Loving a Lost Lord

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Many years ago. But it’s not a rare privilege,” Julia said with a smile. “For every aristocrat who is an invited guest of the Prince Regent, there are dozens of servants and workmen and laundresses.”

  Mariah doubted that Julia had visited the royal residence as a laundress, but she didn’t pursue the subject. “I’m looking forward to seeing the sights with you. But first I must locate my lawyer and pay a call.”

  Julia settled in one of the silk-covered chairs. “We both have tasks to accomplish, but I’m sure there will be time for touring as well.”

  Seeing Julia’s strained face, Mariah said softly, “Judging by your expression, your business will be difficult. I will gladly accompany you if that would help.”

  Julia shook her head, but her expression eased. “No need. I’m sad, but this is a very common sort of grief. I’m going to visit my grandmother. She is old and frail, and this visit might be my last chance to see her. She has lived life long and well, which makes it easier to accept that soon she will be gone. But I want to see her, and that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t persuaded me to come to London. Thank you.”

  “The benefit is mutual.” Mariah sat on the elegant sofa opposite Julia and contemplated the elaborate crown moldings and the handsome paintings. This sitting room and her bedroom were the loveliest places she’d ever stayed.

  Seeing Ashton House made her realize just how wide the gap was between her and Adam.

  Unbridgeably wide.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  As Wharf opened the door to the ducal suite, Adam said, “You were told that the head injury I suffered has damaged my memory?” After the valet nodded, Adam continued, “I remember very little of my previous life. That includes you.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “This would be an ideal time for you to tell me that I had promised you an increase in wages.”

  “No, sir!” Wharf looked shocked as he closed the door to the corridor. They entered a spacious sitting room with several doors opening from it. “I’m already paid most generously.”

  And the man was too honest to be amused by the idea that he might take advantage of his owner’s disability. That spoke well for him. “I hope that in time my memories will return, but for now, I’d prefer that stories of my weakness not circulate. It will be impossible to keep such a thing entirely secret, but the less said the better. Since you would be a primary source of such information, I must hope you’re discreet.”

  Wharf looked even more shocked. “I never, ever talk about your grace’s personal business. And most certainly not now.”

  Better and better. “You don’t fit the usual image of a valet. How did you come into my employment? What is your history?”

  Wharf’s expression became wary. “I was born in the East End. My da was a stevedore. Died when a hogshead of sherry fell on him. My mother was a washerwoman and couldn’t support us all, so I enlisted in the army soon as I looked old enough. I gave my mum the bounty to help care for the young ones.”

  The London accent was now explained. Adam crossed the sitting room and opened a door to a bedroom containing a massive canopied bed draped with heavy blue and silver brocade hangings. “How old were you in truth?”

  “Thirteen, but big for my age. Some who join up are scrawny, so I looked well enough grown to pass.”

  Adam walked across the bedroom, Wharf trailing behind. Another door opened to a huge dressing room full of shirts, breeches, and coats hanging on specially designed fixtures. Boots, hats, and other male paraphernalia were neatly laid out on shelves. “Good God, I actually wear all these garments?”

  “Your grace is known for impeccably fine dress, neither too flamboyant nor too conservative,” the valet said rather pompously.

  “I presume I owe much of my reputation to you.” Adam fingered a fine cotton shirt, one of many that hung on individual wooden frames the width of a man’s shoulders. A door on the far side of the room led to Wharf’s own neat bedroom, which had a separate exit to the corridor. “How did you come to be my valet?”

  “I was invalided out of the army after being wounded and coming down with a putrid fever. My mate, Reg, and I were both sent home to recover if we could,” Wharf explained. “Back in London, we were attacked by a gang of drunken cutthroats. Both of us were beat up pretty bad before Major Randall came along and drove them off.”

  “By himself?” Adam asked. “How many were there?”

  “Reg and me took down four, but there were four still left.” Wharf looked wistful. “If we’d been in fighting trim, Reg and I could have handled them, but not the way we were then. Still, it was a rare treat to see the major in action.

  “He thought ex-soldiers shouldn’t starve on the streets, so he brought the two of us to you and asked if you could give us work. I would have been happy to scrub the kitchen floor like a scullery maid as long as I was fed and back in England, but you did better. You put Reg in the stables since he’s good with horses. You told me you needed a new valet, and would I be interested in learning the trade. When I said yes, you hired a valet from an agency to teach me the tricks of maintaining a gentleman’s wardrobe.”

  Maybe Adam at that earlier time had sensed that it was good to value loyalty over credentials. “I must have liked you to have you trained for the job.”

  “That, plus even though I was half starving and built like a prizefighter, my clothes always looked good,” Wharf said wryly. “I’m not built to be fashionable, so it’s been a rare treat to valet you.” His gaze flicked over Adam’s clothing. “What you’re wearing isn’t bad, but not up to our usual standards.”

  Adam turned to look his valet in the eye. “What sort of relationship did we have? I didn’t take you to Scotland with me. Why not?”

  Wharf’s face tightened. “My mother was dying and you told me to stay in London with her. She passed just before the news of your accident reached us.”

  “My condolences on your loss,” Adam said quietly. “I would have been a brute to demand you leave under such circumstances.”

  “Most lords wouldn’t have thought beyond their own convenience,” Wharf said bluntly. “I was grateful at the time that you didn’t insist I go, but maybe if I’d been with you on the Enterprise, you wouldn’t have been hurt so bad.”

  “Or maybe you would have died. There is no point fretting over the past.” Adam studied the valet’s scarred face. “We appear to have had a relationship that is…less formal than is usual between a gentleman and his valet.”

  “I’ve always known my place, sir,” Wharf said, choosing his words carefully. “And I hope I’ve never been encroaching. You’re the finest gentleman in London, and I don’t say that just because I work for you. But—you and I, we’re both a little different from the rest. I think maybe that affects how we deal with each other.”

  “I presume my difference is in my Hindu blood.” Adam examined the rack of beautifully tailored coats, the colors a rich, dark rainbow. “What is your difference? The fact that you were not bred to service?”

  Wharf flushed a deep, unhappy crimson. “There’s that, but also…I…I should tell you first, before someone else pulls you aside and accuses me ’n’ Reg of having a…an unnatural relationship.”

  An unnatural relationship? That must mean sexual. From somewhere in the depths of his mind, Adam recalled that such a connection was a capital crime. No wonder Wharf looked so upset about mentioning the matter. “Do you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wharf’s voice was a bare whisper. “We can leave if you don’t like it.”

  Having an “unnatural relationship” might explain why Wharf and his mate were attacked by a gang of angry men. Adam wondered exactly what two men might do together, but this was not the time to ask. “Did I know about this before?”

  The valet nodded.

  “I presume the knowledge didn’t bother me?”

  Wharf shook his head.

  “Then I don’t know why it should bother me now.” He turned back to the clothing. “Will
you choose an appropriate luncheon outfit? I am overwhelmed by choices.” He glanced down at himself. “My present outfit was borrowed. It must be cleaned and repaired for return.”

  “Very good, your grace.” Wharf’s voice vibrated with relief.

  Adam left the dressing room and tried another door. This one was locked. He frowned. “Why can’t I enter here?”

  “The room is a…a private study of yours. That’s why you lock it.”

  “Do you know where the key is?”

  The valet nodded. “I clean the room now and then because you don’t want the maids going in.” He crossed to an elegant and complicated desk, pulled out one of the drawers, and removed a key from the underside. “This is where the key is kept.”

  Adam examined the carefully constructed secret compartment. “Apparently I am serious about no one else entering.”

  “Very serious indeed.” Wharf handed him the key. “I’ll prepare a change of clothing for the luncheon while you go inside.”

  Glad the valet gave him privacy, Adam unlocked the door, wondering what his old self was so secretive about. He entered the room—and found himself in a Hindu shrine. The air was scented with incense, and light came from high windows that illuminated altars supporting exquisitely carved and painted statues of deities. Richly colored fabrics swept from the center of the ceiling and draped down the walls, making the room feel like an exotic tent. The brass oil lamps matched those of his dreams.

  Opposite the door was the elephant-headed god again. Ganesha. He remembered the names easily now, and their attributes. Ganesha was a popular fellow, the remover of obstacles and lord of beginnings. The patron of arts and sciences and wisdom. On his altar lay a nosegay of flowers so dried out that the variety couldn’t be identified.

  Adam lifted the bouquet, petals drifting to the floor. If Wharf came here only to clean, Adam must have left these flowers as an offering before traveling to Scotland. What had he prayed for? Success for his steamship, or something less obvious?

  This space was deeply calm, like a meditation garden but more so. He turned to his right and recognized Lakshmi, the consort of Vishnu and goddess of beauty, love, and prosperity. Rather like Aphrodite or Venus. Lakshmi was the essence of femininity who was celebrated during Diwali, a festival of lights. Mariah looked nothing like this dark-haired deity, yet she possessed that same profoundly female essence.

  There were also altars to Shiva the Destroyer, the dancing god of annihilation and rebirth, and Vishnu, the supreme being who stood above all others. The gods of his dreams. Feeling a sense of homecoming more powerful than when he had entered Ashton House, Adam turned in a circle, the thick carpet muffling his steps.

  This room represented the secret, Hindu part of himself. When he was forcibly removed from his mother and taken to England to be trained for his inheritance, he had instinctively realized that to stay sane, he must seem English. He couldn’t eliminate his dark skin, but he could talk like a lord, dress like a lord, perform the activities of a lord. Hence those handsome garments hanging in the next room.

  Had anyone seen this private shrine except Wharf? No. Adam knew immediately that even the friends who had dropped everything and traveled to Scotland in search of his drowned body were unaware of this hidden sanctuary. He had trusted no one with this part of himself except the valet, who had reasons of his own to hold his tongue.

  Struggling with thoughts he couldn’t quite clarify, he skimmed his fingertips along the bronze wheel of fire that contained the dancing Shiva. There was a deep, complicated connection between his amnesia and the way he had hidden so much of his inner nature. But he wasn’t sure how he could make himself whole again.

  He remembered how he had attended church with Mariah in Hartley, and how the services had felt natural and uplifting, rather like this room. He walked out of the shrine, locking the door behind him. Wharf was in the dressing room brushing a dark blue coat that didn’t need the attention. “Wharf, did I consider myself a Christian?”

  The valet gave him a straight look. “You told me once that you were Christian and Hindu both, but that you didn’t think most people would understand.”

  That surprised a laugh from Adam. “Probably not. I had best continue to keep that to myself. You are the only person who knows about my…my private temple?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  Their gazes touched for a moment before Adam looked away. They each had their secrets and respected those of the other man. “I gather that coat is what I shall wear when I join my guests again?”

  “Yes, sir. Your other garments are also laid out. I thought morning wear, since your friends have not had the opportunity to change from their travel clothing.”

  In a few minutes, Adam was dressed as the Duke of Ashton, with flawlessly cut coat, waistcoat, and breeches. He had to admit that the effect of superb tailoring was impressive. His top boots gleamed and he’d found that his fingers remembered how to tie a cravat fashionably. Feeling that he knew himself better than when he’d arrived, he asked, “How do I find my guests?”

  “I’ll show you the way, sir. The house takes some learning.”

  With Wharf’s guidance, Adam reached the small dining room at the same time as his other guests. Mariah was laughing at something Julia said, and she looked so lovely and lovable that his heart constricted as if squeezed by a fist.

  He had been upset by her false claim they were married, but his hidden Hindu shrine was proof that he’d been less than truthful in his own life. It was still too early to make a final commitment—he had too many pieces of himself to rediscover. But he was ready to accept that he wanted to be with her always. Giving her a private smile, he took her arm. “Shall we see what the kitchens of Ashton House have provided?”

  “Surely it will be very fine,” she murmured, eyes alight as she saw his expression.

  “The food will be better than fine. You have the best chef in London, Ash.” Kirkland offered his arm to Julia. “Our reward for all those dinners along the road.”

  The butler, Holmes, caught Adam’s gaze, then flicked his glance toward one end of the table to show Adam where to sit. He pulled out the chair to his right for Mariah, saying softly, “We must talk later. There’s something I want to show you.”

  He would reveal his hidden shrine, because if they were to have a future, she must understand and accept the part of himself that he’d buried. But he didn’t anticipate a problem. Mariah was as tolerant as she was beautiful. Their gazes met for a moment, and from her smile, she recognized what he couldn’t put into words in public.

  Adam was about to seat himself when three people swept into the dining room. One was the Ashton footman who had admitted Adam earlier. At his heels were a well-dressed, fair-haired man around Adam’s age and a handsome woman of middle years. Adam stared at the young man’s green eyes. Not as dark as his own, but definitely green. Could this be…?

  “Mrs. Lawford and Mr. Lawford,” the footman announced breathlessly.

  Adam’s cousin and aunt—the closest relations he had. The young man’s face broke into a smile. “Ashton, it really is you!”

  He rushed forward and caught Adam’s hand. Under his breath, he said, “I’m your cousin Hal, you know.”

  Just as quietly, Adam said, “I wasn’t sure. Thank you for confirming that.” He shook Hal’s hand, thinking that his cousin seemed genuinely happy to see him alive.

  Of course, Hal had already received the news, so there was time to prepare his response. If he lied about being glad, he was a good actor. Experimentally, Adam said, “You aren’t angry about not inheriting?”

  Hal made a rueful face. “I’d like the title, of course, but this is much too soon. I’d prefer several carefree decades before inheriting because you have only daughters. Much more pleasant.” His grip was hard.

  Hal’s mother was tall and well dressed, with a touch of silver in her fair hair. “My dear boy! I can’t tell you what a wonderful surprise it was to learn that you were
alive.” She presented her cheek for a kiss, though her pale blue eyes showed little warmth. “Hal insisted we come over the instant we heard that you were home again.”

  Glad he’d been told her name, he said, “It’s good to be home, Aunt Georgiana. I hope you will both join us for our luncheon.” At her assent, he instructed the footman to set two more places at the table.

  When the servant was gone and only family and friends were present, he added, “You have heard that I am suffering from memory problems. I had not recollected how beautiful my aunt is.”

  Her gaze softened at the flattery. “I’m glad to see you looking so well after such an ordeal. We owe your friends a considerable debt for finding you.”

  “They have gone far beyond the call of duty.” He placed his hand on Mariah’s shoulder. “Allow me to present my new friends, Mrs. Bancroft”—he indicated Julia with a nod—“and Miss Clarke, who traveled down with us from the north.” His hand tightened on Mariah’s shoulder. “Miss Clarke and I are betrothed.”

  Georgiana’s jaw dropped in shock. “Ashton, that’s impossible! You are betrothed to my daughter, Janey!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Betrothed to Janey. Adam’s fingers bit into Mariah’s shoulder as the words hammered her heart. The warmth in Adam’s expression when they met outside the dining room had given her hope that they could work out their problems. Now that hope was gone.

  Adam and Janey had grown up together. She knew him in ways Mariah never would. They had decided to wed, and a gentleman did not break a betrothal. Not ever.

  “Why has no one else mentioned this?” Adam exclaimed, his voice tight.

  Startled but not surprised, Hal arched his brows. “I’ve half expected a betrothal for years, though my naughty sister should have told me when it happened. You two have always been thick as thieves. I thought you’d wait for Janey’s twenty-first birthday and ask her then. It’s only a few weeks now.” He grinned. “Congratulations! I couldn’t wish for a better brother-in-law.”