Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

  “Without accusations, Ash. And only after I have spoken with her first.”

  “And you will come with me to Rothwell. Today.”

  “We have no need to go there. Sinjin will soon have more information for us. He will come when he—”

  “The prince has invited us. Should we deny him?”

  “His invitation was simply a courtesy. What could you possibly have to learn there that you cannot better discover here?”

  “Your dowager may not accept me.”

  “You must give her time. She has not seen her sister in well over thirty years.” She heard the sound of footsteps in the entrance hall and knew their conversation was blessedly at an end. So did Ash.

  He offered his arm. “Lady Donnington,” he said formally.

  She rested her hand on his forearm, hating him, hating Donnington…hating herself. Ash had taken his life out of her hands, and there was no telling what he might do.

  At least he isn’t mad. Even if I am.

  She carefully measured her steps back to the drawing room and stopped outside the door. “I must speak to the dowager,” she said. “Please remain here, Ash.”

  He swept her one of his cavalier’s bows, went into the drawing room and found a seat. Mariah didn’t go directly to the dowager, however. She went to her own room, sat at her secretary and wrote out a quick note to Sinjin. She summoned a footman to ride to Rothwell immediately and deliver it by hand.

  Having completed that task, Mariah walked down the hall to the dowager’s suite and knocked. After what seemed like an eternity, Vivian opened the door.

  She could not have looked less like herself. Her usually well-coiffed hair was falling down about her ears, her face was streaked with tears, and her dress was rumpled, as if she had been lying curled up on her bed.

  “Did you know he was coming?” she asked.

  “I had no idea,” Mariah answered honestly.

  Vivian passed her hand over her face, but her eyes were sharp and angry. “But you do know him,” she accused.

  “No, Vivian. I do not.”

  And that was at least partly the truth. She hadn’t known this Ash until last night.

  The dowager regarded her through narrowed, glistening eyes, and Mariah could easily guess what she must be thinking. Vivian must believe that Ash was who he claimed to be—the physical evidence was simply too overwhelming to deny—but she clearly had no desire to welcome her sister’s son into the family.

  “Do you intend to come down and speak to him?” Mariah asked.

  The dowager straightened and raised her hands to her disheveled hair. “By all means I shall speak to him,” she said. “I shall hear what story he has to tell.”

  “Then let me call for your maid.”

  The dowager nodded, too shaken to protest Mariah’s decisiveness. Mariah rang for Fellows, then went out into the corridor to find Parish hovering nervously at the head of the staircase.

  “Everything is all right, Parish,” she said. “Please see that Mr. Cornell is provided with anything he wishes. The dowager and I shall be down presently.”

  With a nod of relief, Parish descended the stairs. Once Fellows appeared, Mariah sent her in to Vivian. Mariah lingered in the corridor, trying to prepare herself for the unpleasant episode to come.

  It wasn’t just her fear of the meeting between two stubborn antagonists. It was being in close proximity to Ash himself. Last night—early this morning—his actions had shown that his desires had gradually changed since he had wanted only to escape his cage and discover his identity. She was sure he understood that she had ample reason to reject his advances, but he was more than clever enough to use the forbidden attraction between them to manipulate her into doing as he wished. Whatever that might be.

  You will come with me to Rothwell, he had said. What did he hope to accomplish there? Did he think he needed her to intervene between him and Sinjin, who would have no idea of the full extent of what had happened since he had last seen Ash? What could he want of her brother-in-law, when he had already gained the attention of the prince?

  And that brought up yet another vital question. If Prince Albert had truly taken to Ash, he might very well invite his new acquaintance to Marlborough House. Did Ash understand enough about English society to join it? For undoubtedly that end would appeal to him, and his reasons weren’t difficult to guess.

  He did want revenge, of that Mariah was certain. Donnington had never been part of the Marlborough House Set, and his resentment of that fact had hardly made him reticent in claiming that he had no use for such society. If Ash intended to establish himself among the prince’s followers in order to injure Donnington, he could have no better advocate than the heir to the throne of England.

  She wondered why he had chosen not to extend his hatred of Donnington to Donnington’s wife. Perhaps he had realized that by seducing her, he would spoil something that belonged to his enemy. Perhaps she was only another part of his revenge.

  Horrified by her own bitter speculation, Mariah descended the stairs, her legs as heavy as stumps, then smoothed her skirts and entered the drawing room.

  Ash looked up from his perusal of the bronze horse perched on the mantelpiece. “I missed you,” he said.

  Mariah stifled a laugh. She had been gone no more than half an hour, and he had missed her?

  “I am here now,” she said, taking a seat. “The dowager will join us directly.” She swallowed as he came within touching distance. “Ash, you asked me to trust you. I must know—”

  The dowager marched into the room, head high, her bearing ominously cool. Ash moved away from Mariah, unruffled and calm. Mariah could only pray that she appeared the same.

  The dowager could not have failed to note their proximity, but she let no sign of her reaction penetrate the mask of her face. Ash bowed to her; she nodded in return.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Cornell,” she said.

  He continued to stand after the dowager had seated herself. “Again, I must apologize, madam,” he said. “Had I know you would have no warning of my appearance…”

  “It is of no moment,” the dowager said. “If my greeting was less than proper, I beg you will forgive me.”

  “Of course, ma’am. But the fault was all mine.”

  She smiled at him, a ferocious expression that belied her welcome. “Now we are here,” she said. “And you are my sister’s son.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It was my mother’s dearest wish that our families be reconciled. When she left us…”

  “Vicki is dead?” The dowager caught herself, and Mariah could have sworn she glimpsed tears in Vivian’s eyes. “I am sorry, Mr. Cornell. Deeply sorry.”

  Ash bowed his head. “As are we all, ma’am.”

  Silence hung over the room. “I hope that you will tell me about my sister’s years in America,” Vivian said at last. “I…regret what came between us.” She produced a handkerchief and dabbed discreetly at her eyes. “But it seems that I have not lost her completely.”

  He proceeded to tell her about how Wilfred Cornell had taken his wife to California, where he had become wealthy supplying gold miners not only with necessities but also with the comforts they so often lacked. He described his parents’ happy marriage, their eventual move to Arizona, and how he had been educated at a large university in the East. He briefly mentioned his mother’s long illness and her final wish that her only son travel to England to meet her sister’s family.

  The tale was so richly detailed that Mariah couldn’t doubt that he had lived every moment of it.

  “My mother often spoke of you, ma’am,” Ash said to Vivian. “She had heard you had two sons, but never suspected…” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps it is best that the earl is away, so that you may put him on his guard.”

  “I daresay,” the dowager murmured. “I expect to hear from my son at any moment.”

  “To meet my cousins will be a great privilege. I know that the prince was on his way to your younger son’s esta
te.”

  “His Royal Highness is a frequent visitor there,” Mariah said.

  “Then you are indeed a fortunate family.”

  There was a pause in the conversation while Vivian unconsciously rubbed at her left hand with her right…a sign, Mariah knew, of the recurring pain in the joints from which she had suffered for some years.

  “Are you in discomfort, ma’am?” Ash asked.

  The dowager flinched as if she had been caught in some criminal act and hid her hands in the folds of her skirts. “I am very well, thank you,” she said in a flat voice.

  Ash leaned back, a faint frown on his face. After another uncomfortable few moments, they went on to speak more of Ash’s encounter with Bertie and his amazing good fortune in so quickly winning the prince’s friendship.

  “The prince is so very affable,” Vivian said. “He has many American ladies among his acquaintance…as well as those less commonly received in society.”

  “He must have very good taste in ladies, then,” Ash said, smiling at Mariah in such a way that her chest constricted and that familiar intimate ache returned.

  “In any event, Mr. Cornell,” Mariah said hastily, “you shall receive all the hospitality Donbridge has to offer.”

  “Indeed,” Vivian said. Mariah glanced at her and saw a fierce look of satisfaction on the dowager’s face. It was more than simple acceptance of Ash’s identity. She had already convinced herself that she had found a new candidate for Mariah’s clandestine lover, in spite of Mariah’s assurances that she had not known Cornell before his arrival.

  Mariah had no idea whether Ash was capable of concealing their past relationship, or if he even intended to try. The longer he remained at Donbridge, the greater the danger of discovery.

  But if he goes to Rothwell…

  “I must inform the housekeeper that a room should be made ready for our guest,” the dowager said, rising. She turned to face Ash. “Lady Donnington will provide you with anything you require until your room is ready.”

  She swept out before Mariah could respond, deliberately leaving her son’s wife alone with her nephew.

  “I must speak to the cook,” Mariah said to Ash without looking in his direction. “I hope you will take advantage of the beauty of our grounds. Our grooms will assist you in choosing a mount from our stables.”

  “I will select one myself,” Ash said, rising as she did. “I always take what belongs to me.”

  She stiffened. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Cornell,” she said, and left to consult with Cook.

  “There will be a third at luncheon,” she told the thin birdlike woman who ruled the kitchen. Mrs. Gray’s curiosity was manifest. By now, every servant would know of Ash’s arrival and his first meeting with the dowager.

  But where was Nola? Mariah realized that she hadn’t seen the girl since two mornings ago. She would have been of great help today, being more than clever enough to counter any rumors that might arise regarding her mistress’s possible relationship with Mr. Cornell.

  Angry all over again, Mariah occupied herself with household concerns, letting Ash fend for himself until luncheon. She trusted him just enough to believe he wouldn’t pester the dowager with unsupported accusations or mention his captivity. In fact, she had to admit that thus far he had done just as she had asked.

  But that wouldn’t last forever.

  Mariah assured herself that Ash’s room had been properly prepared and then summoned a footman to inform their guest that it was ready for occupation. She was grateful that she and Ash did not meet again before she sought her own chamber for a brief spot of privacy.

  Nola was waiting outside her door.

  “Nola!” Mariah said, unaccountably relieved. “Where have you been?”

  The girl curtseyed. “I am that sorry, your ladyship, but I had an urgent message from my cousin in Barway. She said that my mother had taken a turn for the worse, and so Mrs. Baines gave me permission to visit her.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, Nola. Is she better now?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. It was really nothing at all.”

  “Thank goodness.” Mariah smiled. “I shall be requiring your services, Nola. Alice has come down ill, and I may shortly be making a visit to Rothwell.”

  “Mr. Ware’s estate?”

  “Yes. Please prepare what I will need for a stay of no more than three days. And pack your own things, as well.”

  “At once, your ladyship.”

  Nola tripped away, obviously pleased to be accompanying her mistress on her first visit to a neighboring estate. Wearily, Mariah went into her room and lay on the bed.

  They had all made it through the first morning, but the challenges were far from over. The future that Sinjin had questioned her about had seemed distant, even implausible, as if she and Ash had existed in a timeless world all their own.

  But now that future was here, and her world was quickly slipping out of her grasp.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SINJIN WAS STILL A LITTLE breathless when he took the letter from Hedley. He was aware that his tie was askew and his jacket creased, but far better to let any observers note his state of dishevelment than allow them to see Pamela in her present condition.

  Not that the servants didn’t know that their employer and the beautiful Lady Westlake were engaged in une affaire d’amour. There were moments when Sinjin almost forgot the initial hostility between himself and Pamela. But that was part of the charm of their relationship: neither one trusted the other.

  So far he seemed to have succeeded in putting any thought of Mariah from Pamela’s mind, and she was completely untroubled by her own infidelity to her ancient, ailing husband. Sinjin knew he was an excellent lover, considerate and tireless; his long string of former conquests was testament to that fact. The ladies enjoyed what he gave them, and he enjoyed them equally, with no expectation of loyalty. Already, so soon after his last bout with Pamela, he was eager to begin again.

  But he’d had his warning. He read through the letter, crumpled it and pushed it into his pocket as he returned to the bedroom.

  Lady Westlake looked up from the bed, her body sprawled lazily across the tumbled sheets.

  “Well?” she purred. “What brought Hedley all the way to this lovely little cottage of yours?”

  “You must go,” he said, gathering up her clothes and tossing them on the bed.

  She pouted. “But why? You said your servants are discreet, and no one else—”

  “The prince is arriving several hours earlier than expected,” he said brusquely. “Obviously you can’t be seen here.”

  Pamela made a most unladylike noise and slid from the bed. “The prince ought to have more consideration,” she said.

  For a moment she busied herself with her undergarments while Sinjin watched from the mirror. She struck a pose, thrusting out her admirable breasts.

  “No time for another bout?” she teased.

  “No time.” He finished knotting a fresh tie, grateful he had never learned to be dependent on his valet, and waited impatiently for Pamela to finish. She requested his help with the hooks and laces along the back of her bodice, and in ten more minutes she was presentable.

  “I won’t be able to escort you this time,” he said, straightening his jacket. “It wasn’t wise to meet in the middle of the day.”

  “How gallant of you to be worried about my reputation.”

  “You can take care of yourself, my dear. That is why we rub along so well together.”

  “In more ways than one.”

  Sinjin was growing hard again, but he ignored his body’s demands and handed Pamela her fox pelerine. “I’ll write when I can,” he said.

  She caught the lapels of his jacket and kissed him passionately. With the greatest effort, he held her away and steered her toward the cottage’s rear door.

  When she was gone, he sat on the rumpled bed and considered all the things that had so radically altered overnight. Mariah’s letter had been brief but
explicit; Ash had appeared and claimed to be the very person Sinjin and Mariah had suspected: his American cousin, son to the dowager Lady Donnington’s long-estranged sister. Moreover, the prince had apparently become acquainted with Ash and had invited him to Rothwell.

  Sinjin was furious at Ash’s rash move. Matters were moving much too rapidly to control. Merry hadn’t given a reason for Ash’s sudden rebellion or done more than guess at his subsequent intentions, but Sinjin could surmise well enough.

  He laughed shortly. Now he need no longer play games with Pamela, not even of the sexual variety. He ought to be pleased.

  He wasn’t.

  Damn her. That wasn’t fair, of course. She was only being what she was, true to her own devious and often petulant nature. If she didn’t get up to one mischief, she would find another soon enough.

  And all that didn’t change a bloody thing.

  He sighed, got up and estimated how quickly he could ride back to the house. Considering the time it had taken for Mariah’s message to be delivered, the prince might arrive at any moment.

  Sinjin urged Shaitan to his fastest pace and reached the house just as the dust from the prince’s carriage was rising up from the lane. Sinjin flung the reins to a groom, ran up the stairs and found his valet waiting for him. Together they managed to get him dressed in ten minutes, and he was greeting Bertie in the entrance hall within fifteen.

  As usual, the prince’s manner was amiably effusive, ready to be pleased. Sinjin had already arranged entertainment in the form of a gypsy fortune-teller and dancers, games of chance—some less than legal—and the exhibition of a trained elephant from a small country circus. That, he hoped, should keep Bertie amused until he and his party went on to Newmarket.

  He had instructed Mrs. Blunt to refurbish Rothwell’s best rooms and his French chef to prepare gourmet meals throughout the prince’s stay, so there was little more to be done but provide Bertie with his best brandy and finest cigars. When they had been seated in the drawing room, the prince and his retinue laughingly recounted their meeting with the American called Mr. Cornell.