A Favor for the Prince

by Jane Ashford

  Ariel gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you,” she said and urged Lord Alan out into the corridor once again.

  “We will never get anywhere if you continually undermine my lines of questioning,” Alan protested.

  “We will never get anywhere if you antagonize everyone we speak to,” she retorted.

  “We are not here to engage in amiable chitchat or to hear useless reminiscences. We must get to the heart of the matter and adhere to the facts.”

  “But what he said about my mother being different the last two—”

  “Moonshine,” snapped Alan. “A waste of time.”

  Ariel gave him an exasperated look. She started to speak, but they had reached a closed door near the end of the hall, and instead she raised her hand and knocked on it.

  “Yes?” replied a resonant female voice. The door opened to reveal a tall, statuesque woman with lustrous black hair and a striking, hawk-like face. Her dark eyes showed a sharp intelligence as she looked from one to the other of them. She was dressed in street clothes, clearly ready to depart. “Yes?” she said again.

  “It’s Ariel Harding.” She looked more hesitant than before. “How are you?”

  “Ariel?” The woman looked her up and down.

  “This is Lord Alan Gresham. Lord Alan, this is Maria Edgecombe, the chief actress at the theater here.”

  Maria gave her a piercing look. “Since your mother died,” she amplified. She subjected Lord Alan to a thorough examination. “One of Langford’s sons?” she asked.

  Alan nodded. This was a woman who knew every man’s lineage and his fortune to the penny, he thought.

  “Ah.” She glanced at Ariel. “You haven’t wasted any time. Very sensible, of course, to find yourself a protector at once. However did you manage it? I thought you were immured at some school in the wilds of the country.”

  “The prince regent has asked Lord Alan to investigate the incidents at Carlton House. I met him when I went there to see…what was going on. He is helping me look into Bess’s death.”

  Alan looked at Ariel with some surprise. Her tone was subdued—not deferential, but certainly cautious—quite different from the one she had used with the two actors.

  “I see,” Maria was saying. “Clever of you.”

  “Miss Harding is not—” Alan began.

  “I wanted to ask you if you had noticed anything that might explain what happened to Bess,” Ariel interrupted.

  Maria frowned.

  “I thought she might have said something, or behaved unusually.”

  “She was her customary scintillating self,” was the acid reply.

  “You and she were rivals?” asked Alan.

  The actress’s dark eyebrows arched as she gave him a thin smile. “Bess Harding and I set each other’s backs up the moment we met—which was more years ago than I intend to admit to you. We sparred continually, but it was little more than a habit by this time.”

  “With her gone, your position at the theater apparently improves,” Alan observed.

  “My ‘position’ is as precarious as ever, my lord. Walk out of this room and down to the other end of the corridor, and you will find a line of lovely young women vying to take my place. Already, I’m relegated to playing the queen, the sorceress, even the fortune-teller.” She gestured at the pile of false hair that lay on her neat dressing table. “Actually, Bess and I were finding that pursuit by ‘time’s wingèd chariot’ was making us into allies. Grudging allies, I admit. But still…” She spread her well-cared-for hands.

  “Did you see anything, or hear anything that might explain what…what she did?” put in Ariel.

  Maria turned to her. “No. But afterward, I saw Clarisse.”

  “Where has she gone?” Ariel cried.

  “I don’t know. I gave her a bit of money.”

  “Who is Clarisse?” asked Alan.

  “My mother’s dresser and personal attendant,” said Ariel.

  “Ah.” He paused, then added, “This business at Carlton House—can you tell me anything about that?”

  Maria gave him a broad, malicious smile. “Can I? Or will I?”

  “You know something.”

  “Know?” She shook her head. “I might have suspicions.”

  “Of whom?” he asked sharply.

  “Whom.” She let the word roll on her tongue. “I believe I will let you discover that for yourself, my lord. You seem a man of…parts.”

  “Clarisse gave you no hint of where she was going?” said Ariel.

  Maria turned to look at her. The sardonic cast of her expression softened slightly. “If I were you, I would inquire among the émigrés. She would go to her own people.”

  Ariel nodded. “I should have thought of that. We will get in touch with them right away.”

  She seemed ready to set off at once, Alan noted. “I ask again,” he said. “Of whom are you suspicious?”

  “Save your stern looks for the youngsters,” answered Maria airily. “I must go. I am expected for supper, and the gentleman must be kept waiting just the proper amount of time. And no longer.” She moved toward the door.

  Alan blocked it.

  “What will you do, beat me?” wondered Maria mockingly. “Talk to the youngsters, I tell you.”

  “What youngsters? Who are you talking about?”

  “The young actors,” responded Ariel rather absently. “We can catch some of them in the tiring room.” She also moved toward the open doorway.

  Confronted by both women, Alan finally stepped aside. He could not, after all, shake the information out of Maria, he acknowledged with regret. “I’ll call upon you again,” he assured her.

  Maria clasped both hands to her splendid bosom. “Oh, my lord,” she cooed. Then, with a laugh, she slipped past him and away.

  “Irritating woman,” muttered Alan.

  “This way,” said Ariel, starting back along the corridor the way they had come.

  “Where are we going now?” he demanded.

  “To talk with the younger actors. I don’t know them, but my connection to Bess should be a sufficient introduction.”

  Still feeling disgruntled, he strode along beside her.

  “You know, I have been thinking,” Ariel went on.

  “Commendable,” he muttered under his breath.

  “No matter what we do, everyone is going to assume I’m your mistress,” she said.

  He paused in the middle of the corridor and looked down at her.

  She shrugged. “They will. It can’t be helped.”

  “We will disabuse them of the notion,” he responded.

  “Mmm. Well, I was thinking,” she repeated. “Since we have such a clear agreement between ourselves, and know that nothing of that sort can occur, perhaps we should just let them think so.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Then I could go about with you—to Carlton House and other places—quite freely. No one would question it or suspect our real purpose.” She gazed along the empty corridor.

  “Out of the question,” he said.

  She raised her eyes to his face. “Why?”

  “You seem to be forgetting an important point.”

  Ariel frowned a little and continued to look inquiring.

  “Your future,” he explained impatiently. “Once this is over, your reputation would be ruined.”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand. “I have no good name to preserve,” she informed him. “I am Bess Harding’s daughter.”

  Her tone seemed a mixture of resignation and pride and a certain forlorn stoicism. Unexpectedly, Alan felt protective. “What does that signify?” he objected.

  She simply looked at him.

  “I don’t see that it need taint your life.”

  Ariel’s hazel eyes flared with indignation.
“I didn’t say tainted! I would never say that. I am simply…not like other people.”

  He started to speak.

  “We are wasting time,” said Ariel, starting to walk again. “My idea is a good one. We shall use it when necessary.”

  He came up with her in one long stride. “No,” he said.

  “Why must you always disagree with me?” she demanded. “I am very well able to—”

  Alan caught her upper arm and spun her around to face him. She was lighter than he had allowed for, and the force of his grasp caused them to collide at the center of the hallway.

  Ariel let out a startled, “Oh.”

  He had meant simply to correct her muddled thinking once and for all, but as in their very first encounter, her breasts pressed softly, tantalizingly, against him. Light danced in the pools of her eyes, and her extraordinary lips were slightly parted. Before he could think, Alan bent his head and took those lips for his own.

  They were like rose petals, only warm and possessed of a vitality that sent a charge like electricity through his whole body. He had to put his arms around her and pull her even closer. He let his mouth move on hers. She was stiff at first, but then he felt her lips soften and yield to his. Her body loosened and gave in to his embrace. Desire seared Alan’s veins like lava, compelling, primal. There was nothing in the world he wanted but her.

  Then reason intervened like a sledgehammer. Shocked by his impulsive action, Alan jerked backward. Ariel looked dazed; she swayed a little on her feet, and he was forced to support her for a moment. Then he let his arm drop and stepped back. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

  She took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know what possessed me.” He paused. For the appalling fact was that he didn’t know. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. On the contrary, he had been quite thankful when she had set firm boundaries on their relationship. The last thing he wanted was female simpering and sighing complicating his investigation.

  So why had he kissed her, he demanded of himself? There was a rational reason for everything; there must be one for this. He looked down at her flushed face—the wide hazel eyes, the beautifully sculpted lips. Beneath her emerald-green gown, her breasts rose and fell rather rapidly.

  She had a number of physical attractions, which he had noticed from the first, Alan reminded himself. And he had responded to them without conscious volition. This was not beyond the realm of reason, but it was unacceptable. It had to be stopped. Of course, it could be. Now that he was aware of the tendency, he would repress it. Iron resolve stiffened his back. “You may rest assured that such a thing will never happen again,” he said. “Please accept my apologies.”

  “Apologies,” repeated Ariel breathlessly.

  “Exactly.”

  “I—”

  “What’s this, then?” put in a mocking voice from behind Ariel. “An assignation backstage? Sneakin’ about, are we? Dodgin’ an irate father or a husband, perhaps? Here, all of you, come and have a look at this.”

  Ariel and Alan faced the end of the corridor. They watched it fill with a group of young men and women, some of them recognizable from the play they had seen.

  “It’s coming out of the woodwork they are,” said the one who had spoken first, obviously an Irishman.

  Alan saw Ariel take another deep breath.

  “Perhaps we’ll begin chargin’ a fee for use of the premises,” continued the young actor. “What about it, lads? Aren’t we owed as much?”

  There was general laughter and calls of agreement from the group.

  Ariel cleared her throat. “I am Ariel Harding,” she said when it was quieter. “Bess Harding’s daughter. This is Lord Alan Gresham. We’ve come to talk with you about Bess’s death, and also about what is going on at Carlton House. I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”

  The members of the group exchanged glances.

  “I hope you will help us,” she finished.

  There was a brief silence. She had stated their mission much better in earlier conversations, Alan thought. She was clearly shaken by his behavioral lapse. He found this idea surprisingly unsettling.

  “Help you how?” demanded one of the actresses then. “And what does it matter? No one cares about people like us.”

  “The prince has asked Lord Alan to help,” replied Ariel. “And he has put men at his disposal.”

  “To rid his house of the ghost,” retorted the Irishman. “That’s all Prinny wants.” His green eyes danced with wicked mirth. “And he may not find that so easy.”

  “I want to find out what happened to my mother, and why,” answered Ariel. “It has nothing to do with the prince.”

  Members of the group looked at one another again.

  “What do you want from us?” asked the Irishman.

  “Anything you remember. Any hint of what Bess was thinking. The smallest thing might help, Mr.…”

  “Heany’s my name. Michael Heany.”

  Ariel smiled at him.

  After a moment, he introduced the others. It seemed that he was their spokesman. “We all admired Bess Harding,” he told Ariel. “Not that we didn’t have our troubles with her now and then.”

  Two of the young women laughed nervously.

  “But they always passed away like a summer storm,” he went on. “In the end, she was a generous soul, and a great actress as well.”

  Ariel’s eyes filmed with tears.

  “We’ll not be letting her memory die like a snuffed candle,” Michael Heany added. “Not while there’s anything we can do.”

  “And just what are you doing?” asked Alan.

  The young actor flicked him a glance. Some of the others moved uneasily or looked at the floor. “A lord, is it?” Michael replied. “What do you care for Bess Harding? You’ll just do whatever his corpulent highness asks.”

  “I care about the truth,” snapped Alan, stung by this characterization.

  The other man sneered.

  “Is there anything you can tell us?” Ariel interposed. “Please.”

  Alan watched the group’s faces soften somewhat. And after a moment, they crowded forward and began to offer Ariel opinions and impressions. Mainly useless, Alan thought as his trained mind began to catalog each remark and file it away, but he felt admiration, nonetheless, for the way she had won them over.

  * * *

  The silence in the carriage as they drove away from the theater was thick and awkward. Ariel sat as far from him as it was possible to be in the small space and as immovable as a pale image in the dim light. “The younger actors said a great deal, but very little of it was to the purpose,” Alan attempted after a while.

  Ariel made a noncommittal sound, barely audible over the clatter of the hack’s wheels on the cobblestones.

  “Still, it was important to interview them,” he added.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned toward him. “Lord Alan,” she said.

  He waited and, when she didn’t continue, said, “Yes?”

  She took another breath, clasping her hands before her. “My mother always warned me that if I were open and friendly with a man, he would take advantage of the opportunity and attempt to seduce and ruin me,” she said in a rush.

  Alan sat back, startled by this forthrightness.

  “She said men would pay no attention even if I told them very clearly that I wanted no such thing.”

  He began to protest, but she cut him off.

  “Apparently, she was right,” Ariel concluded. “I had thought we agreed ours was not that sort of relationship.”

  “I apologized.” He spoke a bit curtly. He was not used to being reprimanded by anyone, let alone a chit of a girl. And it galled him tremendously to be in the wrong in this matter.

  “Bess said apologies and pretended remorse are just a ruse to lull one’s suspicions,”
she added. “Because all men care about is satisfying their physical urges.”

  “Your mother was a veritable fount of wisdom,” he muttered.

  “I had thought I made it very clear from my manner that we have a purely business arrangement,” Ariel went on a trifle pompously.

  “Oh, yes? Such as when you suggested that you pretend to be my mistress?”

  She faltered slightly, then said, “I meant only that we should use society’s prejudices to further our investigation. As you knew quite well.”

  “Your investigation,” he countered. “I can’t see that it would be any help in mine.”

  “I see.” She gazed out the window, away from him. “So, this is the end, then.”

  “What?”

  “We cannot go on with this, under the circumstances.”

  She sounded disappointed and a bit forlorn. For some reason, her tone stung Alan sharply. “The circumstances,” he repeated, “do not warrant such a conclusion. You are putting far too much weight on a…a momentary aberration.”

  “Aberration?” she echoed.

  “Yes, a unique deviation from the normal—”

  “I know what the word means,” she retorted. “But my mother always said that it is normal for—”

  “Do spare me any further homilies from Bess Harding!”

  There was a charged silence. Alan struggled to regain his customary measured calm, which he had somehow lost yet again in the presence of this unexpected girl.

  “No doubt your mother had reasons for her opinion,” he went on finally. “However, her observations apply to a limited group of men, of which I am not a member. You may be assured that the unfortunate incident of today will not recur.”

  “But she said—”

  “I have told you, she was mistaken.”

  The hack pulled up before Ariel’s house. She hesitated, looking at him. “You are suggesting that we continue the investigation, on the same terms as before?” she asked.

  “I said I would find your mother’s former servants,” he reminded her. “I keep my word.”

  Ariel continued to gaze at him. He couldn’t make out her features, but he gained the impression that she was debating with herself. “And there will be no more—”