A Favor for the Prince

by Jane Ashford

  “So the household retired for the night?” asked Lord Alan. “Was there no sound, no sign?”

  “None,” responded Clarisse dramatically. “Only silence.”

  “And in the morning?”

  The dresser looked a bit disappointed at the way her narrative was being received. “We rose as usual,” she said. “When Bess did not come out of her room, we were very quiet, thinking she slept. But by the afternoon, we began to worry, eh? So we knocked, and when there was still no sound, John the coachman broke the door.” Her hands fluttered again. “And there she was, on the floor. Ah, the blood—blood soaking her blue dress. It was the one with the embroidery.”

  The shock of the words pulsed along Ariel’s nerves. She could see it far too vividly.

  “It was so strange,” Clarisse went on in a distant voice. “Everything seemed very slow. I saw the lace on her dress. I saw the little curls I had made in her hair. There were pieces of a broken brandy glass on the floor. I saw all these things.” She turned and stared at them, but not as if she saw.

  Ariel swallowed.

  “And then my eyes fixed on the razor, half-hidden by her skirts, and all clotted…” Clarisse choked. Raising her head, she took a gasping breath, then pointed dramatically to a decanter and glasses sitting on a small side table. Lord Alan went to pour her a little wine. She drank it off in one gulp. “I fainted then,” she told them. “When I woke, the other servants were shouting and wailing. We called for the watch, and then we packed up our things and departed. Who could stay in such a house?” She held out the glass for more wine.

  Lord Alan looked at Ariel, his expression concerned. She folded her trembling hands together in her lap. “What do you remember about that day?” she asked shakily. “Something must have happened.”

  Lord Alan blinked, seeming surprised at her ability to question after what she had heard.

  “It is all a blur,” protested Clarisse.

  “No, it isn’t. You remembered the broken glass and the lace.”

  The Frenchwoman held up a protesting hand. “Do not press me.”

  “Clarisse, Bess is dead. I must find out why.”

  Lord Alan was staring as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “I do not know!” exclaimed the other woman. “It was horrible, what she did. Her soul will never—”

  “She was often blue-deviled,” insisted Ariel. “But she always recovered. What was it that made her…?”

  “I do not know, I tell you! My lord, don’t let her bully me.” She laid a hand on Lord Alan’s arm and gazed up at him imploringly.

  Clarisse was recovering nicely, thought Ariel, and used the irritation she felt to deflect other emotions. “I am not bullying you,” she began. “Surely you can see how important—”

  “I can bear no more,” declared Clarisse. She lay back on the sofa cushions, closing her eyes, one corner of her mouth jerking a bit.

  Ariel sat back. The impact of the story she had heard was threatening to overwhelm her. Clarisse never noticed anything but herself anyway, she thought. It was useless trying to make her remember things about other people. Ariel listened to Lord Alan asking about the other servants and where they might be found and whether she knew anything about the haunting of Carlton House. Clarisse disavowed any knowledge, and probably she was telling the truth, Ariel thought. Her mother’s dresser would have been thinking only of herself.

  “Thank you for speaking with us,” Lord Alan said. “You have been very helpful.”

  Clarisse moved her shoulders in a very French gesture. “I am looking for a new position,” she told him. “I am a merveilleuse dresser. Ariel will tell you so.”

  It was the first time Clarisse had spoken her name, Ariel noticed dryly.

  “I will mention it to my mother,” Lord Alan promised her.

  Clarisse leaned toward him. “Is there not perhaps something in your household?” she murmured.

  He began to shake his head.

  “Could we not come to some arrangement?” she went on. “I am very, very accommodating.”

  “I fear not,” he said, his face impassive.

  “Ah.” Clarisse sat back and shrugged. “Eh bien. If you would tell your mother of my situation.”

  “She is a duchess,” put in Ariel, unable to resist.

  “Vraiment?” Clarisse perked up immediately.

  “I’ll tell her,” promised Lord Alan, rising and obviously wondering what his mother would make of this new request.

  “You will have my deepest gratitude,” responded Clarisse, standing also and leaning against him for a moment as if she were too shaken to stand.

  Lord Alan righted her and then looked at Ariel, who rose and found that her own legs were unsteady. Hiding this as best she could, she moved toward the front door.

  “I miss her,” said Clarisse suddenly. Her eyes filled again, and the tears spilled across her white cheeks.

  Gulping back an answering sob, Ariel fled to the waiting carriage.

  When Ellen and Lord Alan joined her, Ariel was huddling slightly in the corner of the seat and making a heroic effort not to cry. Lord Alan tapped the roof to signal the driver and then turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  Ariel nodded.

  “I did not realize it would be so…” He stopped, clearly at a loss.

  “I told you Clarisse would give a performance.” In an effort to control her voice, she sounded curt, she realized.

  There was a silence. Ellen’s eyes were huge.

  Lord Alan gave the order, and they started off. The silence lengthened until it became uncomfortable, but Ariel could not manage to make innocuous conversation after what she had heard, and Lord Alan seemed disinclined to do so as well. As they clattered through the streets of Kensington and on into more fashionable precincts of London without a word, Ariel retreated into her own thoughts. What could have been different about that day, she wondered, in contrast to all the others when her mother had sunk into a black mood? What had tipped the balance too far? And if she had been at home, as she had wished to be, could she have prevented it? This was the question that plagued her in the dark hours of the night and made it so critical that she find the truth.

  When they arrived at her house once more, Ellen opened the carriage door and jumped down. Ariel tried to follow, but she found that the unsteadiness of her legs had increased during the short journey. She tripped on the uneven cobblestones and nearly fell.

  “Take care,” said Lord Alan, stepping forward to take her arm. He supported her through the front door and into the parlor next to it. “Are you all right?” he repeated then.

  “She’s dead, and no one cares. No one!” Ariel had started shaking uncontrollably. Lifting her hands, she watched them shake as if they were something separate from her. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her mind was racing, but there were no thoughts in it at all. A sound escaped her, part grief and part fear.

  “Ariel.”

  She turned to look at him, but there was something wrong with her vision. Everything was blurred; she couldn’t see his face. The sound came again, as if from some external source. She put her shaking fingers to her mouth.

  And then strong, muscular arms enfolded her. Her head fitted into the hollow of his shoulder as if they had been designed for each other.

  “You’re freezing,” he said.

  Ariel burst into tears.

  Alan held her, feeling the sobs shudder through her slender body and wrack her ribs, feeling the tight-strung tension that vibrated through her. His usual response to crying women was helpless distaste, and hasty retreat, but this was different. He had watched Ariel with amazement as she remained calm in an incredibly trying situation, and even managed to put logical questions to her mother’s former servant. He had seen her wrestle with the feelings the dresser’s story must have roused, a
nd triumph. He had been astonished by her strength of will and her control. So he did not begrudge her a reaction now. “It’s all right,” he said after a while, and immediately knew the stock phrase to be foolish and inadequate.

  “I keep seeing it,” she choked out. “The…the blood.”

  His grip tightened, and along with it something tightened inside.

  “She didn’t deserve this,” Ariel cried. She straightened within his embrace, her eyes still shimmering with tears, burning with the unfairness of it.

  Meeting that impassioned gaze, Alan at last understood how important Ariel’s search for information was to her. All the things he had learned about her and observed about her came together in a moment of insight—the kind of moment he waited for and prayed for in his work—that brought everything clear. In her life she had been continually shut out, he thought—not told, sent away, ostracized. Bess Harding’s cruel suicide had only been the worst and most final example of the sort of pain she had endured over and over. It was no wonder she wanted an explanation.

  “I must know what happened,” added Ariel fiercely. She gripped his lapels. “You have to help me.”

  How well he knew that driving need for knowledge, a need that could override almost anything else. It made a kinship between them that he had never found with a woman before, never dreamed of finding. Alan was suddenly gripped by a paroxysm of sympathy and protectiveness and admiration. “I will,” he said.

  Something in his tone seemed to surprise her. She looked as if she hadn’t really expected him to agree, or if she had, not in such a positive, final way. “You promise?” she said, wanting further confirmation.

  “My word on it,” he replied.

  Ariel stared at him, examining his face, looking into his eyes. Alan was suddenly reminded of a fox kit he and Robert had once found in a thicket near their house in the country. It had been abandoned, its mother no doubt killed. It had been thin and weak and desperately in need of their help. But when they had offered some bits of food, the kit had remained wild and wary, unable to believe in succor.

  Ariel gave him a tremulous smile. A last tear spilled onto her cheek and ran down it like a streak of light. “Thank you,” she said shakily.

  The words seemed to reverberate in his chest, setting up an echo all out of proportion with their meaning. Alan couldn’t tear his gaze from her face. Abruptly, he became aware that he still held her close. Her back was lithe and supple under his hands. Her full lips were parted and the curve of her breasts, disappearing into the bodice of her gown, was exquisite.

  Ariel shifted against him, and he had to catch his breath.

  This was no good, he thought. This was no part of their connection. She had said so most explicitly. He had agreed. She didn’t want it. She had turned to him for help and comfort.

  With a Herculean effort, he set her away from him, then moved back a step himself. It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done.

  Ariel looked bewildered, then flushed bright crimson and took a backward step as well.

  He couldn’t stay here, Alan thought. If he remained in her presence any longer, he was going to lose his battle and go beyond a mere kiss. “I must go,” he said, and turned away before she could answer. Outside, he dismissed the carriage, needing the exertion of a brisk walk. As he strode away he wondered, Where the devil was science when he needed it?

  Seven

  “So, you see,” Ariel told Prospero the following day, “my cool, dignified manner was quite successful in keeping Lord Alan at a distance.”

  The cat yawned, his white fangs glinting in the morning sunshine that slanted through Ariel’s bedchamber window. She was sitting at the small writing desk in the corner of the room. Before her lay some papers that her mother’s solicitor had sent for her to read, but she had not been able to keep her attention on them.

  “Even when my composure, uh, slipped,” she continued, “he did not take advantage.”

  Prospero applied his pink tongue to his front paw and then used the latter to groom one of his ears.

  “He behaved like a true gentleman,” Ariel said. “He didn’t even try to kiss me again.” She frowned. “My mother always said that there was no such thing as a true gentleman.”

  Had he not wanted to kiss her again? she wondered. Perhaps he had not found it agreeable? And yet it had seemed to her quite… Ariel cut short this line of thought. Lord Alan Gresham didn’t wish to kiss her, and she didn’t wish him to do so. This was splendid. They were in complete agreement. She crossed her arms on her chest, and then closed her fists. They would work together, and there would be no awkward complications along the way. This was precisely what she wanted.

  Ariel lowered her arms and addressed her attention to the legal papers once again. But she had gone no farther than the second “herewith” before her mind wandered again. Why shouldn’t he wish to kiss her? Bess had always claimed that she was designed by nature to attract such attentions—unwelcome attentions, she added hurriedly.

  He had seemed to enjoy it that first time, she thought, propping her elbow on the desk and putting her chin in her hand. She remembered the way his lips had moved on hers, gently and fiercely at the same time. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible to be both. And he had held her so tight, as if he would never let go. The feel of him along the length of her body had been strange and thrilling; his was so tensely muscular and…

  Ariel started. It was almost as if she heard her mother’s voice—inside her head—snapping at her for daydreaming. Her cheeks reddened slightly. What had she been thinking of? If Bess were here, she’d be livid.

  But she wasn’t, Ariel thought, and never would be again. It was still hard to believe that such a strong presence had vanished forever from the world. “Why?” she said aloud. “Why?”

  “Did you speak, miss?”

  Ariel started violently and whirled around to find Ellen the housemaid standing in the doorway holding a pile of clean laundry. “I thought I heard you speak,” she added apologetically.

  “Uh, I was just talking to the cat,” Ariel replied, but when she indicated the place where he’d been sitting, there was nothing there.

  Ellen grinned. “He’s a sly one. One minute he’s under your feet staring at your meal as if it’s his by right, and the next he’s clean gone and you can’t find him for anything.”

  Ariel smiled.

  “What is it you call him, miss?”

  “Prospero.”

  “Yes, but what does it mean?”

  “It’s from a play,” Ariel told her. “Prospero was a great magician. He could call up storms and spirits.”

  Ellen’s dark eyes grew round.

  “I thought he had a bit of magic about him,” Ariel added, “the way he appears and disappears.”

  “But you don’t think he’s a spirit, miss?”

  “No. He is a cat.”

  After a moment, Ellen nodded. “My mother always says cats are mysterious creatures. But useful for the mice.”

  Ariel nodded as well. And then a thought occurred to her, and she decided to take advantage of this opportunity. “You’ve been a great help here, Ellen,” she began.

  “Thank you, miss.”

  “Did you work for the Gresham family a long time before you came here?”

  “Nigh a year.”

  “Ah. And what about Hannah?”

  “Oh, she’s been with them forever, miss. She was…” The girl hesitated, then said, “Years and years. I’d best be getting back downstairs, miss, or she’ll be wondering what’s become of me.”

  She had been about to say something else, Ariel thought when she was gone. But she had stopped herself, and so Hannah remained an enigma. She was determined to find out more about this superior member of her staff whose mere name made Lord Alan uneasy. She decided to go down to the kitchen, where she ra
rely ventured since Hannah arrived, and talk with her.

  Pausing at the top of the back stairs, Ariel was surprised to hear a male voice floating up from the lower regions. She hesitated, then moved quietly down the steps toward the sound.

  “No, Hannah,” the man was saying. “I’ve no plan to get my own digs. M’mother keeps an excellent table, so why go to the trouble?”

  She had heard this voice somewhere, Ariel thought, taking another step.

  “She and my father are busy with their own engagements,” he continued. “I’m as free as I would be in rooms, with nothing at all to do, and I can spend my allowance on my own entertainment.”

  There was a murmur of a reply.

  “Don’t preach now, Hannah,” was the response. “I have a cartload of brothers who take life seriously. Well, except Sebastian. So there’s no need for me to do so.”

  It was Lord Robert Gresham, Ariel realized. What was he doing in her kitchen chatting with her cook?

  “James is defending the empire. Randolph is doing good works. Nathaniel is upholding the family name. Alan is…er, delving into scientific mysteries. Sebastian…” He laughed. “Well, Sebastian is cutting a wide swath among the ladies. So, you see, there’s no call for me to do anything at all.”

  Once again, Ariel could not hear the reply.

  “Marry!” exclaimed Lord Robert indignantly. “I should say not. Nathaniel is getting himself leg shackled. He has to; he’s the heir. Let that be enough for you!”

  Ariel had reached the final step. Now, she could hear Hannah’s much quieter voice. “All of you will marry eventually,” said the older woman.

  “The others may do as they please,” replied Lord Robert. “I’ve no intention of contemplating matrimony for years and years. When I’m forty or so, and have dwindled into a deadly dull country squire, well, then I suppose I’ll find some girl and do the deed. Might as well be married; I’ll be as good as dead.”

  “You’ll meet some nice young lady and change your mind,” said Hannah’s voice placidly.

  Lord Robert made a rude sound.