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alone in the world. She had seen from his expression that her words had dispelled much of his fear.
    For his sake, it would be best for him to remember his life. But she remembered a thatcher in her grandmother’s village who fell from a roof and cracked his head and never could remember a thing that had happened before that day. He had continued to live a fairly normal life and quickly relearned thatching. His wife had confided to Granny Rose that there were some things she was glad the old boy had forgotten. Perhaps the sailor would end in the same condition.
    If he didn’t regain his memory, she would eventually have to tell him they weren’t wed, but for now, she would not deprive him of that comfort. And if he did recall, she would explain that she said she was his wife so he wouldn’t feel so alone, or compelled to leave her care. Those were good reasons. Downright noble, in fact.
    Her conscience reconciled, she made a pot of tea, adding lots of sugar to sweeten it. The chicken broth was also hot, so she poured some into a mug, then set everything on a tray. When she entered his room, she said cheerily, “Here you are. Which do you prefer first, tea or chicken broth?”
    â€œTea, please.” He had good manners and was well spoken, too. Mariah guessed he’d had some education and he sounded English, despite his foreign appearance. She stacked two pillows behind him, then poured half a cup of the sweet tea.
    He swallowed deeply, then gave a sigh of pleasure. “What did we do before tea was discovered?” He drank the rest more slowly.
    â€œWe suffered greatly.” She refilled the cup. “Mint tea is nice, but not the same.”
    â€œMariah,” he said hesitantly, as if studying how the name felt in his mouth, “what is my name?”
    She’d thought about this in the kitchen. “Adam,” she said promptly. The name of the first man. It seemed suitable for a male born of the sea with no memory of the past. “Adam Clarke.”
    â€œAdam!” His expression lightened with recognition. “Of course.”
    Surprised, she asked, “You remember that is your name?”
    â€œNot exactly remember,” he said slowly. “But it feels right.”
    â€œDo you remember anything else?” If he regained his memory quickly, she could abandon the pretense they were married. If that happened, she would ask if he would pose as her husband long enough to get rid of Burke. Her Adam seemed an agreeable man, so perhaps he would cooperate from gratitude.
    He shook his head, expression darkening. “No, nothing. Though the name Adam feels right, Clarke feels less familiar. Neutral.” His mouth twisted. “Everyone around me will know more about my life than I do.”
    â€œActually, no. I’ve only lived in Hartley for a couple of months and you’ve just arrived here, so you are unknown in the neighborhood.” He was mostly bare under the blankets, so she tried not to notice what a handsome pair of shoulders he had. She had seen very few bare male shoulders in her life, and the sight was remarkably appealing. Struggling for decorum, she continued, “My father won the manor at cards, which is why we came here as strangers to the region.”
    â€œWas it your father whom you sent for help?”
    She bit her lip. “I wish it was, but he was killed near London several weeks ago.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.” With quick sympathy, Adam took her hand. His cool grip was comforting. “It is maddening that I can feel your sense of loss, but not picture his face.”
    â€œYou were not well acquainted with him.” Remembering what she had told Burke, she added, “We are distant cousins who were both already named Clarke.”
    â€œSo upon marriage, you became Mariah Clarke Clarke,” he said, with a glimmer of a smile.
    â€œAt least I didn’t have to remember to change my signature.” She