She smiled. “I didn’t properly thank him before, so this is a good opportunity.”
Adam followed Mariah into the salon—then stopped, unable to breathe. Dimly he was aware of Stillwell’s tall figure and a young girl by the window, but most of his attention was riveted on the woman who rose and regarded him with uncertain hope. She was the black-haired, beautiful woman of his dreams, and she wore a graceful, embroidered scarlet sari. Impossible. Impossible!
She smiled as if uncertain of her welcome. “Darshan?”
She was the only one who had ever called him by his middle name. Memories began ricocheting through his mind, as when he’d read Lady Agnes’s letter, but this was a thousand times more intense. He remembered his childhood, his father, the long journey to England.
And not only his early years, but his time in England after he left school. He’d hoped for a great rush of returning memories—and now he was in danger of being eaten alive by them.
Mariah touched his arm, anchoring him to the present. “Adam, are you all right?”
He collected himself enough to give her an uneven smile. What a very strange day he and Mariah were having, both of them learning lost parents were perhaps not so lost. Part of him wanted to retreat from the lacerating pain, but he couldn’t, not when a miracle stood before him. He extended his hands, afraid she couldn’t be real. “Mother?”
She caught his hands, beaming. Her clasp was warm and firm. He drew her into his arms, thinking of all the nights he’d wept for her. Now she wept for him, her face buried against his shoulder. She was much smaller than in his dreams, but he would have known her anywhere by her perfume, a spicy, exotic scent unknown in England. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
This close he could see fine lines around her eyes and the expression of a woman who had seen her share of life. Yet she looked very young to have a son his age. He realized that she must have been not much more than a child when she had married his father. Voice choked, he said, “I was told you were dead.”
General Stillwell snorted. “Having ripped you from your mother’s arms, naturally the authorities would say she was dead to sever you from your Indian ties. For your own good, of course.”
For your own good. Adam could imagine his trustees saying that, smug in the belief that they knew what was best for an underage duke with distressingly mixed blood.
His mother stepped back, blinking tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry for being such a watering pot,” she said in fluent, charmingly accented English.
“I think the occasion merits tears,” Mariah said softly. “Perhaps we should all sit down. I’ll ring for tea.”
As Adam’s mother drew him down beside her on the sofa, Mariah took a seat to one side, watching him with calm eyes in case he needed her. He thanked heaven Mariah was here to support him in the maelstrom of emotion and memory. Then a thought cut through the painful clamor of his mind. He glanced at the general. “You’re my stepfather?”
Stillwell nodded. “As I said in the park, your father and I were friends. Lakshmi wrote asking for help when the authorities took you away, but I was on campaign. By the time I returned, you were already on your way to England. They would tell her nothing except to say that you would be raised as befitted your station.”
“Bah, as if strangers would know best how to raise my son!” Lakshmi said, her hand locked around Adam’s. Her eyes were gray green, striking against her dark complexion. “I have always dreamed of this day, but thought it would never come. When we arrived in London and heard that you had died…” She shivered.
“Sometimes I think Lakshmi married me so I would bring her to England to find you,” Stillwell said affectionately.
The warm glance she gave her husband belied his teasing words. “I have been most fortunate in my husbands. Your sister has done well with them also.”
“My sister?” he said blankly. Though his head was exploding with memories, a sister was not among them.
His mother gestured to the young woman by the window who watched the scene with intense interest. “This is your sister, Lady Kiri Lawford. I was pregnant when your father died. I didn’t tell the authorities for fear they would take her, too.”
“Kiri. That’s a lovely name,” he said, wondering if he could bear any more shocks. His new sister looked…like Adam. Dark hair, green eyes, taller than her mother. She was dressed in European style and would fit into any English drawing room despite a subtle air that suggested exotic distant places. Like her mother, she was beautiful.
“I’ve always wanted a sister.” He rose and crossed the room to her. “But I don’t suppose you wanted an older brother. I understand they can be dreadful creatures.”
She grinned at him, her eyes dancing. “Luckily, my brother, you weren’t around to torment me when I was little.”
“I wish I had been, Kiri,” he said quietly.
Her smile vanished. “I wish that, too,” she whispered.
Her words resonated within him, blood calling to blood. He took her hand. “Then we shall have to start being brother and sister now, Lady Kiri.”
As she squeezed his hand, the general said, “You also have a half sister and a half brother. Thomas and Lucia Stillwell.”
Adam was shaken to discover that he now had a whole family of relatives. “Are they here in London?”
Stillwell nodded. “Yes, but we didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Besides,” Kiri said dispassionately, “they’re rather wicked young creatures. They might have caused you to reconsider accepting us.”
“Kiri!” her mother said sternly.
Adam smiled. “I look forward to meeting them.”
But not today. He rubbed at the scar on his head. “I do feel rather overwhelmed.”
Mariah said, “Ashton suffered a head injury in the explosion that almost killed him, and his memory is somewhat damaged.”
“Plus, he was shot yesterday.” Stillwell stood. “We won’t stay for tea, but we needed to know that you would acknowledge your mother and sister.”
Adam said, appalled, “You thought I wouldn’t?”
“It was possible,” Stillwell said bluntly. “Depending on how thoroughly the lawyers and trustees convinced you to be ashamed of your heritage.”
“They failed. Will you dine with me tomorrow evening? All the family, including Lucia and Thomas.” By then, he should have recovered enough to greet them with the joy this situation deserved. “I hope you are staying in London for some time?”
“Forever, perhaps.” His mother shrugged. “All of my children are half English. They have a right to know their heritage.” She cocked her head to one side. “Do you miss India? Or are you glad you were brought to England?”
He had never thought to ask himself that, and the answer took thought. “Both. I miss India, but I cherish the friends I’ve made here.” His gaze went to Mariah.
Concern in her eyes, she stood. “Ash is too much a gentleman to ask you to leave, so I will do so instead. He has not fully recovered from his injuries.”
“Of course.” His mother stood and touched his cheek with a shining smile. “You do not look well. Rest now. It is enough to know that I will see you tomorrow.”
He managed to hold himself together while he made his good-byes, but after Mariah left to escort his guests—his family—to the front door, he folded down onto the sofa, elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. So many good things had happened today. Why did he hurt so much?
Chapter Thirty
As the Stillwells waited for their carriage, Adam’s mother gave Mariah an enchanting smile. No wonder she had captivated two husbands already. “I am so sorry, miss, we were never introduced.”
“So much was happening,” Mariah said, wondering how little she could say about her status in Adam’s life. “I’m Mariah Clarke. Ashton was washed ashore on my property, and I took him in. He didn’t remember who he was at first, but he’s recovering. His school friends found him and
offered to escort my friend Mrs. Bancroft and me to London. Ashton graciously invited us to stay here during his visit.”
Lakshmi’s eyes sparkled. “Are you his betrothed?”
The hopeful question hurt. “No, he is betrothed to his cousin, Jane Lawford. I’m sure you’ll meet her soon.”
The general accepted that, but the two women looked quizzical. Mariah was grateful that the Stillwell carriage drew up then so the conversation could go no further.
After saying farewell, she pivoted and headed back to Adam. His newly discovered family looked like fine people, and surely they would bring him much joy. But he had seemed on the verge of shattering, and it hadn’t been from happiness.
When she entered the salon, he was bent as if in pain and his breathing was harsh. She sat next to him and rested her hand on his back. “You look like a man in hell,” she said quietly.
His mouth twisted in bleak humor. “An apt description.”
“Do you feel physical pain? Mental? Both?”
He drew a long, shuddering breath as he considered his answer. “Both. The scar on my head hurts abominably, but the mental pain is worse. Many, perhaps all, of my memories have returned, and they are all hammering for space in my mind. The end result will be good. The process is…difficult.”
No wonder he was stretched to the breaking point. “Can you make it upstairs to your bedroom?”
He drew another deep breath, this one steadier, and got to his feet. “Yes. There is nothing physically wrong with me. I’m merely drowning in too much happiness.”
“Your whole world has changed, and change hurts.” Taking his arm, she guided him from the salon and up the stairs. When they entered his rooms, she retrieved the hidden key from his desk and opened the door to his private shrine.
He released his breath in a long sigh. “How did you know? You’re right—I need peace and meditation. Will you join me?”
Grateful that he wanted her company, she walked into his sanctuary. As tranquility eased through her, she realized that she needed this as much as he.
She hadn’t noticed the large cushions tucked behind a pedestal until he pulled two out. They made sitting a good deal easier when she folded herself onto the cushion, her knees tucked to one side. Adam sat next to her, bending with ease from long practice, and also possibly because of the custom-tailored clothing he wore.
He took her hand and closed his eyes and began deep, slow breathing. She followed his lead and found that her own tumbled emotions steadied down. Adam would help her find the truth about her father, and she would live with it, no matter what.
After a long, peaceful interval, he squeezed her hand. “My head still hurts, but order is beginning to emerge from chaos. Thank you.”
She opened her eyes and saw that while his expression was drained, he looked himself again. “I cannot imagine how you must feel to learn that your mother is alive and you have a whole family you didn’t know about.”
“That part is wonderful.” He grimaced. “Today I received a miracle, while you have been given uncertainty. It seems unfair.”
“Even if my father doesn’t miraculously return from the dead, I had him for all of those years growing up. You haven’t had your mother for over twenty years. The situations balance, perhaps.”
“I had Lady Agnes, who was a decent substitute.” His brow furrowed. “Just reading Lady Agnes’s letter restored one set of memories, and meeting my mother brought back a larger set, which are jangling madly around in my head. It has been intensely disquieting. Like trying to walk through an earthquake where even the ground beneath my feet can’t be trusted.”
She asked, “Do you think you have all your memories?” Which was more neutral than asking if he remembered falling in love with Janey Lawford and asking her to marry him.
“It’s hard to remember what I don’t remember,” he said wryly. “But after I had found calm in my meditation, I tried to organize my recollections, and they seem fairly complete. At least until the last months. I remember working on my steamship plans and getting ready to go to Scotland, but there’s a gap from the autumn until I rolled ashore in Hartley.”
She gave up the struggle for detachment. “You don’t recall your betrothal?”
He shook his head. “All I have is the earlier dream image of Janey in my arms.” He glanced away. “I do remember that I have always been…very fond of her.”
Even though his words were as understated as possible, they still stabbed. She had the dismal feeling that there would be no miracles from that direction. Janey was his dear friend of many years, the young woman he had pledged to marry. Lucky that Mariah was getting better at hiding her reaction to the situation. “Do you remember anything that might give clues as to who is trying to kill you?”
“Nary a trace of murderous enemies or a debauched secret life.” He gestured to the Hindu statues with his free hand, since the other was still locked around hers. “This seems to be the only secret life I have.”
What else would be useful to know? “Since Hal Lawford would benefit most from your death, do you remember anything that might implicate him?”
“As I remember him, he’s a terrible liar and doesn’t have a devious bone in his body,” Adam replied. “It’s hard to imagine him trying to kill me.”
“But people can surprise us.” And what better disguise than seeming honest and straightforward, as Hal did? “Perhaps as your mind settles from all this turmoil, you’ll remember more.”
“Perhaps.” He stood and helped her to her feet, then ushered her from the shrine room. “It’s strange and rather wonderful to search my mind and find something other than empty, echoing corridors. But Lady Agnes was right when she wrote me that we all have things we would prefer to forget.”
“Bad things that happened to you, or bad things you did?”
“What happened to me is part of what I am. But things that I did—those are harder to face.” He hesitated before continuing. “Some years ago, I was at a large reception at the palace. There was an Indian gentleman there, a diplomat, perhaps. He was being ignored by all the Englishmen present. I should have gone up to him and talked. Instead, I turned away. I didn’t want people to see me speaking to the man and remember my tainted Indian blood.”
She winced. “In one way, a small event. Looked at from another direction, it was a betrayal of courtesy and of what you are.”
“Exactly so.” He rubbed at the scar, looking ready to shatter. “I should think you must find it vastly tedious to be always caring for me. For what it’s worth, I remember quite clearly that until the ship explosion, I was always appallingly healthy.”
She thought of his lean, powerful body and had no trouble believing that. “You will be again. A year from now you will look back at this time as a much too interesting dream.” Assuming he wasn’t murdered before then. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
He shook his head. “For now, I’ll rest and hope that will help my mind sort itself out neatly. Though that may be too much to ask.”
“I’ve never had amnesia, and my mind isn’t neat at all,” she said lightly. “May I tell Formby that you wish him to start an investigation into what happened to my father? I’d like to get that started as soon as possible.”
He started to nod, then stopped. “Talk to Randall instead—he’ll be better able to arrange an investigation. And I can’t tell you how good it is that now I can remember such a thing!”
“Having seen how you have struggled,” she said softly, “I will never take my mind and memory for granted again.”
“Nor will I.” He caught her hand and raised it to brush his lips over her knuckles in a feather kiss that produced shivers. “You are a treasure, Mariah. I thank all the gods I know for the fate that brought me to you.”
“Fate or chance, we have both benefited.” It would be so easy to move into his arms. Instead she gently pulled her hand free. “Perhaps Wharf might have a remedy to help your aching head.”
Adam looked thoughtful. “Actually, he does have an excellent treatment for aches and pains. I shall ask for it.” Lean and dark and unbearably handsome, he pulled the rope to summon his valet. It was hard to believe that someone wanted to kill him, except that she’d seen the proof.
“Until later,” she said. “If you sleep through dinner, I shan’t be offended.” She slipped from the room and headed across the sprawling house to her own quarters.
After ringing for tea to calm her frayed nerves, she settled down at the dainty writing desk in the sitting room she shared with Julia. The more detailed her descriptions of her father, his habits, and his journey to London, the more useful they would be.
She was finishing her notes when Julia joined her, smiling from another visit with her grandmother. While Julia drank tea and ate several of the accompanying ginger cakes, Mariah described the visit to the lawyer. She ended by saying, “Do you think that the couple who run the Hartley post office could have been bribed to steal my mail?”
Julia looked thoughtful. “Mr. Watkins would be shocked by the very suggestion. He’s extremely meticulous and very proud of his responsibilities. But his wife, Annie…” Julia shook her head. “She has an eye for a handsome man. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I can imagine George Burke persuading her to steal mail for him. Did you get any letters while you were in Hartley?”
“Almost none. I was so busy organizing the estate and the household that I had little time for correspondence. With no family but my father, and having moved around so much for years, I wasn’t surprised to receive so little.”
“When you didn’t get any from your father, it supported Burke’s claim that he’d been killed. No letters from the lawyer suggested merely that he was a bad lawyer.”
“Exactly.” Mariah rubbed damp palms on her skirt. “I keep telling myself that my father is dead or he would have returned to Hartley, but it’s impossible not to hope.”
“The fact that George Burke is not a good man doesn’t mean he was lying about your father’s death,” Julia said softly.
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