Page 12 of A Match of Misfortune

At her approach, her gaze locked with Nash’s. Her chest constricted even tighter. Last night she’d assumed him to be entirely unchanged, but seeing him now, she realized that was not at all the case, at least not physically. He was taller than she remembered. More filled out and masculine. An ox of a man, really, even compared to Mr. Markham, who stood nearby. She supposed it made sense considering he’d eventually had to grow into those giant hands and feet of his.

His thick, brown hair was the same, as was the mischievous glint in those light eyes, but his boyish features were more angled and prominent and—dare she admit?—striking. That was all Nash needed, to be more attractive than he’d already been. Was there no balance in this universe when it came to him?

“Look, Nash.” Jamison pulled her until she stood directly in front of Nash. She fought the desire to retreat a step or two so he did not tower over her, but she held her ground. “It’s Auntie Cecily.”

Nash’s lips turned upward at the corners. “So it is.”

Desperate for an excuse to break eye contact, she dipped into a brief curtsy, still holding Jamison’s hand in hers. “Mr. Markham,” she said, feeling it important to establish that their family’s close relationship did not permit a familiarity between them now that they were older. Nor did her slip of using his Christian name the previous night.

Nash’s smile only broadened when her gaze lifted, like he could see into her discomfiting thoughts regarding him. “You cannot know how shocked I was when I discovered you were in London, Miss Bradshaw.”

Cecily’s cheeks threatened a blush at the obvious insinuation behind his comment, but she would not have it. Not with the others standing by, watching the two of them with casual interest. “Indeed, I believe I can. You see, I was equally shocked at the discovery of your return. Perhaps more so.”

His gaze trailed over Cecily’s face at a slow, intentional pace. “Well, I must admit that I am quite pleased by your being here. I’ve not seen such a pretty face in months.” His focus shifted to where Mrs. Markham sat beside Adelaide near the fire. “And now I have the privilege of being among three of the prettiest in all of England.”

Cecily barely kept her eyes from flicking upward toward the ceiling. Yes, Adelaide could certainly be touted as pretty even at her young age, and Cecily would not deny that both she and Mrs. Markham were quite handsome. However, such exaggerated praise was meant as pure flattery and nothing more. Nash’s compliments often proved as grandiose as his tales.

Yet both Mrs. Markham and Adelaide flushed at his compliment.

Mr. Markham chuckled. “Ever the charmer.”

“I could hardly believe how grown your sister was when I first saw her.” Nash gave a disbelieving shake of his head, his gaze fixed on Adelaide. “Nearly fifteen?”

Adelaide gave a small nod. “In a few months, I shall be.”

“That means two or three years and you will be out in Society.”

Cecily winced at Nash’s assumption. Besides their visits to the Markhams, her sister seldom left the confines of Penrose Court, and when she did, it was only brief visits to places that were willing and able to accommodate her—to the house of a beloved neighbor or to church. Not that Cecily or her father were ashamed of Adelaide. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It was in part that her chair could not go many places with ease, and in part that outside of the few families who knew her well, others seemed to lack understanding and compassion for anyone that differed from themselves.

While at home, Adelaide was unjudged and unhindered, but the moment she went out in public, people stared and whispered. Adelaide always handled the inevitable situations that arose because of her disability with grace and a maturity well above her age, but that did not make it any easier to be gawked at or pitied by others. So the idea of her entering Society was not only unreasonable but hurtful. How could Adelaide possibly take part in a world that would spurn her for an ailment that she’d had since birth?

Adelaide gave a small frown that made Cecily wish she could give Nash a scolding right here in front of everyone. “If only that were a possibility,” Adelaide said.

“Why should it not be?”

Cecily’s jaw slackened at Nash’s carelessness. To make the mistake once was pardonable; to be so cork-brained a second time was not.

Adelaide gave a small laugh that hid her discomfort. “Because the point of coming out in Society is to marry, and who would marry a lady confined to a chair?”

Nash’s head reared back slightly, like he’d not realized that would be the case. “You cannot be in earnest?”

Unable to take another moment of Nash’s ignorance, Cecily set her sights on him. “I⁠—”

“She really cannot walk,” Jamison said, releasing Cecily’s hand and making his way toward her sister. “Her legs don’t work like ours do. She was born like this.” When he arrived next to her, he rested a hand tenderly on Adelaide’s arm. Even a five-year-old knew how to better handle the situation than Nash did.

“Is that so?” Nash asked, feigning ignorance.

Jamison nodded. “That’s why she’s always in this chair.”

“Interesting.” Nash readjusted Theo in his arms, and the toddler rested his head upon Nash’s shoulder, contentedly sucking his thumb as though Nash were as familiar to him as his father. “And here I thought people pushed her around all day because she is so important. But I suppose it is likely for both reasons.”

Adelaide ducked her chin to hide her smile. Unsurprisingly, a real, genuine smile. It always amazed Cecily how easily a word of praise from Nash could undo any wrong he’d managed to impart.

“I suppose so,” Jamison said decidedly. “She is important.”

Cecily took a seat on the settee near Mrs. Markham. “How was your voyage?” Cecily asked before Nash could resurrect the topic. “It seems you made good time.”

He did not look at her straightaway, likely aware of her tactic, but after a moment, he relented. “Thankfully, the voyage was entirely uneventful. And yes, we managed the trip in just over three months, which is nearly unheard of.”