Page 46 of A Match of Misfortune

“Splendid,” Bridget said, brightening again and turning toward her husband. He moved to her side, and Nash glanced at Cecily.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must see to my sister.” Fredrick was already standing to assist Adelaide, but Cecily stayed her course and stepped up behind Adelaide’s chair, unable to face Nash at the moment. She needed some time to compose herself as they made their way to the dining hall. To think through her situation and the impending proposal.

It was unfortunate that she’d done such a poor job of deterring Lord Harlow, and that each time she’d thought to speak with him about her misgivings, it had felt too presumptuous of her. Unlike many of the other suitors vying for her, Lord Harlow had not even breached the topic of courtship, and yet now, it seemed he meant to skip the conversation entirely. The realization made Cecily dizzy with nerves. Setting down gentlemen who showed a slight interest in courting her was a task she’d come to dread most profoundly, but a proposal only came when one was certain of their feelings. When one was certain they wished to spend a lifetime with another person. Cecily well knew Lord Harlow to be mistaken in his conclusion, but she did not wish him to suffer the embarrassment that came from a refusal. And she did not wish to be the bearer of such news.

Though perhaps it was not too late to avoid the situation of a proposal entirely.

Unintentionally, Cecily’s gaze shifted behind her where Nash followed the group down the corridor, speaking to his parents. She ignored the way her stomach lifted when his gaze met hers and instead reconsidered the idea she’d come up with. Perhaps she had too hastily dismissed it. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t been desperate enough at the time.

She felt adequately desperate now.

Chapter Fifteen

Nash glanced across the table at Cecily. She’d been avoiding meeting his eye since they’d taken their seats—over three courses ago. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. The look he’d shot her when Lady Bridget had shared the news of Lord Harlow’s impending proposal could have used a bit of restraint on his part. But he’d been so caught off his guard. So unexpectedly … livid. It was one thing for Featherbottom to court Cecily. It was another thing entirely for him to offer for her. Nash knew the cad would not ask for her hand simply to spite him, but that would certainly be an added benefit for the man.

And the worst part of it all was that he didn’t doubt Cecily would accept the offer. It was true she had seemed surprised by the news, but what other reason would she have to refuse him? According to Lady Bridget, it was precisely the sort of match Cecily had hoped for. An accomplishment she’d likely been waiting years to achieve—to be a countess.

Mother softly touched his arm. “Nash, might I have a small portion of the venison?”

“Of course.” With how distracted he was, Nash was doing an abysmal job of attending to her and Adelaide, who were seated on either side of him. He took hold of the plate, shifting it toward her, when a bit of resistance was immediately followed by a loud clanking sound. Before he realized what had happened, his mother shot to her feet and lifted the edge of the tablecloth to prevent the spilled wine from flowing off the table.

Nash nearly moaned aloud at his idiocy.

“Forgive me,” he said, hurrying to his feet. He grabbed his linen napkin, but in his haste to hand it to his mother, he hit the handle of his knife haphazardly set across the edge of his plate and sent it clattering to the floor. “Blast.” The word slipped from him before he could think better of it.

His father cleared his throat as an unnecessary reminder that ladies were present.

“Forgive me,” Nash said. “Again.”

Before he could render any more assistance, Lady Bridget gestured for him to stop. “Let the servants attend to that.” She clearly feared for the well-being of the table and her dinnerware upon it.

Reluctantly, Nash resumed his seat as two footmen stepped forward to clean the spilled liquid, clear his mother’s wine-drenched plate of food, and set a new knife before him, as well as a new plate and glass in front of his mother. His gaze lifted to Cecily to find her watching him with a curious expression, but the moment their eyes met, she glanced away again.

An unfamiliar heaviness twisted in the pit of his stomach.

“My brother mentioned you intend to start a shipping company?” Fredrick asked, clearly intrigued by the prospect. Or perhaps eager to ease the tension following the uncomfortable state of affairs.

“That had been the plan.”

“Had been?” Rothsburg asked.

“It will be difficult convincing gentlemen to invest when my current venture might very well have sunk. Most literally.”

Rothsburg gave an understanding nod. “So, what is the plan, then? Find a wife and⁠—”

Lady Bridget gave a discreet shake of her head, catching her husband’s eye.

“Do you not mean to marry, either?” Rothsburg asked, clearly not picking up on his wife’s less than subtle hint to avoid asking after another of Nash’s failures.

“All things considered, I think it best to wait.”

Mother shifted her gaze to Nash’s profile, but he did not meet it. He felt oddly rattled, and he worried that if he glimpsed the concern in her expression, his emotions might get the better of him. Which was both an unsettling and unfamiliar feeling. What in the world was wrong with him? He’d had disappointments before, but he could not deny they’d been few and far between. His current load of failures sat heavily upon him. It was only a matter of time until word came that he’d been officially blackballed from White’s, which would seal his fate as an outsider. And, to top it all, the thought of Cecily marrying Featherbottom niggled inside of him in a most unfettered manner. He could hardly bear it.

He clenched his hands into fists beneath the table. Not one part of his coming home to England had gone as expected. Perhaps it was a sign he should return to India sooner than he’d planned. That he should relinquish his hope of forming a shipping company. His hope of securing a way to return to England permanently. Of course he did not wish to leave his family again—he might even miss Cecily if she would not refuse him such a sentiment—but if he remained, he’d only continue to make things worse for himself, and subsequently them. And, in all honesty, he’d far prefer to be halfway around the world when Cecily and Featherbottom wed.

The idea took hold so forcefully that he knew it was the correct course of action. It was the only course of action. “Actually, I’m considering leaving for India sooner than I’d planned. In the next week or two, if I can manage it.”

The dining room went ear-piercingly quiet, and the collective focus settled weightily on him. In hindsight, he should have waited to make such a consequential announcement in a more thoughtful manner, but there was nothing to be done about it now.