Loving A Lost Lord. Mary Jo Putney

      Kirkland nodded. “Ashton was never sick a day in his life.” He looked a decade older than usual. “Is Miss Emily here? She will need to know, too.”

      Lady Agnes shook her head, wishing that her longtime companion and friend was present so they could mourn together. “She is visiting family in Somerset and won’t be back for a week. General Rawlings is also away.”

      She contemplated her glass, wondering about the propriety of drinking herself senseless. She never had, but this would be a good time to start. “He was my first student,” she said softly. “If not for Adam, there would be no Westerfield Academy.” She didn’t notice that she had slipped into using the late duke’s personal name rather than his title.

      “How did that happen? I never heard the story. You know how Ash was. When it came to his private life, he’d make an oyster look chatty.” As Masterson spoke, the maid returned with a heavily laden tray.

      The young men fell on the sliced meats, cheese, bread, and pickled vegetables like wolves. Lady Agnes smiled as she poured claret for everyone, glad she could do something for their bodies if not their spirits.

      Randall glanced up. “Tell us how it all began.”

      She hesitated, then realized that she wanted—needed—to talk about how she’d met the very young Duke of Ashton. “Emily and I had just returned from our traveling years. Though I loved visiting so many faraway places, it seemed like time to come home. My father was unwell and…well, there were other reasons, but they don’t matter.

      “After three months back in England, I was champing at the bit, wondering what to do with myself. I’d already sorted out the steward here at Westerfield Manor, and I needed a challenge. A pity women aren’t allowed in Parliament.”

      Kirkland looked up from his sliced beef with a smile. “I would love to see you speak to the House of Lords, Lady Agnes. I daresay you’d sort them out in no time.”

      “I found a better use for my energy. One day I was strolling through Hyde Park and wondering what to do with myself when I heard a whip cracking. Thinking someone was beating a horse, I went into the shrubbery and found a dreadful little man cursing up a tree. Perched on one of the branches over his head was Ashton, clutching the most indescribable puppy.”

      “Bhanu!” Masterson exclaimed. “I still miss that dog. How on earth did Ashton get him up a tree?”

      “And why?” Kirkland asked.

      “The man was Ashton’s tutor, a fellow called Sharp. To be fair, Ashton was driving the man to distraction,” she said judiciously. “He refused to speak English or look anyone in the eye. His only friend was this filthy puppy he’d found somewhere. Sharp ordered the puppy killed, but the groom assigned the job couldn’t bear to do that, so he released Bhanu in Hyde Park. When Ashton found out, he ran away from Ashton House to find his dog.”

      “And he wouldn’t quit until he succeeded,” Randall murmured. “Stubbornest man I ever met.”

      “You should talk!” Kirkland exclaimed.

      Laughter at the comment lightened the atmosphere a little. Lady Agnes continued, “When I appeared and asked what the trouble was, Sharp poured out all his frustrations on me. He’d been assigned the task of preparing the boy for Eton.

      “After a fortnight of being driven mad, Sharp was convinced that the new Duke of Ashton was a lackwit who couldn’t speak English and certainly couldn’t attend Eton. The boy was a vile limb of Satan! He was the wrong duke; the title should have gone to his decent English cousin! But the boy’s fool of a father had been a cousin who never thought he’d inherit, so he married a Hindu slut while stationed in India. When the other heirs died, our Ashton ended up with the title, to the horror of everyone in the family.”

      There was a collective gasp around her. “I’m amazed Ash didn’t go after his tutor with a knife,” Masterson breathed.

      “I was tempted to take the whip away from Sharp and use it on him.” Instead, she’d gazed into the tree and seen stark misery on the boy’s face as the tutor raved. The child understood every word and knew that he was despised.

      In that moment, he’d captured her heart. Lady Agnes knew a great deal about being different—an outcast in the society to which one was born. This small boy with the startling green eyes needed an ally. “Ashton had been treated with contempt by those around him ever since he was taken from his mother in India and shipped back to England. No wonder he was hoping that his horrible new life could be wished away.”

      Her gaze went to each of the men in turn. “And that, gentlemen, was when inspiration struck and the Westerfield Academy was born. I used my grandest voice to announce that I was Lady Agnes Westerfield, daughter of the Duke of Rockton, and that I owned an academy for boys of good birth and bad behavior. I also claimed to have learned ancient methods of discipline during my travels in the mysterious Orient.

      “Sharp was intrigued, and we struck a bargain. If I could get Ashton out of the tree and behaving civilly, Sharp would recommend to the trustees that the boy be sent to my academy rather than Eton. So I chased the man out of earshot, dredged up the Hindi I’d learned during my time in India, and asked Adam to come down.” She smiled fondly at the memory.

      “Of course he spoke perfect English—I was sure he must have learned the language from his father. But since I made the attempt to address him in Hindi, he decided that it was time to come down from the tree and deal with the world around him.” He’d had tears on his face when he’d reached the ground, but that she would never tell anyone. “Though I spoke the language badly, at least I was trying. He and I struck a bargain of our own. He was willing to come to my new school if he was allowed to keep Bhanu and continue the study of mechanics, which he’d begun with his father.

      “I thought that sounded perfectly reasonable. In return, I would expect him to apply himself to all his studies and learn how to play the role of English gentleman.” She had also promised that his private thoughts would be his own. Torn from the land of his birth and his mother, he had needed to know that.

      “Then I went in search of other students. You all know how you came to Westerfield.” The English peerage had no shortage of angry, frustrated boys who didn’t fit the pattern expected of them. Randall, for example, had managed to get himself expelled from Eton, Harrow, and Winchester, the three most prestigious public schools in Britain. She believed that his feat was unmatched.

      The parents and guardians of her first class had been grateful to find a respectable school that would take their problem boys. Lady Agnes’s sprawling estate was well suited to become a school, and her high birth had been a powerful lure. So was her recruitment of General Philip Rawlings. The general’s military reputation was stellar, and parents assumed he would rule with an iron hand.

      Instead, the general shared her belief that violence should never be a first resort with children. Bored by his retirement, he had accepted her offer with enthusiasm. With her connections among the beau monde and his ability to command boys without ever raising his voice, they had created a unique school.

      Within a year, other parents were begging for places at the school, and subsequent classes were larger. Lady Agnes had become expert in alluding to her mysterious oriental ways of creating well-educated and well-behaved young gentleman.

      In fact, her methods weren’t at all mysterious, though they were unconventional. When she first met with a boy, she found out what he most wanted, and most hated. Then she arranged for him to have what he wanted, and not be forced to endure what he found unendurable.

      In return, she required her boys to work hard at their studies and learn how to play the game of society. Once her students realized that they could play the roles expected of them without losing their souls, they did well.

      Kirkland topped up everyone’s claret, then raised his glass in a toast. “To Adam Darshan Lawford, seventh Duke of Ashton and the finest friend a man could have.”

      The others raised their glasses solemnly.