Loving A Lost Lord. Mary Jo Putney

us, actually. He found us dining at Brooks, because he knew we would want to know as soon as possible.”

      “Hal is a good fellow,” Masterson observed. “He was broken up by the news. Inheriting a dukedom is all very well, but he and Adam were friends.”

      Lady Agnes had met Adam’s cousin Hal. He was indeed a decent fellow, though conventional. Life, and the Ashton title, would go on. She wondered if there was any special young lady who should be informed of Adam’s death, but he’d never expressed interest in a particular woman. He’d always been very close about his private life, even with her. Well, the news would be public soon enough.

      Realizing she hadn’t heard the full story about Adam, she asked, “What kind of accident did he die in? Was he riding?”

      “No, he was testing his new steam yacht, the Enterprise, up near Glasgow,” Randall replied. “He and his engineers were making a trial run down the Clyde. They ended up steaming quite a distance. They had just turned to head back when the boiler exploded. The boat sank almost immediately. Half a dozen engineers and crewmen survived, but several others didn’t make it.”

      Masterson said gloomily, “Ash was probably in the engine room tinkering with the damned thing when it exploded. That…would have been quick.”

      She supposed that if Ashton could choose how to die, he’d be pleased to go this way. He was surely the only duke in England with such a passion for building mechanical devices. But he was unusual in many ways.

      Then she stopped and considered what had been said. “Has his body been found?”

      The young men exchanged glances. “Not that I’ve heard,” Randall said. “Though our information might be incomplete.”

      He might be alive! Though she wanted desperately to believe that, she knew her thought was hope, not likelihood. And yet…“So there is no proof that he is dead.”

      “With the fire and the sinking of the boat in such difficult waters, his body might never be recovered,” Masterson said quietly.

      “But he might have survived.” She frowned as she considered. “What if he was injured and came ashore some distance away? In one of his letters, he told me how strong the currents are around the Scottish and Cumberland coasts. At the least, his…his body might have been carried such a distance that it wouldn’t be connected to a steam boat explosion many miles away.”

      “It’s possible, I suppose,” Randall said, his brows knit.

      “Then why are you here instead of looking for him?” Lady Agnes snapped.

      They all stiffened at her sharp tone. There was a long silence before Masterson banged his wineglass down on the table. “That’s a damned good question. I was so shocked at the news that my brain ceased working. I’m going to head north and find out what happened. The survivors will be able to tell us more. Maybe…maybe there will be a miracle.”

      Randall said grimly, “Not bloody likely.”

      “Perhaps not, but at the least I’ll learn more about his death.” Masterson rose, swearing under his breath as he wavered from a combination of exhaustion and drink.

      “And I’ll go with you,” Kirkland said flatly. He and Masterson turned their gazes to Randall.

      “It will be a fool’s errand!” Randall exclaimed. “Grasping at false hope will just make the truth more bitter in the end.”

      “Not for me,” Masterson retorted. “I’ll feel better for knowing I tried. Granted, it’s unlikely he survived, but there is some chance that his body will be found.”

      Randall scowled. “Very well, I’ll join you. Ashton deserves our best efforts.”

      “Then it’s decided, gentlemen. You may spend the rest of the night here and take fresh mounts from my stables.” Lady Agnes rose and caught their gazes, one after the other. Voice steely, she commanded, “And if Adam is alive, I expect you to bring him home!”

      Chapter Two

      Cumberland, Northwest England

       Two months earlier

      By the time her tour of the house reached the drawing room, Mariah Clarke was giddy with happiness. “It’s wonderful!” She spun in a circle with her arms out and her blond hair flying as if she were six years old, rather than a grown woman.

      Her father, Charles, moved to the window to admire the Irish Sea, which glinted along the western edge of the estate. “Finally we have a home. One worthy of you.” He glanced at her fondly. “As of today, you are Miss Clarke of Hartley Manor.”

      Miss Clarke of Hartley Manor. That sounded rather intimidating. It was time to start acting like a young lady. She straightened and tied a loose knot in her long hair so she would look closer to her twenty-five years. Like Sarah. As a child, she had often been alone, so she’d imagined that she had a twin sister called Sarah, who was always available to play. Always loyal. The perfect friend.

      Sarah was also a perfect lady, which Mariah wasn’t. If Sarah were real, she would be impeccably dressed with never a hair out of place. There would be no missing buttons or grass stains from sitting on a lawn. She would always ride sidesaddle, never shocking the countryside by riding astride. She would be able to charm everyone from cranky infants to curmudgeonly colonels. “I shall have to learn the art of supervising a large household. Can we afford more servants? The three here aren’t really enough for an establishment this size.”

      He nodded. “The same card game where I won Hartley Manor also yielded a nice amount of money. With care there will be enough to staff the estate properly and make improvements. If the manor is managed well, it will produce a respectable income.”

      Mariah frowned, not liking the reminder of how her father had acquired the manor. “The gentleman who lost the estate, was he left destitute?”

      “George Burke comes from a wealthy family, so he won’t starve.” Charles shrugged. “He shouldn’t have gambled if he couldn’t afford to lose.”

      Though she could not be as dismissive of Burke’s fate as her father, she didn’t pursue the subject. As a small child, she’d lived with her great-grandmother, who had gypsy blood. After Granny Rose’s death, Charles had taken Mariah with him everywhere. Though she loved her father, she’d never enjoyed their life on the road, where his charm and skill at cards had produced a sometimes erratic living.

      When Charles’s wallet was particularly flat, Mariah had told fortunes at village fairs, a skill she’d learned from her grandmother. Mariah couldn’t see the future, but she was good at reading people, so they left feeling happier about their lives and prospects.

      Fortune-telling was not a pursuit that Miss Clarke of Hartley Manor would ever admit to! Luckily, she wouldn’t have to do that again. “I’ll look for the estate account books so I’ll understand our finances better.”

      “My practical little girl,” Charles said with amusement. “You’ll have this place in order in no time.”

      “I certainly hope so.” She pulled a holland cloth cover off the nearest piece of furniture, revealing a wing chair upholstered in blue brocade. Like most of the furniture left in the house, it was worn but serviceable. Every room and wall had gaps where George Burke had removed the more valuable pieces. No matter—furniture and paintings could always be replaced. “With so few servants, neither house nor garden were as well cared for as one might wish.”

      “Burke preferred spending his money on a fashionable life in London.” Charles looked at her with the regret revealed when he thought of the mother she couldn’t remember. “You will be a splendid lady of the manor. But I’d best warn you now that as soon as we’re settled, I must leave for a few weeks.”

      She stared at him, dismayed. “Is that necessary, Papa? I thought now that we have a home, we will stay in it.”

      “And so I will,