Page 109 of A Match of Misfortune

Nash’s gaze shifted to Cecily. “Now for you. Unless you are intent on putting me off yet again?”

Cecily glanced around at the eager expressions watching her, wishing she had let Nash give her the gifts when he’d first mentioned it. When their only audience had been Adelaide and Jamison. “I suppose I can’t put you off forever.”

Nash smiled at her half-hearted permission and returned to his box, handing Jamison something to give to her. When Jamison neared, she realized it was a cashmere shawl, much like the one he’d gifted to Adelaide, though this one was cream with golden embroidery. She took the proffered gift, holding it against her for all to see. “It is beautiful.”

“Wait until you see this.” Nash approached her this time, holding a most exquisite length of fabric, neatly folded. It was a muted greenish blue, like a stormy sea. The same color as the ribbon he suggested she buy. The same color as the dress she had worn all those years ago, though this fabric was far superior. She rubbed the top layer between her fingers. “I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s so soft.”

“It is Dhaka muslin. They say it is like wearing a whisper.”

A slight shiver of pleasure moved through Cecily at the thought of it against her skin. Of the imagined sensation of Nash’s touch through the fabric when she wore it. The way his hand would settle on the small of her back, or the accidental graze of his fingers against her. Her cheeks suddenly blazed red. This was not the time for such thoughts. “I cannot wait to have it made into a gown,” she said, sounding oddly breathless.

“Here’s this one,” Jamison said, handing her a box, apparently too impatient to wait for Nash.

Nash looked slightly surprised, then he chuckled. “I guess you’re to get this one now as well.”

She glanced at Nash. “Should I wait?”

“No, now seems as good a time as any.”

Cecily unlatched it and opened the top, releasing a small gasp when she saw the necklace. Her fingers trailed over the strand of pearls set in an intricate gold setting. Her gaze lifted to his.

He appeared a touch nervous. “I wasn’t sure if you ever replaced the string of pearls you lost at Cavendish Square during our footrace, but I saw these, and I could not resist buying them. Granted, I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to give them to you, but I had a hope, as distant as it felt, that I would one day.”

Cecily could not convince her slackened jaw to close. Even with all those years away and parting as they had, he had not forgotten her. As she had not forgotten him. “It is absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

“I spoke in earnest when I said I’ve loved you a very long time.” Taking hold of the necklace, he draped it around her neck and clasped it into place, his fingers brushing her skin in a way that made her legs grow weak beneath her. “And I hope you know I entirely place the blame on you for that. From the moment I set eyes on you, I hadn’t a choice in the matter.”

“I truly am the luckiest of women.”

Nash’s smile was full of mischief. “Perhaps you’d like to share a little of that luck with me?”

She knew precisely what he meant, and despite everyone watching, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him—utterly and completely overwhelmed with love for the man standing beside her, with inexpressible gratitude for those smiling upon them, and for fortune’s hand in it all.

Epilogue

Autumn of 1817

The London Docks were crowded with people, a fair amount of whom had come to see the Heart of London’s maiden voyage. Interest in a merchant ship’s departure was not overly common, but as this was the first of three recently purchased Indiamen to set sail under the Markham Shipping Company insignia, the shareholders, along with their families and friends, were eager to witness the official start of the venture.

Though not as eager as Nash.

Despite his bout of misfortune, Nash had managed to secure enough investors to make his hope of forming a private but jointly-held shipping company into a reality. His father’s bank was no longer near ruin, thanks in part to the funds he had secured there and in part to Lord Blackstone, who had not only opened his own account but also convinced several others to do likewise. He’d declared that any man who would postpone a gentleman’s loan repayments when his crops failed, and particularly one who would do the same for several gentlemen simultaneously, was a man he trusted to handle his money. Nash had also received his inheritance and had even reconciled somewhat with his uncle by allowing him to take up residence at Great-Aunt Agnes’ Dover estate for the foreseeable future. Nash would still receive the income, but there was no point in leaving the house empty.

But most especially, he had finally captured the heart of the woman he had secretly been pining for since their first introduction. After well over six long years, Cecily Bradshaw was now Cecily Markham. His wife. His everything.

A rush of excitement flooded through Nash as he made his way along the dock to where Cecily awaited him, receiving congratulations and kind sentiments from those gathered. With how the crowd carried on, one would never know his reputation was not yet fully recovered from the walloping it had undergone at Lord Chatting’s hand. Not that any of his naysayers were present today. And all the better, for it turned out that Nash didn’t truly care what the Beau Monde thought of him. Of course, he still had a handful of investors among the ton, Lady Bridget’s father, Lord Darlington, and even—somewhat surprisingly—Lord Harlow. But a majority of his shareholders were members of Blackstone’s—gentlemen who not only had a similar mindset as him but were also far preferable to deal with.

“Mr. Markham.” Mr. Ellington offered a wide smile. “What a glorious day it is.”

“In part, thanks to you.” Nash’s gaze slid behind Mr. Ellington to where Colonel Halstead and Mr. Yardley stood. “Thanks to all of you.”

The gentlemen gave him nods of acceptance, but Mr. Ellington waved off Nash’s sentiment. “It’s you we should be thanking. I’ve not a doubt this venture will be a smashing success, and I’m just grateful you allowed me to be part of it.”

“All things considered,” Nash said with a teasing quirk of his brow, “you may wish to delay offering your gratitude until it has proven so.”

Not even a moment of unease showed in Mr. Ellington’s expression. “The investment is too sound for such talk. Besides, your streak of ill luck seems to be behind you.”

“Thankfully.” Nash was now certain it hadn’t truly been ill luck that had caused his misfortunes—most of his troubles could be attributed directly to Johnathan Steele, who still awaited trial at the Old Bailey. Any other hardships he’d faced were simply due to being a participant of life. But he could not deny the impact the experience had had on him. It had clarified what really mattered. At the thought, his attention turned back in the direction he’d been heading, his eyes searching for Cecily. When his gaze fell on her a little farther down the dock near the ship’s bow, his chest swelled with warmth. “If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with my wife.”