Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

“Nola,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

  Her agitation must have been apparent, for Nola suggested they go into Mariah’s room. “I did not mean to disturb you, your ladyship,” she said. “I was just returning from the kitchen.”

  The explanation was odd, given that Nola would not ordinarily pass through the guests’ part of the house if she were coming from the kitchen, but Mariah let it pass. She was glad to have the company.

  “Nola,” she said, drawing the maid into a seat, “what do you know of Lady Stapledon and Lord Russell?”

  The girl averted her gaze. “I have not met them, your ladyship.”

  “But what gossip have you heard? Do the servants say…?” She flushed. “Do they say that Lord Russell and the viscountess are often seen together when others aren’t about?”

  Hunching lower in her seat, Nola nodded. “Everyone knows, your ladyship,” she said. “It happens all the time here, ladies and gentlemen meeting at night.”

  “Married ladies and gentlemen?”

  Nola nodded again, her smattering of freckles darkening in embarrassment. Feeling a fool, Mariah let the girl go. She should have left it at that: servants’ gossip that she ought to ignore. But she was certain now that Vivian must know about Sinjin and Pamela, for all her fine talk of scandal and immorality.

  Are you not guilty of infidelity yourself? she thought.

  In her mind, perhaps. But not like Sinjin and Pamela, or Lord Russell and Lady Stapledon. She could guess what they were doing when they were alone, though she tried to avoid imagining the details. She and Ash had never gone beyond a kiss. In fact, Ash had not even approached her in a week, let alone shown her any sign of affection.

  She had been virtually accused of behavior that the dowager hoped would ruin her reputation, yet others carried out their illicit amours without apparent consequence. If she could be near Ash and not give in to her baser nature, why should others not exhibit the same control?

  Angry and desperate to understand, she approached Lady Strickland the next morning.

  “You seem shocked, my dear,” the marchioness said with a sigh. “I was, as well, when I first arrived in England.”

  “But you are not shocked any longer?”

  “I fear that constant perturbation would be very tiring at Marlborough House, Lady Donnington. Have you not realized that by now?”

  “But this…this isn’t just flirtation. Surely others here disapprove?”

  “Not as many as you and I might wish.” The other woman laid her hand on Mariah’s arm. “Buck up, my dear. All we can do is remember that we are Americans, not members of the English peerage who regard their marriages as less than sacrosanct.” She smiled with a conspiratorial bob of her head. “We Yankees must stick together.”

  Relieved that she’d found at least one person who shared her distaste for the immoral activities that went on at Marlborough House, Mariah reminded herself again why it was fortunate that she and Ash saw little of each other. But later that same day, while she was wandering about the grounds, Lady Westlake came to find her.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Donnington,” Pamela said, matching Mariah’s stride. “I meant to speak to you as soon as I arrived at Marlborough House, but I have been kept very busy.”

  “No doubt,” Mariah murmured, continuing on without slowing her pace.

  “And how have you been, my dear? Are you enjoying your stay here?”

  “I am finding it very interesting,” she said, “though not perhaps as interesting as you do.”

  “I have been here before, of course,” Pamela said. “You cannot be expected to understand all the working of the prince’s court.”

  “There are some things about it I’d be happy not to understand.”

  “Indeed?” Pamela made a show of considering Mariah’s declaration. “Ah, yes. I overheard your conversation with Lady Strickland.”

  “I would not have believed that eavesdropping was quite the thing, even in this place, Lady Westlake.”

  “You will soon learn that there are few secrets at Marlborough House, Lady Donnington.”

  Especially where you are concerned, Mariah thought. “Then you are aware that Lady Strickland shares my opinion about certain…activities here,” she said.

  “Your naïveté is occasionally charming,” Pamela said, “but at most times rather tiresome.”

  “Because I find blatant misconduct objectionable?”

  “Even our prince is very fond of the ladies.”

  Fond of the ladies. That had been obvious to Mariah from her first day at Marlborough House. But Pamela was clearly implying something very different from mere “fondness.” To think that the man who might set the course for the entire nation could be unfaithful to his beautiful wife…

  “It was the way I was raised, you see,” Mariah said coldly. “My father remained faithful to my mother until the day she died.”

  “How exemplary. Your mother must have been a captivating woman.”

  Mariah’s throat became a narrow tunnel that would hardly permit words to escape. “She was strong and intelligent.”

  “Qualities so few men appreciate. I take it that your mother is no longer living?” Pamela smiled. “Let me advise you, my dear. Whatever you may have been taught, one of the most important rules you must learn is that it is neither wise nor polite to peer too closely into the private lives of others.”

  “I should pretend to approve of what I believe to be wrong?”

  “You are a fine one to talk, my dear.” Pamela’s smile broadened. “Perhaps you envy those like Lady Stapledon. Perhaps you wish you had the courage to go to Mr. Cornell and enjoy with him what you’ve been longing to do since you first met.”

  “I wish nothing of the kind,” Mariah said. “And I do not envy you, Lady Westlake. I certainly do not envy Sinjin.”

  There was no blush, no outward sign of offense, in Lady Westlake save for a slight pallor to her already fair skin. “And I, my girl, do not envy you.”

  “Donnington has yet to return. Matters may not turn out quite as you might wish.”

  Without offering a response, Lady Westlake walked away.

  Shaken by the encounter, Mariah did her best over the next few days to ignore the behavior that had become so evident to her. That soon became impossible. She learned to recognize the men and women who were engaging in clandestine liaisons. She heard the faint tread of feet on the carpeted corridors after midnight, and observed the sly glances certain favorites of the prince gave each other in the midst of otherwise innocent diversions. All the participants were married; many, so she heard, had indulgent spouses engaged in affairs themselves.

  But what really prevented her from forgetting what she observed was not Lady Westlake’s ongoing affair with Sinjin, nor those of any of the offending guests. It was the treachery of her own thoughts…the thoughts she should never have allowed to enter her mind again. She felt the atmosphere that suffused Marlborough House every night in the bedroom corridors and imagined herself as one of the conspirators creeping to her lover’s room. She tossed and turned as if in a fever, despising herself as much she did any of the others.

  “Perhaps you envy those like Lady Stapledon,” Pamela had said. “Perhaps you wish you had the courage to go to Mr. Cornell and enjoy with him what you’ve been longing to do since you first met.”

  She hated the all-too-familiar and unwelcome sensations stirring in her body, the wetness between her thighs whenever she envisioned being with Ash again.

  You will have the choice between defeat and victory. Was this what the gypsy had meant? She was so close to defeat, to losing every standard she lived by.

  The best thing she could do was to leave Marlborough House. With Ash so far away, the temptation would end. But, in doing so, she would be admitting that her own self-discipline was as weak as she secretly feared. She couldn’t bear the thought. So she put off the decision to go, determining with greater resolution to rely on Lady Strickland and make the acqu
aintance of other respectable parties like her.

  Then the fairies returned.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MARIAH HAD TRIED not to think of the fairies since she had seen them at Donbridge after Ash’s kiss in the library. Once again she attempted to dismiss them as the creation of a mind disturbed by her indecent thoughts of him.

  And once again logic did her no good.

  The creatures followed her as she walked through the halls of Marlborough House, haunted her in her bedchamber when she tried to sleep, and tormented her during her strolls about the grounds and along the adjoining London streets. No one else seemed to see them, of course. Just as no one else had ever seen her mother’s visions.

  Nola noticed her perturbation. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you seem upset,” she said one day as she was helping Mariah put on a morning dress.

  Mariah had become accustomed to Nola’s mother-hen concern for her and bore it stoically. “I am simply a little tired. Life at Marlborough House can be demanding.”

  “It can indeed,” the maid said, stepping back from her work. The fairies chose that moment to reappear, and Mariah batted them away without thinking.

  “What is it, your ladyship?” Nola asked.

  “You don’t see…something flying around us?”

  “Insects, ma’am? No, I don’t see them. Shall I call someone to check the room?”

  “That isn’t necessary, Nola.” Mariah forced her hands to remain still and went down to breakfast a few minutes later, struggling to blunt her panic.

  She could not go to Ash for comfort. She understood that very clearly. Searching desperately for diversions, she overcame her distaste and began to join the other guests in their amusements.

  The relief was wonderful. She began to enjoy the card games and morning rides, and even the prince took notice of her again. The fairies retreated in defeat, and she began to feel almost normal. Missing Ash became less of a burden on her heart. It was inevitable that she should find herself preparing to attend the next ball to be given by the prince and princess.

  Nola was pleased. She had obviously found her mistress’s reclusiveness disturbing, both because she wanted her part in making Lady Donnington beautiful—a task she obviously relished—and because she was genuinely concerned for Mariah’s happiness.

  The girl need not worry any longer, Mariah thought. Her own state of mind had vastly improved, and she intended that it should improve even further at the ball that night.

  But if Ash were there…

  It would be no different than the past three weeks, she told herself, when they had seen so little of each other. She would find it excellent practice to meet with him in a neutral environment and exchange the most basic pleasantries without the heat of emotion behind them.

  “Your ladyship?” Nola asked. “What gown will you wear tonight?”

  “The emerald velvet, I think,” she said, as if such thoughts were all that occupied her, “with the lace tablier.”

  It was one gown among several that Donnington had purchased for her before their marriage, but she’d never had a chance to wear it. Doing so now was a reminder to herself of her marriage vows and, at the same time, proof that she did not need her absent husband’s permission to dress just as she chose.

  “A lovely choice, your ladyship,” Nola said with an air of satisfaction. “Shall I call for a light supper?”

  Mariah knew that the ball would go on until well after midnight, and that only finger food would be served before a very late supper. She certainly didn’t want to be distracted by hunger until then.

  “That is a very good idea,” she said. “But very light, mind. I can’t be bulging out of my corset.”

  Nola laughed and left the room. Alone, Mariah stared into the mirror above her dressing table. Her face looked pale. She pinched her cheeks, but the color faded all too quickly. She considered the lip rouge she had bought but never dared use. Perhaps tonight was the night.

  She experimented with her hair until Nola returned with scones, cream and cucumber sandwiches. Mariah picked at the food while Nola began arranging her coiffure. She had chosen a looser style than was strictly fashionable, but in a fit of defiance against convention, Mariah let her have her way. Black curls framed her face, and Nola wove tiny artificial flowers through her hair. There would be no feathers, bows or bands tonight.

  Dreading, as always, this particular portion of the dressing regimen, Mariah stood very still and allowed Nola to tighten the laces of her corset over her cambric chemise.

  The muslin petticoats came next. Nola straightened the flounces to perfection. The bustle followed, a padded monstrosity buttoned to the corset.

  Then there were the skirts, piled one atop another, the pleated faille underskirt and velvet overskirts draped about the hips and bustle in elaborate layers. The matching bodice was lace-trimmed, with a deep neckline and tiny velvet flowers twined about the dropped shoulders.

  Mariah gathered up her fan and put on her gloves, aware that she looked, in her own way, beautiful.

  Not for the prince. Not for the ladies of Marlborough House. And certainly not for Ash. For herself. Because she was real, living in the real world.

  The ballroom was always lovely, but tonight, on the occasion of the birthday of one of the prince’s lady friends, the room was even more beautiful, dressed with festoons of flowers and a vast froth of lace like the foam on ocean waves. Everyone was in high spirits, from the intense young artist in his unconventional velvet frock coat to the handsomely dressed ladies clustered about the subject of the ball.

  Mariah went at once to join them. Thanks to Lady Strickland, they welcomed her promptly enough, too much concerned with their own appearances to consider her a rival—as if she would compete for any of their admirers. Lady Westlake was standing beside a portly gentleman with a yellow beard and a smile that displayed far too many teeth. She appeared to be dreadfully bored as the gentleman tried to charm her, but when she noticed Mariah, she smiled.

  “If you will excuse me, Sir Rudolph,” she said to the gentleman in an offhand manner, and came to meet Mariah. “What a lovely dress!” she exclaimed. “It suits your eyes and hair so very well, Lady Donnington.”

  Mariah was aware that she was in a public place and could hardly cut Pamela as she so longed to do. Instead, she searched for a similarly insincere compliment. Pamela’s dress was scarlet and black, a startling combination that set off her golden hair and made it blaze like a fire above her very low décolleté. No one else could have worn such a thing without attracting criticism. On Lady Westlake, it was a triumph.

  And an unerring emblem of her character.

  “You will be the envy of every woman in the room,” Mariah said without the slightest emotion.

  “What a charming thing to say,” Pamela said, snapping open her fan. “I hope Sinjin will agree.” Before Mariah could think of a suitable answer, Lady Westlake spoke again.

  “My,” she said, “but it is already so warm. In a moment I shall go stand beside the ice swan. Perhaps it will cool me.”

  “It is a lovely sculpture,” Mariah said, determined to keep the conversation civil. “Do you know Lady Baddeley well?”

  “I find her quite a bore.” Lady Westlake stood a little taller and looked around the room. “Where is Mr. Cornell, I wonder?” she purred. “It would be a pity for him to miss such an event.”

  “He did not speak to me about it,” Mariah said.

  “Indeed. Why should he?” Lady Westlake took Mariah’s arm. “Come, let us go fetch some punch. I’m sure it will be just the ticket.”

  Trapped by the demands of basic courtesy, Mariah went along.

  Pamela poured them each a glass of punch.

  “Whom shall you dance with?” she asked. “Lord Russell is particularly handsome tonight, as is Mr. Denham. Though you must take care with both of them.”

  “I was under the impression that Lord Russell’s interests are otherwise engaged.”

&n
bsp; The older woman tapped Mariah’s arm with her fan. “He is one of those dreadful sinners, is he not?” She lifted her head. “Ah, the music has started. And here comes Mr. Denham to claim your hand.”

  Knowing that Mr. Denham was not one of those rumored to be conducting an illicit affair, Mariah was glad to accept his offer. He was an excellent dancer, and as she, who had always adored the waltz, was able to match him in grace, they had a lovely turn about the room. Other couples flashed by, but Mariah simply gave herself up to the dance.

  Until she began to remember another time and place, a silent terrace, a different hand at her waist…

  Something drew her glance to the other side of the room. Ash was standing near the prince, watching her intently. Their gazes met, but Mariah caught herself before she could lose her place in the waltz, and at last the dance came to an end. Mr. Denham bowed and escorted her to the chairs along the wall. Mariah was too dazed to do more than offer the briefest curtsey.

  “May I have the honor of the next dance?”

  She looked up into Ash’s face. As unlikely as it seemed, he was more handsome than ever before, with a calm and ease that could only come from perfect confidence.

  She ought to have found an excuse to refuse. But she could not appear to be discourteous, and she knew she must face him—and her own weakness.

  “I would be delighted,” she said.

  He smiled as he led her out to the floor. He moved like something inhuman, like the fairies, like the unicorn of her visions. His hand was firm on her waist, and as the dance began, she was no longer certain if the sound she heard was the rhythmic beat of the waltz or the drumming of her own heart.

  I have missed you, she thought. Oh, how I have missed you. But she maintained her silence as they twirled around the room, trying not to look into Ash’s eyes and failing utterly.

  “You have been enjoying your stay here?” he asked at last, his voice outshining Strauss with its music.

  “Very much,” she said. “And you?”

  “I have learned a great deal.”

  And without my help. She gave him a determined smile. “Have you made any progress in recovering your memory?”