“Why are you looking at me like that?” said Lark. “You were there when he said as much a few nights ago.”
“Yes,” said Owen. “I never believed the rumor about Canbury wearing women’s clothing. But some of the rest has a ring of truth…”
“Well. I can’t speak to that.”
Fletcher regarded Lark with a raised eyebrow. “So when Beresford secrets you away at the club, are you discussing this gossip?”
“It comes up in conversation sometimes,” was all Lark was willing to volunteer.
“Beresford would know about the Canbury rumors,” said Owen with a certain amount of disdain.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Lark.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything. Oh, look, we’re here.”
They had indeed slowed in front of the Sweeney house. “Behave, my friends. Since I am fairly certain Lady Adele will not leave Hugh’s side, we are about to be in the presence of a lady.”
“I’ll behave,” said Fletcher. “I can’t speak for Owen.”
“Get out of the carriage,” grumbled Owen.
Chapter Ten
The two menwho accompanied Lark into the gold salon were strangers, although something in Hugh recognized that he’d seen both men before.
Adele was on guard. She seemed nervous. Hugh couldn’t deny that their conversation the night before had stayed with him. He supposed she’d offered him reasonable logic, but he did not want to lose her. Marriage did seem rash, but how else was he to keep her in his life?
A puzzle for another time. Lark now introduced Hugh and Adele to Fletcher Basildon, Baron Fowler, and Owen Thomas, Earl of Caernarfon. When Owen said, “’Tis good to see you, my friend,” Hugh heard an accent and asked about it.
“I’m from Wales, mate,” Owen said as if it were obvious. “But since my ancestors betrayed their fellow Welshman and sided with the English every time they tried to invade, some old king bestowed a title on us. You knew that, back before the, er, head injury.”
“I had an interest in history, didn’t I?” Hugh asked.
“You did,” said Fletcher. “You descend from a very old and prestigious family, so your parents drilled that lineage into you. There’s a pile of bricks in Kent they call Swynford House that has a great hallway lined with portraits of the past eleven dukes, and it looks like a lot of stern-faced men in funny wigs, but you always seemed proud of it.”
Adele frowned at that, which prompted Hugh to ask the question, “Was I proud of my name?”
“Not as much as your mother,” said Lark, “but yes.”
“Your memory is really gone?” asked Owen.
“I’ve recovered bits of it, but most of it is inaccessible to me. The doctor says I will recover the rest in one sudden burst, or over time in dribbles, or perhaps not at all.”
Fletcher laughed. “Yes, those would be the options. Doctors don’t know anything, do they?”
And suddenly this all seemed familiar. The four of them often sat in this very configuration, facing each other and talking. Lark loved gossip, Owen followed politics, and Fletcher pretended to be disinterested in all of it. Hugh gasped as he realized he knew these men.
“Are you all right?” asked Lark.
Hugh shook his head. “Until yesterday afternoon, I had no idea of my own name, but now I can recall sitting with you gents in a club, sipping whisky.”
“Thatishow we spend most of our time,” said Owen.
“Lord Caernarfon,” said Adele, correctly pronouncing the Welsh name—it sounded like Canarvon, “are you the same man my father has mentioned who serves in the House of Lords.”
“I am,” said Owen. “That is, only recently. My father held the seat until his untimely death last year.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
