Loving a Lost Lord

by Mary Jo Putney

  Masterson took a chair opposite. “Your steamship exploded on a test run out of Glasgow. You were missing and presumed dead. After Randall, Kirkland, and I heard the news, we traveled to Glasgow and we’ve been looking for you or your body ever since. How did you end up this far south?” He studied Adam’s impassive face.

  “I had a head injury that scrambled my wits.” Adam absently touched the healing scar on his head. “I don’t remember the accident, but I vaguely recall clinging to a piece of wreckage for a long time. Days. Eventually I came ashore here with no memory of my name or past.” He frowned at Masterson. “Yet…I’ve seen your face in a dream. An icy night near London, and a woman’s death.”

  Masterson’s face paled. “There was such a night. Do you remember nothing else from before you were in the water?”

  “Only dreams that might be true dreams.” His voice became intent. “How do I know you?”

  “Six of us met as the first class at the Westerfield Academy when we were around ten or eleven years old. We’ve been fast friends ever since.” He smiled a little. “It was a school for problem boys. I’m Will Masterson. My problem was acute stubbornness.” For the first time, he seemed to notice Mariah, and his gaze was uncomfortably sharp. “Will you introduce me to this lady?”

  “She is Miss Mariah Clarke. The woman who saved my life by pulling me out of the water and taking me in.” Adam’s grip on her hand tightened. “My fiancée.”

  Mariah was almost as startled as Masterson, whose jaw dropped. Apparently Adam wished to maintain the illusion that they were a couple. If they could be. Afraid of hearing the worst, Mariah asked, “He isn’t married already, is he?”

  “No.” Masterson collected himself. “Forgive my rudeness. I am merely surprised by the suddenness. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clarke. Especially since you saved Ash’s life.”

  Mariah almost dissolved with relief. Thank heaven that the devoted wife and loving children of her imagination didn’t exist! She wasn’t sure why Adam claimed her as his fiancée, but guessed that she was his shield against this new uncertainty.

  “I’m glad I haven’t forgotten a family,” Adam said. “But you have not yet told me who I am.”

  Masterson smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I’m not thinking clearly. I’m still stunned by the miracle of your recovery. Your name is Adam Darshan Lawford.”

  “Adam?” He glanced at Mariah, startled.

  “I picked the name at random!” she said under her breath.

  “This explains why it felt comfortable.” To Masterson, he said, “So my name is Adam Lawford. Where do I live? What is my occupation? Do I even have one?”

  “You have several homes. One in London, of course,” Masterson said, as if a London house was the most natural thing in the world. “While you own a number of other properties, your principal seat is Ralston Abbey in Wiltshire.”

  As Mariah bit her lip at the thought of so much wealth, Adam said warily, “I sound…prosperous.”

  “Rather more than prosperous,” Masterson replied with amusement. “And you’re kept rather busy as well. You’re the seventh Duke of Ashton.”

  Mariah’s relief at Adam’s single status vanished. “Adam is a duke?”

  He was as far away from her as ever. Perhaps even farther.

  Adam heard Mariah gasp. Her shock echoed his. He was getting devilish tired of shocks. “A duke. If I recall correctly, that’s a very high rank, is it not?”

  “The highest, outside the royal family,” Masterson replied.

  A duke. Adam hated the idea. Just thinking about it made him feel strangled. “It seems improbable that I should be a duke.”

  “Improbable, but true,” Masterson said patiently. It must be strange for him to be talking with an old friend who didn’t recognize him. Though not as strange as it was being the old friend.

  Adam flashed back to the dream he’d had in which a younger Masterson had just lost a beloved wife. The friendship between him and Masterson had been palpable. Yet he had no true memory of the thousand small interactions that had built into that friendship. He did, however, retain an underlying trust. He had no doubt that Will Masterson was telling the truth.

  Adam had expected to be delighted to rediscover his past, but he had assumed his memories would come back on their own. Having his life explained to him was profoundly strange. “I’m glad no wife and children have been mourning me.” He squeezed Mariah’s hand again. Despite the awkwardness of their situation, she was familiar. “Do I have other family? A mother, brothers, sisters?”

  “You haven’t many close relations.” Masterson frowned. “I’d best start at the beginning. You were born in India. Your father served as the British Resident at a Hindu royal court; I’m not sure which one. He was a cousin to the Duke of Ashton, but not closely in line to inherit. I believe there were four or five nearer heirs. So when he fell in love with a lovely, high-born Hindu girl, there seemed no reason not to marry. Many other British officers serving in India have done the same.”

  Adam stared down at the hand that wasn’t holding on to Mariah’s. So this was the source of his dark, un-English coloring. He thought of the familiar taste of curry on his tongue, and the exotic flowered garden. Most of all, he thought of the beautiful dark-haired woman. “I presume the other heirs died, then my father, so the Ashton inheritance went to an un-English half blood.”

  “Exactly so. I believe your father had just been informed that he was the sixth duke and he was making plans to return to England when he was struck with a fever and died.” Masterson’s voice turned dry. “Naturally the authorities stepped in and sent you back to London with a British family that was returning home so you could be raised as a proper English gentleman.”

  How casually “the authorities” had ripped him away from everything he had known. “What of my mother? Do I have any younger brothers or sisters?” He thought of the dream where he had played with a boy and a girl with green eyes.

  Masterson started to reply, then halted. “Now that I think of it, I don’t know the circumstances of your mother’s death. You’ve never talked much about your past. Perhaps she died before your father inherited. There were no younger children, or they would have been brought home, too.”

  “What crime landed me in a school for problem boys? Being foreign?” Adam’s voice was edged.

  Masterson looked embarrassed. “I think that was much of the reason. You were being difficult and your trustees just didn’t know what to do with you.

  “But being sent to the Westerfield Academy was for the best. Lady Agnes Westerfield is the founder and headmistress of the academy, and she’s the most amazing woman. She has traveled the world, visiting wild and dangerous places. She used to tell us tales of her adventures if we were good. She started the school to keep herself busy. In fact, you were the first student. She actually likes boys, which made the academy a fine place to be.” More quietly, he said, “She became the mother none of us had.”

  Adam looked at his dark hands again, with their calluses. He couldn’t have been anyone’s idea of a duke. “I have no other family?”

  “You spent summers and holidays in the household of your father’s first cousin. He and his family were away from England when you first returned, or you might have been sent to them instead of Westerfield. You called them Uncle Henry and Aunt Georgiana. He died a while back, but she and her two children, Hal and Janey, survive.”

  Glad he wasn’t entirely devoid of relations, Adam asked, “Do my cousins have green eyes?”

  Masterson thought about it. “As a matter of fact, yes. Their eyes are very like yours. As far as I know, you get on well with both of them. Hal is a good fellow, and Janey is a real charmer.”

  A thought struck Adam. “This cousin Hal. He would be my heir, I think. He may not rejoice to learn I’m alive.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Masterson’s expression changed, as if an unpleasant thought had just struck. “He may be somewhat disappointed that he
won’t be the eighth duke—that’s only human. But he’ll be more happy than sorry to see you alive, I think.”

  Masterson’s statement seemed rather tentative. Even a fond cousin was apt to feel disappointed when a great prize he thought he had inherited was taken away. A pity that Adam hadn’t been left in India so this cousin would have been the duke. He surely would have enjoyed the rank more.

  He glanced down at Mariah, who was sitting silent and unhappy, her fingers locked in his. With her blond loveliness and grave expression, she looked like a wounded Madonna. If he had never left India, he never would have met her, so he must be grateful for his inheritance, despite his confused feelings about her.

  “What more do you want to know?” Masterson spread his hands. “I’m not sure where to start. You are well respected and have many friends. You like working with your hands, whether it’s building a steam engine or digging in your garden.” His gaze strayed to Mariah. “And you have been considered one of the greatest catches on the Marriage Mart since you first entered society.”

  Adam winced. “I think I’d rather not have known that.” His head was throbbing with the worst pain he’d experienced since Mariah had pulled him from the sea. Now, despite everything, he wanted to be alone with her. “I think I’ve heard all I can absorb for now.”

  Taking the hint, Masterson got to his feet. “Kirkland and Randall should be arriving in Hartley today, barring the unforeseen. They’ll want to see for themselves that you’re alive. When would be a good time to call?”

  As Adam and Mariah stood, she said, “You can all join us for dinner tonight if that’s all right with you, Adam.”

  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.

  Chapter Nineteen

  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, b
ut 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.”