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thought they said you were
dead.”
    “Only buried, never dead.” Beau wasn’t certain what had
sparked the sudden recognition, especially in a relatively new servant, but he
wasn’t about to wait any longer. He moved into the great hall that had once
been the main keep of the Norman stronghold. The castle had grown around it.
    The cavernous hall echoed as the footman said, “If you would
wait here.”
    Beau wasn’t waiting. The servant’s reaction notwithstanding,
the duke would likely have an apoplexy if Beau appeared at the table in the
tattered trousers and loose peasant linens. He wanted dinner. A real meal
complete with wine, served to him with course after course of food. He wanted
to laugh and regale his family with romanticized versions of the last decade.
He wanted to feel home, and he didn’t yet. As familiar as the stone of the
castle and its contents were, he could be embroiled in a delusion.
    He’d endured far too many hallucinations of being home to
entirely believe it true.
    “Come on, Mazi, I’ll show you to my room.” Even if his
clothes had been dispatched, he could borrow suitable attire from one of his
brothers.
    Beau headed for the wide staircase that had been added in
the Elizabethan era, along with the two wings that sprouted out either side
turning the old keep into the center bar of an H.
    When Mazi didn’t follow him, he turned to see the dark man
staring up at the murals painted on the ceilings. A couple hundred years
earlier the last traces of the ancient stone had been concealed behind plaster
and wooden panels, the floors covered with imported Italian marble, the
ceilings lowered to hide the massive support timbers.
    Ornate moldings, paintings, statuary, and oriental vases
were everywhere. The ostentatious display of wealth shamed Beau. Once he never
would have given a thought to those born without. Now he’d learned how little
he really needed to get by. Food, water, and sleep—all the rest were luxuries.
    Mazi turned in a slow circle. Facing the empty hearth, he
stopped.
    Over the massive fireplace were ancient cudgels, long
swords, and shields in a display of power just as intimidating as the wealth.
The corner of the dark man’s mouth lifted as he took in the endless display of
weaponry. “Your ancestors were warriors?”
    “As hard as that must be to believe, yes.”
    “It is not so hard to believe,” said Mazi.
    Footsteps resounded in the passageway leading to the dining room.
Eager for the warm greeting of his family, Beau turned. Only Finley appeared in
the arched walkway. He stared, then tilted back his head and sniffed.
    Behind him Danvers skidded to a stop. He clutched his hand
to his chest. “Lord Beaumont?”
    “In the flesh, Danvers.”
    “Dear God above,” muttered Danvers as he not so much sat as
collapsed into one of the chairs lining the walls.
    “Are you certain?” asked Finley.
    Danvers nodded.
    “Don’t you recognize me, Finley? I’m a bit burnt, but not so
different.” Beau took a step closer to the old retainer. Brown as a berry with
his hair bleached blond on the ends, Beau knew there was little left of the
callow youth who’d left to explore the world a decade earlier.
    “Very good, my lord. I will have rooms prepared for you and
your...?” Finley was too correct to make an assumption about Mazi. Although he
kept his expression impassive, the disdain dripped from his voice.
    “Good friend,” stated Beau firmly with a glare that conveyed
he would not be happy if Mazi was not treated as an equal.
    Finley gave a short nod. “And supper trays sent to your
rooms. Your father will see you after dinner in the library, Lord Arrington.”
    Lord Arrington? Beau’s heart jolted. Earl of
Arrington was his oldest brother’s honorary title. One of their father’s lesser
titles. It went to the heir apparent to the dukedom.
    Finley walked away before Beau recovered enough to question
him. He turned to his old tutor still sitting in the chair. Had he