A Favor for the Prince

by Jane Ashford

  * * *

  It was the first instant she had had to think, to try to sort out the welter of emotion she had been experiencing. Lord Alan’s offer of marriage had been completely unexpected. Because of what her mother had taught her, she hadn’t even imagined such a thing. In her worst moments, she had been afraid he would reject her, or despise her for giving in to him, or triumph at her surrender and try to take some advantage of it. At other times, she had been certain he would apologize and withdraw. And then there had been the secret, dangerous flashes of hope that he might care for her, that the gentle urgency of his touch had meant something more than desire.

  There had been no sign of that in his proposal, she thought sadly. Bess had been wrong; all men were not users and seducers. But duty and respect were not the same as… love. Ariel acknowledged the word with a kind of breathless pain. In all these days they had spent together, in the searching and analyzing they had shared, she had come to love him so deeply, and now she had just refused to marry him. Something between a sob and a laugh choked her. She had refused the son of a duke. No one would ever believe it. Indeed, one part of her own mind was having trouble comprehending it. Why not have married him? that inner voice was saying. She would at least have been with him then. And who knows what the future might bring?

  Ariel shook her head in the dimness. Impossible, she thought. She couldn’t have endured the continual hope, and continual disappointment. He didn’t even believe in love, she reminded herself. He rejected the very concept. He set such store in rationality, in being a man of science. He would scorn her for wanting such a will-o’-the-wisp. And that would be a pain worse than this.

  Her breath caught shakily. She wouldn’t see him anymore, she thought. A man who had been refused did not continue to call. Alone, safely hidden by darkness, Ariel allowed the tears to overflow onto her cheeks.

  She wanted nothing more than to marry him, she realized, if only it could be more than an obligation he felt bound to fulfill.

  * * *

  A day passed, and another, and as Ariel had expected, there was no sign of Lord Alan. What she had not predicted was that she would have to hear of him constantly. His brothers were in and out of the house, and they discussed him without any sign of self-consciousness. There was no chance to forget him, even for a minute. She had to speak of him as if nothing had happened, and keep up a facade of contentment. It was excruciating. And yet, it was disturbingly satisfying as well. She was hungry for news of him, for the sound of his name, for any scrap of information that might reveal what he thought, how he felt, whether the things that had passed between them had had an effect.

  “Alan’s moved out of Carlton House,” Lord Sebastian informed her one afternoon.

  “He has gone back to Oxford?” she said and held her breath waiting for the answer.

  “Moved into Langford House,” was the puzzled reply. “M’mother’s pleased, of course, but it’s deuced odd. Can’t think why he’s staying. Usually he can’t wait to get away.”

  “What does he say, when you ask him?” dared Ariel.

  “Ask? Oh, well, I don’t believe anyone’s asked.”

  She tried to look innocently inquiring.

  “One doesn’t, with Alan. Particularly lately.”

  “Why particularly?” she wondered, trying to remember to breathe normally.

  “He’s in a foul mood,” Lord Sebastian explained, seeming to see nothing out of the way in confiding this to her. “As likely to snap your head off as say good morning. Told Robert one of his waistcoats was a—what was it?—a shameful waste of the light needed to illuminate it.”

  A spurt of laughter escaped Ariel.

  “No one’s asking him anything,” Lord Sebastian concluded.

  She pondered this information for an evening, turning it this way and that to see what it might mean. She had come to no conclusion the next day, when she found Lord Robert in the kitchen telling Hannah, “He plays half the night. Thinks no one notices, but of course we all do.”

  “Notices what?” asked Ariel.

  “Alan playing the pianoforte. In the dark.”

  “How strange.” Her tone must have been strange as well, Ariel realized, catching a sharp look from Hannah.

  “It’s dashed peculiar,” said Lord Robert. “He don’t even like people to know he can play. And now there he is, pounding away loud as you please, as if all that fuss had never happened.”

  “What fuss?” Ariel sat down at the kitchen table and forced herself to look only mildly curious.

  “My mother used to brag about him, when we were small,” answered Lord Robert distractedly. “Told all her friends he was some kind of prodigy. Then they all started wanting to hear and would have him called down to the drawing room to play for them during morning calls.” He shook his head. “Alan despised it. You remember, Hannah?”

  The older woman nodded feelingly.

  “My mother was sorry by then, but the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Until Alan figured it out.”

  “What?” asked Ariel, strongly moved by the picture of the talented little boy on exhibit to the gossips of the ton.

  Lord Robert laughed. “He started playing like a normal seven-year-old,” he said. “Penance for the ears. After a while, everyone put down my mother as a doting parent with a tin ear, and the command performances stopped. I don’t think he ever played for anyone outside the family after that,” he added meditatively. “Keeps it dead quiet.” He looked self-conscious suddenly. “You won’t mention that I…”

  “Of course not,” Ariel assured him. She was afire by this time with the desire to hear Alan play. It was a moment before she remembered that she would probably never speak to him again, let alone be admitted to the select ranks of those who had heard him.

  It was the fourth day by the time she saw Lord Highgrove again, and it appeared that he had come expressly to speak to her. “I thought this business with the ‘ghost’ at Carlton House was settled?” he asked without preamble.

  Ariel nodded. “Some actors were behind it. They’ve been stopped.”

  “Then what’s Alan doing with the prince’s men?”

  She gazed back at him blankly.

  “Spends half the day conferring with them or sending them here or there. My mother is…” He hesitated, smiling slightly. “Curious,” he finished. “Is there something else the matter with the prince?”

  Ariel couldn’t resist raising her eyebrows.

  “Beyond the obvious,” added Lord Highgrove dryly. “Something Alan’s involved with.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But I thought you and he were…” He broke off, and Ariel waited with a good deal of interest and trepidation to see how he would end the sentence. “I thought you were working together on the investigation,” he said finally.

  Ariel let out her breath in a sigh. “No longer,” she answered.

  “Oh. Er…”

  Lord Highgrove didn’t stay long after that. She had made him uncomfortable, Ariel thought. But she didn’t know what else she could have said.

  By the fifth day, she decided she had to get out. This waiting about as if something was going to happen was unendurable. And the continual flow of secondhand information about Lord Alan was becoming frustrating and painful.

  She had been wanting to ask Flora Jennings a few more questions, she thought. She had the sense that the woman knew more about her mother than she had revealed. She would go and see her. She had put on her bonnet, gotten her gloves and reticule, and marched downstairs to the front door when Lord Sebastian Gresham appeared from the basement stairs. “Hullo,” he said amiably.

  “Good,” replied Ariel. “You can come with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “I’m going to call on Flora Jennings.” And she didn’t really want to visit that neighborhood alone, Ariel thought.


  Lord Sebastian expressed enthusiasm about making the acquaintance of the girl who had Robert studying dead languages. Outside, he flagged down a cab, and they clattered over the cobblestones in silence for a time, then her companion ventured, “Alan hasn’t been much in evidence lately.”

  Ariel said nothing.

  “Used to be in and out of the house like a regular jack-in-the-box,” Lord Sebastian mused.

  She felt his scrutiny and kept her chin high.

  “You two haven’t quarreled, have you?”

  “Quarreled?” repeated Ariel, as if the mere thought was ridiculous. “What would we have to quarrel about?”

  He didn’t answer, and when Ariel gave him a sidelong glance under her lashes, she saw that he looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. Let him think what he liked, she told herself defiantly.

  Flora Jennings was at the house, and she welcomed Ariel with calm cordiality. To Lord Sebastian, she was merely polite, and she seemed completely impervious to the famous charm of his smile.

  “I understand you have caught the ghost,” she said coolly when they had all sat down.

  “Yes,” acknowledged Ariel. “Some of the younger actors at the theater were behind the hoax.”

  “Out of friendship for Bess?”

  “The leader, Michael Heany, said they thought something more should be done about her death.”

  “And so it should,” replied Flora Jennings intensely. “But Prinny has gotten his way, as usual. He can go back to thinking only of his own pleasures and ignoring the misery of his subjects.”

  “I don’t know what he could have done for my mother,” said Ariel, forced to be honest.

  The other woman turned her bright blue gaze on her, staring as if she were trying to look right through her. “You are wearing Bess’s ring,” she said.

  Ariel looked down at her right hand. “Yes. You remember it? She sent it to me, only the package went astray, so I just received it.” She hesitated. “There was a note, too.”

  Flora leaned forward. “What did she say?”

  “It wasn’t very…informative. Mainly it showed that she was distressed and…despairing.” Whenever she focused on that note, Ariel began to feel surges of grief.

  Their hostess’s gaze was unwavering. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” Ariel admitted. “I have spoken to everyone I can think of, and no one seems to have noticed anything out of the way. I suppose I will never really know the reason why she…did it.”

  “So you are giving up?” was the fierce reply.

  Stung, Ariel said, “What do you suggest? I came here today because it seemed to me that you must have known my mother rather well, through your work together. And yet you have told me very little.”

  Some of Flora’s intensity faded. Now, she looked doubtful and sad. “If I knew the answer…” she began, then fell silent.

  “If there is an answer,” said Ariel.

  The other woman’s fists clenched and unclenched in her lap. “I cannot get over the injustice and unfairness of it. We seem to be surrounded by injustice and unfairness. Is there nothing to be done?”

  “You are doing something,” Ariel pointed out.

  Flora made a throwaway gesture. “So little. Bess had grand ideas. We were going to raise larger sums through her acquaintances and find a house in the country where the children could…” She repeated the gesture. “That is all at an end now.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “It can’t be done without Bess,” declared Flora very positively. After a pause, she added, “So, she’s simply gone, then. Gone.”

  Ariel shivered as the tide of emptiness and loss swept over her again. She couldn’t speak.

  “That’s the way it is,” continued the other woman, in a bitter tone that said she had heard these words many times. She rose. “I must get back to my work.”

  “But couldn’t we—” began Ariel.

  “You must excuse me,” Flora interrupted. “I really have no time for idle conversation.”

  A bit offended, Ariel stood. Lord Sebastian, who had been studiously silent, joined her with alacrity. They were seen to the door with what Ariel thought was a little too much eagerness, and in another moment they were in the street climbing into their waiting cab.

  “Robert has lost his mind,” exclaimed Lord Sebastian when they started moving. “That girl is exactly like Aunt Agatha.”

  Sixteen

  Early the following week, Alan stood stiffly in Ariel Harding’s front parlor waiting for her to appear and wondering what he was doing there. He had been wondering what he was doing for several days, and disliking the sensation intensely. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop. His state of mind had been disordered since Ariel had refused him.

  At first he had been simply incredulous. He had made careful plans, gone through intense deliberations; he had overcome his reluctance to wed, set aside his disinclination to do so. And she had refused him! It hadn’t even occurred to him to consider this contingency. And this simple fact had forced him to recognize that he had not escaped all the prejudices of his class. He had believed that he thought of himself as a simple scholar. But with Ariel’s rejection of his proposal, the duke’s son had emerged in outrage, asking how she dared?

  She was the daughter of a common actress, this part of himself had pointed out with sardonic clarity, an actress whose personal life had been notoriously disreputable. She ought to have gone down on her knees in gratitude for an offer from him, this drawling inner voice had continued. She ought to have been overcome with the magnitude of such an honor. She must be a trollop like her mother.

  He hadn’t liked this voice, had despised it, in fact. But it was true that in the world’s terms, Ariel’s refusal was astonishing. He was a better match than she could ever have hoped for. And setting this aside, he knew her to be a fastidious and honorable creature. It seemed logical that she would wish to marry to salvage her reputation. And yet, she didn’t. There was nothing logical about this situation at all.

  She simply didn’t wish to marry him, Alan thought, with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and pique that he still had not sorted out. Not even for significant material advantages, not to regularize a slip that would ruin her if it became known. She had said that it would spoil her life to be married to him.

  The worst of it was, Ariel Harding haunted him far more effectively than Prinny’s ghost had ever managed at Carlton House. He had not been able to dismiss her from his mind like a failed hypothesis and go on to something more productive. He dreamed of her; he seemed to catch her flowery scent as he walked in the street. Sometimes, he felt as if he were going mad.

  The only thing that had allowed him some respite from this storm of emotion was working to fathom the mystery of the documents she had found. Telling himself it was the intellectual challenge that drew him, he spent every waking hour in investigation. And now, at last, he had results to report. He would show her, he thought, though precisely what he meant to show remained unclear.

  There was a sound from the entry, and then Ariel appeared in the doorway. She wore a simple gown of green muslin, and she looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Alan found himself unable to speak for a moment. She was looking at him as if she couldn’t imagine what he was doing in her parlor. “I’ve found Daniel Bolton,” he managed finally.

  Ariel stood very still, her hazel eyes widening. “My father?” she asked.

  He did not point out that this remained to be proved.

  She was still and silent for another brief period, then she said, “Where?”

  “He lives at Ivydene Manor in Somerset.”

  “Somerset?” she repeated, as if he had said China or Borneo. “In the country?” she added incredulously.

  He nodded.

  “But my mother hated the country.�
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  For the first time, she met his eyes. She had forgotten everything else in this revelation about her supposed father, Alan saw. She wasn’t thinking of him, or of their last awkward time together, or of whether she had been wrong to refuse him. He felt a spark of irritation.

  “Are you sure it’s the right man?” she asked.

  “It is not an uncommon name,” he admitted in rather clipped tones. “However, the evidence appears reliable.”

  “What evidence?”

  “He was married on the day listed in the document you gave me,” said Alan. “He is of the right age; he had been in London.”

  “But…” Ariel rubbed her forehead, then began to pace the length of the room. “What else? What is he like? Does he—?”

  “We have not found out a great deal more about him as yet.”

  She was turned away from him, walking down the room. “It is rather unsettling,” she admitted.

  He acknowledged this with a noncommittal sound.

  “You know nothing more about him at all?”

  “Not as yet,” Alan repeated. He intended to find out everything there was to know about this Bolton, he thought with unexpected vehemence.

  Ariel had resumed pacing, her expression miles away. He might not even have been in the room, Alan thought. She was totally engrossed in this unknown man, who might or might not be her father.

  “I must go down to Somerset at once to meet him,” she said. She clasped her hands before her as if to keep them from trembling.

  Alan watched her.

  “I must know what he’s like,” said Ariel. “For so many years I’ve wondered.”

  “It would be better to wait and let us investigate further,” he replied, even though he could see it was useless.

  “I can’t. Now that I know my father is—”

  “It is far from certain that he is your father,” Alan couldn’t help saying sharply.

  “He must be.” Ariel gripped her hands tighter. He could see the knuckles whiten with the pressure she exerted. “He has to be.”

  “It would be wise to proceed carefully,” he began.