Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

  “No, your ladyship. Everything is very clear.”

  “Excellent.” Vivian rose. “I shall expect you to present yourself to me, discreetly, in a few days’ time. If the countess does not call for you soon, you are to find a way to attract her interest again. I know you are clever enough to do it.”

  There was no answer, but Vivian required none. She swept past the girl and through the drawing room door, massaging her hands in a way that no one might see.

  She would know what Mariah was scheming, one way or another. She had long been convinced, given Donnington’s sudden departure following his wedding night, that his marriage to the girl had never been consummated. And though proof of the validity of Vivian’s suspicions might be long in coming, she could certainly find other damning evidence against the hussy…evidence that, when combined with the almost certain fact of Mariah’s virginal state, might prove the basis for dissolution of the ill-conceived union.

  Donnington might already be longing for an escape from his ties to Mariah. If he were to be assured that such a dissolution was both possible and desirable…

  As the Americans said in their usual vulgar fashion, there was more than one way to skin a cat. And if the cat’s pelt might be acquired with so little trouble to herself, so much the better.

  “WILL YOU HAVE ANOTHER piece of cake, Lady Donnington?”

  Mariah smiled at Lady Westlake with her best attempt at sincerity. “It is a delicious cake, Lady Westlake. My compliments to your cook.”

  “Our chef is indeed an excellent practitioner of his craft,” the viscountess corrected with apparent gentleness, a reminder that her household employed a real French chef instead of the simple cook who served Donbridge.

  It was one of those not-so-subtle remarks meant to remind the young matron of her responsibility to make improvements at Donbridge in her husband’s absence, responsibilities that had clearly remained unfulfilled in the wake of the dowager’s refusal to relinquish control of the household.

  Lady Westlake and her luncheon guests regarded Mariah with variations of secret glee, hostility and thoughtful speculation. Mrs. Jonathan Brandywyne took pleasure in any discomfiture Mariah might show, while Mrs. Joseph Roberts’s expression was one of puzzled disapproval. Only Madeleine, Lady Hurst, appeared sympathetic to Mariah’s unfortunate plight.

  But Lady Westlake was obviously of the same mind as the dowager. Mariah must have driven Donnington away, or he would not have left so suddenly. She made little secret of her belief in the new Lady Donnington’s faults, even as she served up cake and smiles.

  Why do you suffer this? Mariah asked herself. But she knew why. She had committed herself to this life and this marriage for her parents’ sake. Hiding away from those who had become her peers would do no good and would only confirm Vivian’s low opinion of her.

  As if I care for that. Nor had she, until she’d heard Sinjin’s warning. And since she had found Ash, everything had changed. There was no telling what might happen when he left his cage, which eventually he must do.

  Ash. Her thoughts wandered dangerously in his direction. She hadn’t been able to see him today; household concerns, unexpectedly dropped in her lap by the dowager, had kept her occupied all morning. Then there had been this luncheon, which would not end until two at the earliest.

  She might comfort herself with the knowledge that, since she still had the key, Ash was unlikely to be disturbed by his unknown keeper, but that didn’t really ease her mind. Eventually she would have to put the key back, and she couldn’t bear the thought of his being alone in that place. If only she could go to him now…

  “Your cake, Lady Donnington.”

  She snapped back to the present and accepted the second piece from Lady Westlake. Mrs. Brandywyne smothered a titter. She, like many other Englishwomen, obviously thought Mariah’s healthy appetite yet another sign of American ill-breeding.

  “Tell me, Lady Donnington,” Mrs. Brandywyne said sweetly, “how are you faring while Lord Donnington is away? How difficult it must be for a young wife.”

  “Difficult?” Lady Westlake said. “Some young ladies should be glad to see very little of their husbands after the first few days of marriage.”

  A silence fell, partly compounded of titillated shock and partly of agreement that could not be spoken. It was a generally accepted fact that English ladies bore their husbands’ attentions from a sense of duty and the need to provide an heir as quickly as possible, but they were not supposed to enjoy the means of getting a child. Mrs. Brandywyne and Lady Westlake clearly hoped to provoke Mariah.

  “I do regret his absence,” Mariah said, meeting Lady Westlake’s probing gaze.

  “Of course you do,” Mrs. Brandywyne opined. “Such a lovely young bride as you are, Lady Donnington.”

  “When he returns, we shall be all the happier to be together again.”

  “‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ as they say,” Lady Hurst put in.

  “Let us indeed hope so,” Mrs. Roberts said, her first words in a good half hour.

  For a moment, that seemed to be the end of the skirmish, minor as it had been, but Lady Westlake was far from satisfied.

  “How fares your father in America, Lady Donnington?” she asked, pretending to take another tiny bite of her own half-finished cake.

  Mariah set down her plate. “Very well, thank you. He keeps himself busy.”

  “With business interests,” Mrs. Brandywyne said. “How industrious you Americans are.”

  “Indeed,” Mariah said. “Hard work agrees with us. Men like my father prefer to earn their own way to prosperity.”

  Mrs. Brandywyne nearly dropped her teacup. Lady Hurst smiled.

  Lady Westlake smiled, as well, but far less pleasantly.

  “We have our own of that kind here in England,” she said. “They feel themselves quite equal to those whose heritage and titles extend back to the service of our greatest monarchs.”

  “But your workers are serving the current monarch now, by bringing prosperity to the nation,” Mariah said, “and allowing the titled to continue to enjoy their more…stimulating pursuits.”

  This time there was an audible gasp, though Mariah wasn’t sure from whom it emanated. Lady Westlake maintained her smile.

  “Oh, their scheming for position only amuses us,” she said in a bland tone. “Though our dear prince shows most admirable tolerance for individuals of lesser station.”

  “More’s the pity,” Mrs. Brandywyne said. She was not a part of the coveted Marlborough House Set, the prince’s circle, though she very much wanted to be. Mariah had heard that Bertie preferred his women beautiful, witty and a little fast. Louise Brandywyne was on the wrong side of plain and completely lacking in conversation. Mariah could almost sympathize with her thwarted ambitions.

  “How is that you have never applied to join our prince at Marlborough House?” Lady Westlake asked. “Even Americans are permitted there.”

  “It would be quite remiss of me to go gallivanting about while my husband is away,” Mariah said. “I prefer a quiet life at Donbridge.”

  “Take care it does not become too quiet,” Lady Westlake said with a touch a venom, “or you might be tempted to find some questionable diversion to dispel your loneliness.”

  Questionable diversion. Mariah worked to suppress her anger. After what Sinjin had told her, she could not mistake the meaning of Lady Westlake’s remark. Now she knew that Vivian’s unfounded and insulting suspicions were shared by someone else…one who was far more the dowager’s friend than she was Mariah’s.

  Mariah rose abruptly. “Ah,” she said, glancing pointedly at the clock on the elaborately carved marble mantelpiece. “I am behind today. Please forgive me, but I must take my leave.”

  Lady Westlake rose very slowly to take Mariah’s hand. “I am sorry, Lady Donnington. I hope you will be able to join us at Newmarket.”

  “Thank you, but I believe I shall remain at Donbridge for the time being.” She turned
her attention to the other guests. “Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Brandywyne.” She reserved her warmest smile for Lady Hurst. “Please enjoy the remainder of your afternoon.”

  She left without further ado, sweeping past a startled parlor maid with a stride as long as her skirts would permit. Fury propelled her as the carriage drew up in the drive.

  Vivian and Lady Westlake. It was not the first time that Mariah had been invited to one of Pamela’s luncheons, but the woman had never made such insinuations before. The dowager had always encouraged Mariah to attend the neighbors’ social events; had this particular invitation been a ploy to catch Mariah out?

  It hardly mattered what the two of them intended. The appearance of a stainless reputation was every bit as important as the fact of it.

  And her reputation could be in very real danger.

  But will that stop you?

  Never. Neither would Vivian’s designs on her marriage, nor Lady Westlake’s spite, nor her own increasingly disturbing feelings for Ash. She was in control of her own actions.

  The catch was that she had no way of predicting what Ash might do next. For all his struggles with speech and memory, he could not be dismissed as a mere lunatic. He might be caught in a web of confusion, but he had not been humbled by the experience. He had spoken like a nobleman, like a lord accustomed to command.

  “Am I a gentleman?” he had asked. At the time she hadn’t answered him, having no answer to give. But now his simple question sparked a new comprehension. He could not be anything but a gentleman. A gentleman who had, for some reason beyond her current understanding, been horribly wronged.

  She climbed into the carriage, her heart beating with new purpose. Whatever the dangers to herself, she must help Ash recover his memory. She must teach him what he could not remember. And she must make certain that he was restored to whatever life he had been compelled to abandon—even if she must shock the dowager in the process.

  But she could not do it alone. She must have an ally, one who would lend respectability to the endeavor once it was brought into the open.

  And she knew who that ally must be.

  More than a little worried, Mariah rode all the way back to Donbridge with her fists clenched in her skirts. She hurried up to her room to change into her riding habit and waited impatiently for a groom to fetch Germanicus, her favorite mount. She slipped away before Vivian could accost her and urged the gelding to a fast pace, eager to make the necessary call on Sinjin at his country home before he returned to London.

  Presenting her card to the parlor maid who answered the door, she strode into Rothwell’s entrance hall. She was immediately shown into Sinjin’s study, a masculine sanctuary into which few gentlemen would ever admit a lady.

  “Ah, Lady Donnington,” Sinjin said, rising as he finished rubbing out the end of his undoubtedly expensive cigar into the ashtray on his desk. “I had not expected to be graced with your charming presence so soon.”

  Mariah removed her hat. “I hope it is not an inconvenience.”

  “An inconvenience?” He chuckled and waved her toward one of the hard, straight-backed chairs. “After your recent generosity, your coming could never be an inconvenience.”

  Mariah felt far too agitated to sit or bother with the niceties. “I hope you are prepared to listen to a very strange tale,” she said.

  Ware peered at her with interest. “Has this anything to do with your mysterious request for assistance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you have tea?”

  “I’ve only just had luncheon.”

  “With Lady Westlake?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “Something about the look on your face. And Lady Westlake holds you in particular fascination, you know.”

  “She seems to share the dowager’s assumptions about my…my supposedly bad behavior.”

  “You do know why, don’t you?”

  Mariah was in no mood for further unpleasant revelations. “Sinjin…”

  “She’s been in love with Donnington for years.”

  “But Lady Westlake is married!”

  “You’re being naïve again, Merry. There are some who actually do ignore their marriage vows.”

  “You mean that she and my husband have been…they’ve—”

  “Not as far as I am aware. But that doesn’t keep Pamela from hoping.”

  Mariah played nervously with the hem of her riding jacket, striving to hide her agitation. “Do you know her well, Sinjin?”

  He sighed. “Do take a seat.”

  She sat, and he did the same, drumming his fingers on the table beside his chair. “She’s frequently at Marlborough House,” he said. “One could scarcely miss her. And the Viscounts Westlake have been our neighbors since my grandfather’s time. Pamela has recently become a great friend of my mother’s.” His face settled into a scowl. “I don’t think Donnie has seen her since well before your marriage, but you’d do well to stay away from her, Merry.”

  “I may avoid her, but not your mother. She still hopes to discover grounds for her dislike of me. And if matters at Donbridge proceed without your assistance, I fear she may get her wish.”

  Sinjin started. “What matters?” he demanded. “Mariah, what have you done?”

  “Nothing very bad, unless you consider discovering a hidden prisoner on the estate an evil on my part.”

  He laughed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have found a man at Donbridge, imprisoned in a folly.”

  Sinjin leaned back in his chair and reached for the crushed cigar, which was quite beyond recovery.

  “Get another, if you like,” Mariah said. “I’m used to my father’s cigars, you know.”

  Sinjin got up, paced around the room and swung to face her. “What nonsense, Mariah. I always suspected you had a vivid imagination, but this exceeds my wildest expectations.”

  She tried very hard not to flinch at his tone. Though her determination hadn’t wavered, she had guessed that Sinjin would be bound to wonder about the state of her mind.

  “It isn’t nonsense,” she said, very low. “Is anyone likely to hear us?”

  “I usually banish the servants when I’m in my study,” he said. “What has that to do with…with this fantastic story of yours?”

  She took a deep breath. “This must be a secret between us, Sinjin.”

  “A secret.” He waved his hand. “Very well, it shall be our secret.” He laughed again, though the sound was strained. “Get on with it, then.”

  His rudeness was the least of her concerns. “When I was walking out by the mere yesterday morning,” she said slowly, “I saw something at the folly—”

  “You mean that Georgian monstrosity?” He chuckled to himself, glanced at Mariah’s straight face and sobered. “What did you see at the folly?”

  “A man.”

  “A man?”

  “A man caged up like an animal, behind bars. A man who has obviously been a prisoner for some time.”

  Sinjin frowned, wore another circle in the carpet, revisited his unhappy cigar, and finally took his seat again.

  “A prisoner?” he echoed. “In the folly?”

  “As I said.”

  It was too much for even an intelligent man to absorb all at once. Sinjin slumped in his chair, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “This isn’t just a story, is it?”

  “Do you think I’m a liar, Sinjin?”

  “Good God, no.” He raised his head. “Who in hell is he?”

  Mariah released her breath. As miraculous as it seemed, he believed her. Or at least he was doing a very good job of pretending.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “When I first found him, he couldn’t speak. And though he has regained the power of conversation, he doesn’t know his name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. It is as if he suffers from a form of amnesia. He was in a very poor state when I found him, with only stale water and no food.”

&n
bsp; “Good God,” Sinjin repeated. He glared down at the crease in his trousers, his expression dark as storm clouds. “What does this fellow remember?”

  “Very little,” she said. “He has obviously suffered some sort of shock, but he is a gentleman, that much is clear.”

  “A gentleman?”

  “Yes, though it might not appear so at first. His speech, his manner…”

  “This is beyond anything.”

  “I know.”

  He remained deep in thought for several tense minutes. “How did you come to find this man, Mariah?”

  “I saw a stranger lurking about the folly and found a key to an inner chamber. That is where I discovered the cage.” She braced herself. “There is something else, Sinjin. This man…the prisoner looks almost exactly like Donnington.”

  “What?”

  “Except for the color of his hair, he could be Donnington’s twin.”

  Sinjin muttered something under his breath. “Are you quite certain all this wasn’t a dream?”

  The chair seemed to lurch under her. “I can see that it was a mistake to come here. I shall take my leave.”

  “Merry, I—” He stared into her eyes. “Good God. You’re as white as a sheet. I’ll ring for a glass of—”

  “I’m all right.” Mariah sat very straight and gazed at him earnestly. “What I have said is no exaggeration. I felt it was necessary to prepare you.” She hesitated. Should I tell you that he not only looks like Donnington, but blames your brother for his imprisonment?

  She had no choice. But that could wait until tonight…if Sinjin agreed to come.

  “Did you or did you not mean it when you said I could count on you?” she asked.

  “Of course I meant it,” he said, though his usual aplomb had deserted him completely. “You haven’t spoken of this to anyone else?”

  “I did question one of the maids regarding rumors related to a captive somewhere on the grounds.”

  “Rumors? You’d already heard about this?”

  “Not at all, but I thought if anyone would know…” She hesitated. “She confirmed that she’d heard stories of someone being held at Donbridge.”

  “For God’s sake!” He shook his head. “I’ve never heard a word of this, and I can scarce credit—” He broke off. “A man who looks like Donnington. Did this maid say who is supposed to have committed this…this offense?”