Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

  He gave the name such an emphasis that Ash knew he still believed his rescuer was Donnington but had decided to honor the earl’s masquerade. Ash took his plump, strong hand. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Let us dispense with such formalities, my friend. My name is Albert, but my friends call me Bertie.”

  Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales, second only to the queen. Ash knew he had acted correctly.

  The prince peered into Ash’s face. “What brings you to Donbridge, Mr. Cornell?”

  “I am a guest here, sir.”

  “A guest! How convenient. We were bound for Donbridge ourselves.”

  “I know Lady Donnington will be greatly honored.”

  “Indeed. Has she remarked on your resemblance to the earl?”

  “She has not yet seen me, sir.”

  “What? You are a guest, but your hostess hasn’t met you?”

  “I sent a letter of introduction before I arrived in England, but I have not yet set foot in the house.”

  “Ha! So you decided to walk there?”

  “My horse was very tired, sir, and I was not.”

  “Such sympathy for the beasts! I’ve no doubt you are a prime rider.”

  “I would like to think that I am not unskilled in the matter of horses.”

  “You’ve proven that well enough. Come, let us walk.” The prince matched his pace to Ash’s, showing himself to be surprisingly agile in spite of his bulk. “What brings a man of such remarkable…likeness to Donbridge? Surely you must be closely related to the earl.”

  “We are cousins.”

  “Cousins! Then why have you and I never become acquainted?”

  “I have just come from America, sir.”

  “From what part of America?”

  “The West. Arizona, to be precise.”

  “But you have no accent.”

  “My mother, the dowager Lady Donnington’s sister, always maintained the habits of her homeland.”

  “Then you have never been to England?”

  “My mother and the dowager became somewhat estranged many years ago. I believe neither the earl nor his family knew of my existence until I sent my letter.”

  “Well, well,” Bertie said. “The story becomes more and more interesting.” He patted Ash’s shoulder. “Does anyone at Donbridge know of your uncanny resemblance to the earl?”

  “I did not know myself, sir, until you remarked upon it.”

  “Hmm. But you must know that the new Lady Donnington is American. Have you never met before?”

  “We have not, at least to my knowledge.”

  “Were you aware that the earl has been absent from Donbridge for nearly three months?”

  “I was not, sir.”

  “A pity. I should have liked to have seen his expression when he encountered his mirror image. Except for the hair, of course. And his eyes are a bit less…” Bertie looked thoughtful as he signaled to one of the men riding behind them. “Where is your mount now, Cornell?”

  “I gave him his freedom, but he will find me again.”

  “Russell, be so kind as to share your mount with Mr. Cornell until we reach either his horse or his shoes.”

  The light-haired man the prince had spoken to dismounted and led his chestnut close to Ash. “Please take my horse, Mr. Cornell,” he said courteously.

  “I would not deprive you, sir,” Ash said, and turned back to the prince. “I can match the best of your horses, even on foot.”

  “Ha! Any fit man can keep up with a horse at a walk.”

  “I refer to a run, sir.”

  “Is that a challenge, Cornell?”

  “If you like.”

  The prince gave another of his hearty laughs. “Oh, what a day this shall be. What course do you propose?”

  “From here to the oak that stands alone in the park nearest the house.”

  “Ha!” Bertie exclaimed again, then glanced around at his men. “We shall give you a sporting start, Cornell.”

  Ash smiled. “What are the stakes?”

  “Stakes?” Bertie shook his head. “Given the odds…” He glanced at the dark-bearded man. “Ten pounds, Gothard?”

  “Yes, sir,” the other man said. “Ten pounds.”

  With an inclination of his head, Ash set off at an easy run. He retrieved his shoes and jacket well before the prince and his retinue came within his hearing. He had been standing beneath the oak for several minutes when the prince arrived.

  “Good God!” Albert exclaimed as he pulled Starling to a halt. “How did you manage that, Cornell? Where have you hidden your horse?”

  His men drew up behind him, every one of their mounts showing clear indications of having just completed a fast run. Ash finished lacing his shoes and stood.

  “My horse is still at large, sir,” he said.

  “Are you telling me that you…” The prince stared at Ash’s feet. “Impossible.”

  “Yet I believe I have won the race.”

  For the first time the prince seemed put out. He frowned. “I’ve no objection to a good race, but I won’t abide deceit, Don—Cornell. Where is your mount?”

  “I am no liar,” Ash said, his own temper rising. “I rode no horse.”

  The prince’s men murmured amongst themselves, obviously outraged on their master’s behalf. The prince continued to scowl. He gestured to his followers, and three broke away. No one spoke until the men returned.

  “I can find no sign of a horse in the area, sir,” the first man said. “No hoofprints but our own.” The others agreed, and all eyes turned to Ash once more.

  “Well,” Bertie grunted. “How very irregular.” He stared intently into Ash’s eyes. “Let no man say I do not pay my debts. Gothard?”

  Blackbeard reached inside his coat, removed a leather wallet and withdrew several narrow sheets of printed paper. “Ten pounds, sir,” he said.

  Ash clearly sensed how little the prince liked being caught off guard. “There is no debt, sir,” he said with a short bow.

  “Nonsense. Gothard…”

  Ash backed away. “Please forgive me, sir.” He turned and began walking briskly away from the house, leaving a murmur of surprise behind him. Once he was out of sight, he waited to allow the prince and his retinue to reach Donbridge ahead of him, making his own appearance just as the prince dismounted and servants in matching livery appeared to lead the weary horses away.

  “Never mind, Russell,” the prince was saying. “The carriages will find us sooner or later…as I hope ‘Cornell’s’ horse will find him.” His men laughed. “He’ll pay for his tricks with his abundant hospitality. I am quite peckish. Ah!” He noticed Ash. “I see that you have ruined your shoes after all.”

  “Well worth the honor of a race with you, sir.”

  “If you will not accept my debt, Cornell, I shall be compelled to send you twenty pairs of shoes to replace the ones you have lost.”

  “That will not be necessary, sir,” Ash said. “I should be compelled to hold the shoes unused rather than sully gifts selected by the prince’s own hand.”

  Slowly the prince began to smile. “What elegance of language, gentlemen,” he remarked. “One would think our ‘Mr. Cornell’ was born in the age of chivalry.”

  “I fear I have much to learn in that respect, sir,” Ash said. “Perhaps you would consent to instruct me.”

  “By God, perhaps I will!” The prince gave Ash a brief nod and strode toward the steps that led to the front door, his retinue behind him. Ash hung back, well aware that he was committing himself to an action that could not be undone.

  An elderly man emerged from the house, followed by Mariah and a woman who resembled Donnington so closely that she was almost certainly his mother. The women bent before the prince, their stiff skirts creaking.

  “Your Royal Highness,” the dowager said. “We are honored by your visit.”

  “As I am honored by your hospitality.” The prince was all smiles. “We intend to spend the night at R
othwell, but if you’ve a bit of refreshment to see us on our way…”

  “Of course, sir,” Mariah said, returning his smile. “I have very much looked forward to meeting you.”

  “And I to meeting Donnington’s new bride.” Ash bristled as the prince examined her from head to toe. “Lovely, my dear. As are all the American women I have met.”

  “You are too kind, sir,” Mariah said.

  “Not at all.” He glanced over his shoulder. “In fact, there is another—” he cleared his throat “—American here, one who will be very happy to make your acquaintance. Come, Mr. Cornell.”

  As one, Mariah and the dowager looked toward Ash. He could not have said which appeared more appalled. The dowager’s knees buckled before Mariah caught her.

  “Donnington,” the elderly woman whispered. “Donnington?” She started forward, Mariah still clinging to her arm, and her expression opened like a blossom. “Where have you been? When you left us so suddenly…” Confusion caught her tongue. “Your hair…what has happened? Donnington?”

  The prince said nothing, though his round face was beginning to register concern. Mariah bent her head close to the dowager’s ear, but the older woman pushed her away. Ash spent no time waiting for an introduction.

  “My ladies,” he said, bowing from the waist, “I am sorry to come upon you so unexpectedly. I fear my letter of introduction may have gone astray.” He met the dowager’s gaze. “Madam, my name is Ashton Cornell. I am your sister’s son.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IF MARIAH HADN’T taken Vivian’s arm again, the older woman would have fallen.

  Forgetting that the Prince of Wales stood on her doorstep, Mariah stared at Ash. The shock of seeing him in such a way was already passing, replaced by anger and fear.

  Anger that Ash had taken such precipitous action without consulting her—and before royalty, no less. Fear that he would make an even more foolish misstep.

  And what if this is no misstep at all? What if he truly has remembered everything?

  Yet if that was true, he had not seen fit to tell her. She pushed away the pain that came with that realization.

  “Cornell?” Vivian whispered, her arm trembling in Mariah’s grip. “I have never…Vicki’s son?”

  Ash bowed again. “Yes, ma’am. I do apologize for this untoward intrusion.”

  Mariah saw no alternative but to make the best of the situation. “Lady Donnington,” she said, addressing the dowager, “I am sure His Royal Highness would appreciate tea and cakes.”

  As if she were awakening from a dream, Vivian pasted on a smile. “Of course. Please forgive me, sir.”

  The prince waved his hand in dismissal. “I see that we have caused quite a bit of inconvenience for you, madam.” His fair face reddened. “I must apologize. Mr. Cornell and I only met a short while ago.”

  “I would have delayed my coming had I known it would cause distress,” Ash said.

  That almost certainly wasn’t true, Mariah thought, given his behavior the previous night. But he couldn’t have known about the prince’s penchant for practical jokes, or that he would deliberately delay introducing Ash just to see the looks on everyone’s faces.

  Clearly the prince now regretted his actions, but did Ash? Had he wanted to chasten her for her rejection last night? What did he want of her?

  Hadn’t he made that clear enough?

  “Won’t you come in, sir?” she asked the prince, refusing to look at Ash. She spoke to those members of his retinue she recognized and smiled at the others as they entered the house. Ash and the prince followed the dowager to the drawing room, where he and his entourage selected chairs but remained standing until Mariah and the dowager were seated.

  Having heard of Bertie’s habits, Mariah quickly assured him that he was welcome to smoke, but he continued to glance worriedly at the dowager. She barely spoke, save for the merest courtesies, ignoring Ash completely as she inquired about the prince’s ride and wished him good fortune at Newmarket, where he and his retinue were bound. Mariah could hardly contain the questions she wanted to fling at Ash. But when Vivian left the room, ostensibly to oversee the tea preparations, the prince indicated that he wished to speak to Mariah alone and escorted her out of the drawing room.

  “Lady Donnington,” he said, “please allow me to apologize again for any part I may have played in disturbing you and the dowager Lady Donnington. It was not well done of me.”

  “Please, sir, think no more of it,” Mariah assured him. “I doubt Mr. Cornell, having never met his family in England, would have written to warn us of his resemblance to Lord Donnington in any case. We would have been surprised sooner or later.”

  “Indeed,” the prince said, obviously relieved. He chuckled. “A pity Donnington himself wasn’t here.”

  The prince was not entirely repentant, but Mariah couldn’t be angry with him. It was Ash who was going to get a thorough tongue-lashing.

  “Can you tell me anything else about Mr. Cornell?” she asked.

  “He’s deuced good with horses, I can tell you that.”

  Mariah glanced toward the coat of arms hung above the front door. Beware my horn. She shivered.

  “You are cold, Lady Donnington. Shall I have a servant fetch your wrap?”

  “No, sir. Thank you, but I am quite well.” She heard a door open. “Ah, I believe I hear the tea and cakes. Should you wish anything else, please inform either myself or the dowager.”

  The prince all but rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “No, indeed,” he said. “This will do very nicely.”

  With a smile, he offered his arm and escorted Mariah back to the drawing room, where his retinue were discussing such tepid subjects as the weather. After an hour of small talk, a carriage drew up in front of the house, bearing the Prince of Wales’ coat of arms. With sincere thanks for the tea and cakes, which he had happily devoured, the prince made his farewells and expressed the hope that he might see the lovely Lady Donnington at Rothwell.

  “And you, of course, Mr. Cornell,” he said, speaking directly to Ash for the first time since their arrival. “I am certain that Mr. Ware will be delighted to meet his American cousin.”

  There was a bite to the prince’s invitation, and Mariah wondered what Ash had done to provoke this strange combination of annoyance and friendliness from the prince.

  It was one more question she had no chance to ask. A flurry of grooms and footmen saw the Prince of Wales ensconced in his carriage, while his escort remounted and took up their places. Five minutes later, in a swirl of dust, they were gone.

  The dowager retreated into the house. Mariah lingered with Ash.

  “What have you done?” she whispered.

  “Are you not pleased, Mariah, that I have the favor of the prince?”

  “I asked you to wait before…before doing anything,” she said with a feeling of desperation.

  His gaze was as level and black as always. “The time for deception has ended,” he said.

  But you aren’t ready. No matter how eloquent your voice or smooth your manners…

  “I see that the dowager has been discomposed,” Ash said, “but I shall do what I can to ease her mind.”

  “There would have been a better way, Ash.”

  “It is done.”

  She caught his arm and immediately let go, as if he had become a creature of fire and steel. “You have no conception—”

  “She thought I was Donnington. So did the prince.”

  “Of course they did! I told you that the dowager would be upset.” She gazed earnestly into his eyes. “She was deeply unhappy when my husband…when he left Donbridge. She had—has—no idea where he might have gone.”

  “Or when he will return.”

  “No. Please, don’t tell her what happened to you. She is your aunt. Treat her as such.”

  He inclined his head. “I shall do as you ask.”

  Mariah closed her eyes in gratitude. “Thank you, Ash. Ashton.” She opened her eye
s again. “That can’t be your real name.”

  “It will always be my name,” he said. “You gave it to me.”

  The pit was opening up beneath her feet. “How did you meet the prince?” she asked too abruptly.

  “Quite by accident. He could not manage his horse. I helped him.”

  “I could see he was not entirely pleased with you.”

  “He is proud, as princes are.”

  “And you offended his pride?”

  “I outran his horse.”

  She tried to imagine such a scene, remembering all too vividly how Ash had leaped through the meadow as if his feet had wings.

  Swift or not, he couldn’t have outrun a horse. But Mariah didn’t intend to pursue the truth of the matter. Ash had won the prince’s interest, and that in itself was a daunting prospect.

  She clenched her fists at her sides so that she would not risk touching him again. “If only we could begin again…”

  Abruptly he caught both her hands in his. “You do not fear only for the dowager’s discomfort. You fear for me.”

  How could she deny it? In less than a month he’d gone from mad prisoner to courtly gentleman. Only days ago she’d been angry on his behalf, so full of pity and outrage. Nothing had mattered more than justice, not even the consequences of turning against her husband.

  Now Ash was free, confident, strong…stronger and more dangerous than ever before. He would be Donnington’s match. His superior.

  “Is it revenge you want, Ash?” she whispered. “Is that really why you’re here?”

  He lifted her right hand and kissed it, just as he had done in the library. “My memory is still uncertain. Trust me, Merry. I might have been mad before, but now I am perfectly sane.”

  “I know you are,” she said. “But if you want me to trust you, you must trust me. We must trust each other.”

  He kissed her left hand. His warm breath bathing her skin brought back the memory of his kiss. Made her aware of how much she wanted him to kiss her again…

  Stop it. “I still know this world better than you do,” she said, “no matter how well-brought-up you were in America. Let me guide you.”

  Her hands felt empty when he released them. “I will speak to the dowager. As her nephew.”