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. Lady Agnes hoped the tears in her eyes didn’t show in the dimly lit room. She didn’t want to ruin her reputation.
After the toast, Kirkland said, “Now his cousin Hal is the eighth duke. Hal is the one who notified 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
