Loving a Lost Lord (15 page)

That would give him the rest of the day to collect himself. He nodded. “We shall see you later then, Mr. Masterson.”

“You've always called me Will. Everyone does.” Masterson paused in front of Adam on his way to the door. “I'll let myself out. And…I thank God you're alive.” He exited hastily, as if embarrassed at showing such naked emotion.

As soon as Masterson left the room, Adam turned and engulfed Mariah in his arms. “I thought I'd be glad to know who I am,” he said tightly. “Now I wish Masterson had never found me.”

She buried her face against his shoulder, her grip as tight as his. “It's better to know, I think. But this knowledge is…huge.”

“Too huge,” he said bleakly. Ending the embrace, he said, “Let's go outside. I am in need of peace.”

Side by side, they went outside into the patchy sunshine and headed toward the meditation garden. “I had a dream of great golden beings with many arms,” he said. “I didn't understand then, but I think they were Hindu gods.”

“You must have seen statues in India when you were a child.” She glanced up at him. “The garden that you remembered—was that also in India?”

“I think it must have been. The flowers and forms were not European.” He conjured up the garden again. “Several times, I've dreamed of a beautiful dark-haired woman in flowing silk garments. My mother, I think.”

She squeezed his hand. “How sad that you lost her so young.”

“At least I had her long enough for some memories. You do not even have that, I think.” It was a melancholy bond between them. They finished the walk to the meditation garden in silence.

His tension eased as they entered the enclosed space. Gently flowing water was immensely soothing. They sat down on the bench, so close they were almost touching. “I'm wondering if I ever enjoyed being a duke. The idea certainly doesn't appeal to me now. It seems like…like a cage with golden bars.”

“I'm not fond of the thought, either.” She sighed. “I realize now that I had retained a faint hope that perhaps we might someday be together, but that's gone. You are too far above me.”

“Don't say that!” he said sharply.

“But it's true,” she said quietly. “A man of great wealth and power has many responsibilities and claims on his attention. Generally he marries a woman of similar background so that she can run his households, be a hostess to his guests, and give credit to his name. He doesn't marry the daughter of a barely respectable gambler.”

“Masterson doesn't know who your father was,” Adam pointed out.

“No, he merely suspects that I'm an opportunist who scooped you up while you were vulnerable and confused.” She laughed a little. “But you are welcome to claim me as your fiancée as long as you need a shield from ambitious maidens and their mothers. When you feel secure in your position, I shall politely end the betrothal, and no scandal will attach to either of us. You have my word on it.”

Her expression changed as she realized that he had reason to doubt her word. “I swear on the grave of Granny Rose that I will not hold you to an unwanted engagement.”

He believed that oath. He always believed her. That was the trouble. “I accept your promise. I'll admit that I'm glad to have a reason to keep you near me while I rediscover who I am the hard way.”

“Claiming me as your fiancée may end up causing more problems than it solves,” she warned. “I have always lived on the fringes of society, and the well bred can be cruel to those who are judged inferior. Even Masterson, who seems an easygoing fellow, was not pleased when you said we were betrothed.”

Adam lifted her hand and kissed her palm. Mariah shivered at the touch of his lips.

Interlacing his fingers with hers, he said, “I hadn't realized how simple life was before Masterson arrived. All I had to worry about then was having no memory. Now I feel like I'm standing on the edge of an abyss.”

“I can only imagine how disturbing your situation is.” Her fingers squeezed his. “I'm so sorry for my part in making it all worse.”

“You said we were friends, Mariah. Just…continue to be my friend. I like Masterson, but at the moment, I know you much better than I know anyone else.” Knew her intimately. Knew the sweetness of her body, the joy of her laughter…Sharply he reined in his imagination before he gave in to desire and did something to make the current situation even more disastrous.

“Whatever you wish, I will try to give you,” she said simply. “I owe you that.”

He exhaled roughly. “If I were a stronger man, I'd reject aid based on obligation, but for now, I need you near me.”

“You are strong, Adam. Most men would be gibbering lunatics after all you've endured.” She stopped. “Should I call you Ashton? Or your grace?”

He winced. “Adam will do. Dukeliness is a great deal to absorb.”

“Actually, I have no trouble seeing you as a duke,” she said rather surprisingly. “You are knowledgeable about so many things. You have a composure that says you are at home anywhere, even if you are somewhat unsettled now. And you have an air of authority, as if you're used to being heard and obeyed.”

“I'd thought of that last myself. But I was thinking more along the lines of being a ship captain.” He had a long way to go before he would see himself as a duke.

Troubled, Will spent several hours riding through the rugged countryside before returning to Hartley. It was after noon when he rode into the courtyard of the Bull and Anchor. Kirkland's and Randall's horses were in the stables, so all three of them would be able to dine at Hartley Manor.

After tending his own mount, he proceeded directly to the private parlor. As expected, his friends were enjoying a luncheon of cold meats and cheeses.

Kirkland poured ale from a pitcher and offered it to Will. “I expect you'll want something to eat. The landlord said you'd arrived last night, then gone off somewhere.”

Randall added, “If you're wondering if we have news to report, the answer is no.”

“Unlike you, I do have news.” Will took a swig of ale and settled into one of the chairs. “Mostly, but not entirely, good.”

Kirkland caught his breath. “Ash's body was found near here?”

“Better than that. I found him alive and generally healthy, but he received a head injury and doesn't remember anything before the
Enterprise
sank.” Will swallowed more ale. “And that includes us. I was a stranger to him.”

“My God!” Randall stood so fast his chair fell over. “Where is he? Why didn't you bring him here?”

Kirkland's face lit up. “I hadn't believed it possible that he could be alive. But amnesia…” He hesitated, then said, “You're absolutely sure it's him?”

“It is unquestionably Ash, right down to the scar on his hand that he got when he separated two fighting dogs. As to why I didn't bring him…” Will frowned. “He has taken up with a local female. The landlord's daughter who told me that Ash had been found on the shore said that he is called Mr. Clarke and is married to the woman, Mariah Clarke. Ash says she's his fiancée. She has a firm hold on him, and she's not letting go.”

Randall sank back into his chair. “So a fortune-hunting harpy has sunk her claws into Ash. We can fix that. The important thing is that he's alive.”

“I don't think she's a fortune hunter. She seemed shocked to learn he's a duke.”

“Perhaps she's just a good actress,” Randall said cynically. “Maybe she saw him in London once and recognized him when he turned up here, helpless and confused.”

“Perhaps, but not likely.” Will sliced himself two pieces of bread. “Ash was also shocked when I told him who he was, and not at all pleased.”

“He's probably the most conscientious duke in England,” Kirkland observed. “But his real pleasure lies in steamships and gardening and his other pursuits.”

“Maybe he enjoys not being a duke.” Will spread a thick layer of chutney on a slice of bread, then stacked slices of ham and cheese to make a sandwich. “Not knowing one's identity must be devilish unnerving, but there's a certain freedom to it. Miss Clarke saved Ash's life, she's a real beauty, and she owns Hartley Manor. The circumstances might be strange, but she's no penniless social climber.”

“No wonder he's grateful to her,” Kirkland said. “But gratitude doesn't require marriage.”

“Ashton is obviously in no condition to choose a wife, not after a head injury so severe,” Randall added.

“Maybe they felt love at first sight and this is a great romance.” Will had felt that when he first met Ellen. He bit hard into his sandwich. “She seems pleasant, and to be honest, I'm glad to see Ash so besotted. I've sometimes wondered if he even liked women. He's a master at keeping them at a distance.”

“He keeps everyone at a distance,” Kirkland observed. “Even us. He has been the most steadfast of friends. But how often does he reveal himself, or ask for help? We grew up with him, but in many ways he's a mystery.”

Randall said slowly, “I've sometimes wondered if there is a part of him that's too foreign to know.”

“I've had similar thoughts,” Will admitted. “But I'm inclined to think that his reserve is his defense against a society that hasn't always been welcoming.” Whatever her character, Mariah Clarke seemed to have penetrated Ash's reserve. Or perhaps not knowing who he was had enabled him to reveal himself to her in ways he couldn't as the Duke of Ashton. An interesting thought.

Randall asked, “Is he well enough to return to London? We could leave in the morning. There's certainly no reason to linger here at the end of the world.”

“He may prefer to stay here.” Will made another sandwich, this time with sliced beef. “We really can't just kidnap him.”

Randall shrugged. “I'm willing to do what's necessary to get him out of the clutches of this wench. Since he has been injured, we have the right to act for his own good.”

“‘For his own good' is a very insalubrious phrase,” Kirkland murmured. “The sort of thing they said about all of us when we were children and didn't do what the adults thought best.”

Randall winced. “Point to the Scotsman.”

“Lady Agnes never told us she was acting for our own good. She asked us what we wanted, made sure we understood what success would cost, and then helped us achieve it if we still wanted it,” Will said. “Speaking of Lady Agnes, I must write her and Hal Lawford to tell them we've found Ash.”

There was a thoughtful silence before Randall said, “It's going to be a shock for Hal. He and Ash have always been friendly, but if we're looking for someone who had a motive to kill—well, Hal certainly benefits the most.”

Kirkland shook his head. “I know Hal fairly well, and this doesn't seem like something he would do. He would enjoy being Duke of Ashton, but murder? I don't think so.”

“How much does anyone ever know about another man's heart?” Will asked softly.

Randall shrugged. “Not being a philosophical sort, I shall consider Lawford a suspect. I also want to meet the wench who has attached herself to Ashton.”

“You'll have your chance soon.” Will poured more ale. “The wench has invited us all to dine with them tonight at Hartley Manor.”

Mariah dressed carefully for her unexpected dinner party. None of her gowns were new. In her travels with her father, she'd sometimes been given clothing by the lady of the house. Altering those garments had taught her to be a very good seamstress. Her best evening gown had been a gift from a jolly female who was definitely not a lady, but who had provided Mariah with valuable information on worldly matters.

Tonight, Mariah wore a simple but elegant blue gown with a demure blond lace fichu that made her look innocent and young. Not like the fortune hunter Adam's friends must think her.

Her approach to the meal itself was equally pragmatic. Mrs. Beckett was no French chef, but she was a fine English country cook. In Mariah's experience, most men were happy if there was a well-cooked joint and plenty of it, and Hartley Manor could provide that. Nor would the guests find fault with fish fresh caught that afternoon and lapped with a delicate wine sauce. For Adam's sake, Mariah added curried chicken. With a good selection of side dishes, no one would have reason to complain.

Somewhere the Duke of Ashton must have wardrobes full of impeccably cut clothing, but tonight Adam had to make do with her father's best coat and pantaloons. Mariah spent several hours altering the coat. Adam protested, “You needn't go to such trouble. From what Masterson said, I've known all these men for twenty years, so there is no need to impress them.”

“You don't have to impress, but I do,” she retorted. “Even though we're not really betrothed, I want them to think that at least I take good care of you.”

“I will vouch for that.” The warmth in his eyes made her look down with a blush, but he didn't protest further.

As they waited for their guests, they sat on the sofa and held hands, not speaking, though Mariah studied Adam from the corner of her eye. He looked particularly handsome tonight, his regular features calm and reserved. He'd been very quiet since Masterson's visit. His nerves must be as tight as bowstrings at the prospect of meeting three men who knew a great deal about him, while he knew virtually nothing about them. Though naturally he wouldn't admit to such a thing.

Mariah almost jumped from her skin when the heavy door knocker was wielded, the boom resonating through the front hall and adjacent rooms. Adam smiled as he stood. “Come, my lady. It should be an educational evening.”

“You are a master of understatement.” She steeled herself, grateful for the touch of his hand at the small of her back. Facing these strangers drew them together.

The maid ushered in their guests, her eyes round as she announced, “Lord Masterson, Lord Kirkland, and Major Randall.” Then she vanished back to the kitchen, where she would help serve the meal.

Oh, heavens, Masterson and Kirkland were also lords? At least Masterson gave her a smile, probably because they'd met already.

The other two went for Adam in a controlled rush. Randall was blond, taut, and dangerous looking. He walked with an officer's posture and a noticeable limp.

The dark-haired Kirkland was more contained. He would usually be a hard man to read, she guessed. But for the moment, he and Randall were joyful.

“My God, Ash!” Kirkland caught Adam's right hand in both of his. “I half thought Masterson had lost his wits, but sure enough, you're you.”

Randall punched Adam in the shoulder with considerable force. “Don't you ever get yourself killed like that again! The weeks while we searched for your drowned carcass have meant far too much bad Scottish cooking for my taste.”

Adam shook hands with Randall. Mariah wondered if the others recognized that he was uncomfortable with such effusive greetings from men who were strangers to him. He said, “Masterson told you about my amnesia?”

Kirkland nodded. “It must be a devilish odd feeling. I'm hoping that by the time we finish telling you about yourself, you'll remember everything on your own. Like priming a pump.”

Adam frowned at Randall. “I had a dream about Masterson, and also about you. You were ill, and I…forcibly removed you from where you were living.”

Randall grimaced. “Of all the damned things to remember.” Remembering his manners, he turned to Mariah. “Excuse my language, Miss Clarke, and my failure to greet you properly.”

She recognized hostility in his gaze. Masterson was easygoing and inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt for Adam's sake. Though Kirkland was withholding judgment, he would be fair, she guessed. But Randall viewed her as a menace to his old friend, and he would not accept her easily, if at all.

“Of course. You are excited to see your lost friend,” she said mildly. “If I lost Adam, I would certainly be glad to find him again. Would you gentlemen like sherry?”

They all said yes, so she took on the task of pouring. Adam said to Kirkland, “I don't seem to have dreamed of you. Except…perhaps when we were boys. I dreamed I was in a room with several beds and bouncing little hellions. A woman came in to hush us up. She said she'd put us to playing sports with the locals to use up our energy.”

“Lady Agnes!” Kirkland said with a grin. “She had to quiet us rather often.”

Sherry in hand, Adam led Mariah to the sofa. “Tell me more about this school.”

The visitors were happy to oblige, distributing themselves around the drawing room with their drinks. As they described the Westerfield Academy, Mariah realized Masterson hadn't been joking when he'd said that none of the students had had a decent mother.

Instead, they had had the magnificently eccentric Lady Agnes, a duke's daughter with a kind heart and the ability to handle small, angry boys. Her assistant, Miss Emily, the general, the idyllic green Kent countryside—all emerged vividly from the descriptions.

But though Adam listened with interest, no memories emerged. As they moved into the dining room he said, “It sounds like an excellent, if rather strange, school. How long was I there?”

“Eight years, until you entered Oxford. You took double firsts. Holidays you usually stayed with your cousins,” Kirkland replied. “You remember nothing of this?”

“No, yet what you describe sounds…not unfamiliar.” Adam's gaze moved from one man to the other. “The four of us were the first class?”

As they took places at the table, Kirkland replied. “There were two others. Ballard has been mostly in Portugal since leaving school, running his family's port company. He gets home for a visit every year or two. Wyndham—we aren't sure. He may be alive…or not. He was in France when the Peace of Amiens ended and the French interned every British male in the country. We haven't heard from him since.”

“Occasionally internees manage to get letters out of France to England,” Masterson added. “Wyndham's name has never been mentioned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still alive.” He raised his wine glass to Adam. “After all, you have returned from the dead.”

The other men joined in the informal toast. Mariah took a thoughtful sip of her wine. So these friends had already lived with the uncertainty of not knowing if one of their number was dead or alive. That might explain the intensity of their search for Adam.

Masterson glanced at Mariah. “I'm sorry that we are boring on about our school days, Miss Clarke. Tell us more about yourself. At the inn, they said that you had recently inherited the estate?”

She had already decided that she wouldn't pretend to be anything other than what she was. “My father won the estate from the previous owner, George Burke. We arrived here early in the spring. A few weeks later, my father traveled to London, and…and was killed by highwaymen. So I own Hartley Manor now.” She made a mental note to write the lawyer again. She had yet to receive a reply from him, though there must be formalities connected to her inheritance. Perhaps he was delaying a letter until he knew more about her father's death.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Masterson murmured.

Less polite, Randall said in an edged voice, “Was your father Charles Clarke?”

“He was.” She braced herself. “Did you know him?”

“Not personally, but I've heard of him. He had a reputation as a Captain Sharp whose play was none too honest.”

“Your information is wrong,” she said coolly. “He was a very skilled card player. He never needed to cheat. His opponents, who were usually drunk or incompetent and probably both, often impugned his honesty rather than admit their lack of skill.”

“You said your father won this estate,” he snapped. “Fleecing a young man out of his inheritance is not the mark of a gentleman.”

Her hand tightened around her fork as she reminded herself that Sarah would never attack a guest at her table.

To hell with Sarah. “You will not speak of my father in such a way in my house,” she said flatly. “Apologize, or I must ask you to leave.”

She heard a thump that suggested Masterson had just kicked Randall's ankle. “I'm sorry,” the blond man said in a stiff voice. “My remarks were out of line, especially given that I have never met your father.”

“I accept your apology.” Their gazes caught. Neither of them felt very forgiving. Thank heaven for manners to buffer a difficult situation.

Trying to ease the atmosphere, Masterson said, “Your cook is excellent, Miss Clarke. Do you think she might be willing to part with her recipe for mushroom fricassee? It's the best I've ever had.”

“I'll ask her. I think Mrs. Beckett could be persuaded. She likes having her food appreciated.” And if large quantities consumed meant appreciation, Adam's friends were being very complimentary.

The meal was nearing its end when Kirkland said, “I assume you'll be wanting to return to London, Ash. We can travel back together.”

Adam tensed. “I don't know that I want to go to London.”

His friends showed varying degrees of dismay. Mariah wondered if any of them realized how difficult—even frightening—it would be for Adam to return to a complicated world where he was at such a disadvantage. People would make demands, expect him to be the same. He wouldn't know whom to trust. Men in Adam's position were always magnets for the untrustworthy.

“You have many responsibilities,” Kirkland said. “You can't ignore them forever. At the least, you need to sort out the confusion caused by your reported death.”

“Given that I don't remember any of those responsibilities, I doubt I can fulfill them,” Adam said dryly. “Didn't I employ competent people to oversee my property in my absence? Surely they can manage.”

“You have excellent employees,” Masterson agreed. “But even if you can't work in your usual way, being in familiar surroundings might stimulate your memory.”

Adam's brows drew together. “You could be right. While it's good that you have found and identified me, it would be far better for me to remember who I am.”

Heart sinking, Mariah accepted that she was going to lose him. Once he returned to his regular life, she would fade to a fond, ambivalent memory. She clenched her hands together under the table. That was surely for the best, since she doubted she could fit into his world even if he wanted her. But she hadn't expected to lose him so soon.

He looked at her, his green eyes intent. “If I go to London, Mariah must come with me.”

There was a rustle of unease from his friends. Relieved that he wanted her but doubtful, Mariah said, “Even as your fiancée, I can't travel with you and three other men. Someone in your position is watched carefully. My presence would be a scandal.”

“Then we can marry before we leave. Gretna Green isn't far.”

Mariah inhaled sharply, her heart constricted. “Much as I want to marry you, it's too soon. You need time to rediscover your life.”

Mariah's protest was echoed by the other men. Masterson said, “A Gretna marriage would be scandalous and reflect badly on Miss Clarke. It would be assumed that she had seduced you into pledging marriage to her when you were in a weakened state.”

Randall's ironic lift of his brows said that the latter was exactly what had happened, but he didn't speak.

Adam frowned. “I don't want to damage Mariah's reputation in any way, but I won't go to London without her.”

“There would be no scandal if Miss Clarke is chaperoned,” Kirkland said. “Do you have a friend who could join our party, Miss Clarke? If not, I could ride to Glasgow for an aunt or a cousin, though I can't guarantee finding one who is good company.”

Adam looked thoughtful. “Do you think Mrs. Bancroft would come, Mariah? She's a widow and sensible, as well as your friend.”

Mariah thought about it. She wanted desperately to be with Adam, and with almost equal intensity, she wanted to go to London to find out more about her father's death. “I don't know if Julia will agree, but I can ask. Even if she's willing to chaperone me, I doubt she would go out into London society. She would hate that.”

“There will be no shortage of respectable chaperones in London, starting with Ash's Aunt Georgiana and cousin Janey,” Masterson assured her. “What is needed is a companion to make the trip scandal free.”

“Do we have a plan acceptable to everyone?” Adam asked. After murmurs of agreement, he said, “Then London it will be.”

He sounded unenthusiastic, but there was no help for it. He couldn't avoid London for long, and clearly he needed the security of Mariah's presence.

Two maids came in to clear the table. At their heels trotted Bhanu, who had escaped from the kitchen. Adam snapped his fingers and the dog bounced over to him, ears flopping. Randall said with a rare smile, “You've a talent for finding ugly dogs, Ashton.”

For the first time that evening, Adam laughed. “Bhanu isn't ugly. She's just beautiful in a way you haven't seen before.”

Masterson caught his breath. “You had a dog in school named Bhanu. Amazingly ugly, and a great favorite of everyone. He was indirectly responsible for you ending up at the Westerfield Academy. Lady Agnes told us the story.”