Page 66 of A Match of Misfortune

“Ah, yes! The lovely Miss Bradshaw.” He shook his head as though he could hardly believe it. “I hear congratulations are in order. Do you have a date for the wedding yet?”

How the devil had he already heard of their betrothal? “Not yet, no.”

Blackstone grimaced. “With the current state of things, I wouldn’t wait too long to wed her. It’s a female’s nature to select the most secure and competent mate, and well ...” He lifted his hands as though the answer was obvious.

The realization hit like a lead cannon ball to the abdomen. “The most competent mate doesn’t pick the chair with the broken leg?”

Lord Blackstone gave an enthusiastic nod of agreement. “Perfectly said.”

Six years ago, Nash had set out to prove that he was not only competent but that he was someone of note. Now, all he wanted was to show Cecily he was worthy of someone like her. No. Not someone like her. He wanted to prove he was worthy of her. What did he have to show for it? A lost inheritance. A wrecked ship. An uncertain fortune. A pitiable reputation. And now he was about to give up his hope of forming a shipping company— a plan that would have eventually allowed him to return to England—and instead return to India indefinitely. It was no easy task, ignoring the crushing weight that had settled over Nash, but he managed a cordial nod. “Yes, well, I shall be sure to consider that.”

“Good. Good. And I shall keep my ears open for news of your ship. If there is anything else I can assist you with in the meantime, do not hesitate to ask. At some point, I would also very much like to hear about the plans regarding your shipping company.” Nash was not the least bit surprised Lord Blackstone had heard news of this as well. “With how outlandish the shipping costs of the East India Trading Company have become, it would be good to see some competition, particularly now that private citizens can trade in India. Not that the EITC will be eager to share the wealth with a privately held company, but the time has certainly come that they do.”

That was precisely the reason Nash had wanted to start his own private shipping business. He saw a need—a great need—and he knew precisely how to meet it. “Though I agree wholeheartedly, it’s proving difficult to find investors when my one and only ship is currently unaccounted for.”

“White’s is not the only place that has gentlemen of means, willing and eager to invest. Furthermore, the fine members here at Blackstone’s, for one reason or another, have all taken a turn with misfortune. I cannot think of a group of men that would more likely understand your plight and support you in it. As long as the investment is sound. Which, considering what I know of you and your previous dealings, I do not doubt it is.” Lord Blackstone opened the door. “But this is not the time for such introductions. Not when you have a young lady awaiting you.”

Nash hesitated. Cecily and the Rothsburgs were technically no longer expecting him. And it would be helpful to know if he could garner any interest in his company before answering Johnathan. Particularly from a group of gentlemen that could be exactly the sort he was looking for—wealthy misfits like himself.

If Nash were to prove himself a capable man, a man worthy of Cecily, now was his chance. Perhaps his last chance. “On second thought, I have a little time to spare.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Cecily glanced at her solemn reflection, brushing the curls from her hair while she waited on Mrs. Batton to come help her dress for the day. Her thoughts drifted through the tiresome evening she’d spent at the park. Lord Harlow had sought her out, and worrying he might offer for her right then, she was obligated to share the news of her betrothal. He’d appeared so crestfallen. Even the memory of it made her heart heavy, though at least it had saved him from the embarrassment of an outright rejection had he asked for her hand.

Then there was Nash. It was silly that she felt so hurt by his negligence. She knew the importance of his meeting with Mr. Steele, how the matter of his ship far outweighed her desire to not face Lord Harlow alone. And yet, when he’d failed to meet them before their departure for the park as he’d said he would, it had flooded her with disappointment. Not only for herself but also for the Rothsburgs, who were generously risking their own reputations to help restore his.

A knock at the door pulled Cecily from her thoughts. “Come in.”

The door opened.

“Mrs. Batton, might I get some help with my buttons? I could fasten most of them, but—” When she did not hear nearing footsteps, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she found Nash standing on the threshold, smiling at her.

“I’m not Mrs. Batton, but I’m certain I could manage the task.”

Heat rushed over her body at his brazen insinuation, and she shifted in her chair to conceal the few buttons in the back she could not reach. “What are you doing here?”

He pointed at the floor beneath his feet as though she spoke of his actual location, then back at her. “You told me to come in.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His gaze moved across his room, and she realized that, besides that first night when it was too dark to see, he’d not been in here. Slightly pricked by the thought, she allowed his continued reverie until his eyes met hers again. “Oh, I have something I want to show you.”

She eyed him. He held one hand behind his back, likely concealing the gifts he had supposedly brought her from India, but she was in no mood to be pacified. “Can it not wait?”

“It can. I only thought, what with the Rothsburgs arriving within the hour to retrieve us for the menagerie, that you’d be ready.”

“Clearly I’m not.”

He studied her for a moment. “Are you cross with me?”

“Not much more than usual.”

Nash smiled at her acknowledgment. “Is this about the park? I had a⁠—”

“Honestly, I do not require your excuses. A part of me suspected you would not keep your word, but for the Rothsburgs’ sake, I had hoped otherwise.”

Perhaps she was not being entirely fair to Nash, but indignation burned inside her. He could not continue to disregard those closest to him—those who were trying to help him—each time a more pressing issue arose. She might also be more keen to understand if his meeting with Mr. Steele had gone on longer than he’d thought, but upon coming home, Mr. Markham had explained that Nash had gone to Blackstone’s, a local gentlemen’s club. Surely such an errand could have been postponed.