is difficult at times.”

  “It shouldn't have to be,” he said. “It's not as if we need money, Lola. Neither of us needs to work.”

  “No, but we have to make our souls soar,” she said, pointedly. He pulled her close again, saying nothing.

  What she was saying did make sense, but it made sense at a time when they were young and starry eyed. Now, to see what she was going through, it made him realize that life didn't have to play out this way. If one of them gave up the things that they needed to live with their hearts, then he wasn't sure their life would work.

  His father had always been on about duty, about nobility. Duty was supposed to be above all else. He had pounded the concept into his head, something that he couldn't shake no matter how much he disliked his father.

  Was it time to step into those shoes? Or should he choose the potential of letting his age old title slip away, because he chose to marry an actress.

  He was not present during the luncheon, at least mentally. He wasn't sure that Lola was operating at full capacity either, although there were no cracks in her smile.

  “Do you have a dress for the ball?” he asked her, when they finally got back into the carriage.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “I haven't really thought that far ahead. I have to work tonight, so the easiest thing, given the time limits, is to ask the seamstress at the theater to alter a costume.”

  “No,” Wesley said. “You have time now, yes? Come with me and we will get you the most lavish gown that the palace has ever seen.”

  She blushed.

  “I don't need that, Wesley.”

  “But you deserve it,” he answered. “It's the least I could do, given what I've put you through.”

  “Have you ever thought it might be easier?” she asked.

  “Easier to do what?” he replied.

  “Nothing,” Lola replied. “Nothing. Don't worry.”

  He gave her a funny look, but decided to leave the matter alone. She clearly didn't want to speak about it now. She leaned her head against the carriage window, closing her eyes.

  She loved him, she did. She started to wonder whether it was worth it though; this love that was breaking both their hearts and everything else around them. Would it be easier if they separated? Would it be easier if she walked away, protecting his title and his reputation from scandal?

  How would she tell him, though? He loved her, and he wouldn't let her go without a fight.

  Unless she told him she didn't want him anymore. He loved her enough to let her go, she knew that.

  It broke her heart, more than she ever thought possible.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At Bamber Manor, Aaron had recovered enough to settle on the couch, Gwendolyn at his side. His daughter was well aware that her father was not healthy, and she took it in stride. So far, she showed no sign of inheriting her father's illness, which made Aaron so grateful to the Lord above. Harold was sitting opposite from him, his voice low and even as he spoke. Gwendolyn was young; she didn't understand the gravity of what Harold was saying.

  “We will be out numbered in a matter of days. Our plans are running circular, and our top strategists are confused, to say the least.”

  “So you need Wesley,” Aaron said.

  “I need more than Wesley,” Harold said. “I need the charisma of the most trusted officer in the Navy. Even Captain Willcock, the man completely out of his mind and downright cruel, loved you. If I could have you and Wesley back, my God, the strides we could make in this war.”

  “You know what that entails, though,” Aaron said. “You kn
ow it's impossible. Wesley, perhaps, although I do not think that he is eager to return to that life. But I can't come back, not unless the rest of you want to swing from the noose.”

  “I'm aware of that reality every single day,” Harold said. “You know how grateful I am...”

  “Father, why don't you mobilize the pirates?” Gwendolyn asked, suddenly. Both of the men turned to her.

  “Gwendolyn, the pirates aren't like the Navy. I can't send a message and just...”

  “Of course not,” she answered “But if they loved you there, why wouldn't they love you as a leader here? You're a good pirate, Mommy says.”

  “She does?” Aaron responded in surprise “Well, that's nice to know. Maybe Mommy can help me, hmm?”

  Gwendolyn giggled.

  “Maybe.”

  He leaned over to tickle her as if she were six again, which produced a louder giggle. Harold smiled, glad that his best friend was able to have these moments.

  The door bell rang then, and Harold looked up.

  “I wonder who that could be,” he said, looking at the clock. “I'm expecting no one.”

  They heard the butler open the door, and heard a voice asking for the Lady of the manor.

  “I need to go upstairs and now,” Aaron said, realizing that someone was going to be directed into the room they were sitting in.

  “There's no time,” Harold said, grabbing him by the elbow to pull him up. “Quick, behind the book shelf.”

  “It's like you're ashamed of me,” Aaron joked, but knew that there was a secret passage behind there. “Be good, Gwendolyn.”

  “My father is dead and I am the saddest child,” she answered, deadpanned. Aaron winked at her before slipping behind the book shelf.

  Only once he was behind the book shelf did his smile fade. This was his life now, hiding in the spot he used to play as a child. He pressed his ear against the loose book, listening to the stranger entering the living room.

  “Can I assist you, sir?” Harold rose.

  “Ah, you must be the Lord Bamber,” said a voice. “The one who took over the title.”

  “Since my brother-in-law's death, yes,” Harold answered. “And you are?”