Page 97 of A Match of Misfortune

“I am.” He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d get the money, but he was absolutely determined. At whatever cost.

Mr. Stevens gave Lord Chatting an apologetic look, then resumed his seat at the table. “Can we have that in writing, Mr. Markham?”

“Certainly,” Nash said, feeling equal parts relief and dread as he resumed his own seat.

With a disgruntled huff, Lord Chatting stormed from the room.

Nash met his father’s questioning stare, and Nash gave him a nod of reassurance—as though he had a plan. However, thus far, his only plan comprised of not asking his father for the loan he required. But where else could someone with his current reputation find a loan for such a large sum of money? He had not a clue. But he knew a man who most likely would.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nash hoped his intuition was correct and Blackstone would know where a man with his current reputation could get a loan. His father had insisted he would wait until insurance paid out to recoup his share and that Nash need not guarantee any of his profits. So, with both him and Lord Chatting excluded, Nash only needed to come up with twenty-two thousand pounds. He had a small portion of his own money that was not tied up in investments, but he was hesitant to dwindle his personal funds too much more, considering how uncertain his future felt at the moment.

Nash released a heavy breath, trying not to feel discouraged. He likely should not have guaranteed the profits at ten percent, but he feared he’d lose all his investors otherwise. And more troubling than that, his father’s bank might not recover if gentlemen began withdrawing their funds. No, this had been the correct choice. His only choice, really.

“Lord Blackstone is not in at the moment,” the porter said when Nash asked for him upon entering the club. “But if you wait upstairs in the sitting room nearest the gallery, I expect he will return within the hour.”

Nash really had no other option but to wait, so he trudged upstairs and took a seat on the settee across from Lord Blackstone’s gallery. Nash’s gaze shifted to a snake of Herculean proportions stretched along the floor of the far wall, and though he knew it was not alive, it made him shiver. He didn’t recall it being there the last time he visited.

“Mr. Markham, you have returned.” Mr. Ellington, the first gentleman he had met at Blackstone’s, took the seat next to him, a second gentleman settling himself in a chair nearby.

Nash was not at all in the mood for a conversation, but he also didn’t wish to cause offense.

“Might I introduce you to one of Blackstone’s most intimidating figures aside from the taxidermied moose in the dining hall? And possibly the head of the bull elephant.” With a jovial expression, Mr. Ellington glanced at his companion, whose glower was most impressive. “Mr. Markham, this is Colonel Halstead, a former military officer in His Majesty’s Army.”

Nash did not doubt the claim with the man’s bearing and sheer size. Nash dipped his head in unison with Colonel Halstead. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Colonel Halstead said. “Am I to assume you are the Mr. Markham seeking investors for a shipping company?”

“Yes.” Nash was not exactly certain of anything at the moment. Well, for the last several weeks, really. “Potential investors, anyway.”

“With what Mr. Yardley shared with me about it, if you are not opposed, I’d appreciate being kept on that list. I have a sum of money that needs investing, and this seems just the sort of venture I’d support—privatizing shipping and making trade more accessible to those outside of the East India Trading Company.”

For the first time since he’d left Cecily, Nash found the corners of his lips tempted to lift into a smile. If only a slight one. “I shall be glad to add your name to the list.”

“I should like to hear of this investment opportunity as well,” Mr. Ellington said. “If you have the time for it.”

Hesitant at first, Nash began speaking of the concept for his shipping company, his mood lifting with each nod of agreement from his audience. When that had concluded, it led to a discussion about India, the East India Trading Company, and current politics surrounding both. Nash didn’t even know what time it was—ten, possibly even eleven—when Lord Blackstone came around the corner from the direction of the stairs.

His face brightened when he saw Nash sitting with the other gentlemen. “Mr. Markham. Plockton said you were here and that you had hoped to have a word with me?”

Nash stood. “I know it’s late, but if you have a spare moment, I would very much appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course. I’m more of a nocturnal creature, anyway.” He gestured for Nash to follow him, and Nash bid Mr. Ellington and Colonel Halstead farewell before stepping in next to Lord Blackstone, finding that he felt much improved as long as he did not allow himself to think of all the hurdles that lay before him.

Despite both the late hour and Nash’s insistence that he did not wish to keep Lord Blackstone long, it took the two of them nearly thirty minutes to make their way through the gallery on the way to Blackstone’s study. The man pointed out each of his more recent additions and explained characteristics of the animal and where he had obtained it.

“As for Indian animals, your friend Mr. Crauford has sent me a handful over the years.” Lord Blackstone’s declaration was hardly a surprise to Nash. Of course he would have a relationship with Mr. Crauford. He had a relationship with everyone excepting Johnathan Steele, which Nash now counted as a credit to him. “The peacock and the peahen are from him, as are the red-faced macaque and the gibbon. I’ve recently written to request he be on the lookout for a langur, though I do not have high hopes of such a find.”

“Monkeys are considered sacred to the Indian people, particularly the langur. To kill one would be viewed as blasphemous.”

Lord Blackstone looked at Nash as though he’d offered him some great offense with his explanation. “Oh yes, I am very much aware. I would never want to see any animal harmed. Which is why I insist any specimen added to my collection has died of natural causes.”

Nash’s brows lifted. Unless Lord Blackstone presumed a hunter’s rifle to be a natural cause of death, he had to be speaking in jest. That was not how nature worked. Either an animal would be sickly or injured and in a state not worth preserving, or they would have been killed. And yet, the man appeared to believe it to be true. “None of these were hunted?” Nash asked, watching his reaction.

“Oh no, not one. That is very important to me. I also do not put them behind glass and have the servants move them around periodically because I want them to be as free in death as they were in life.”

Nash scratched at his brow, repressing his misgivings so as not to give a second offense. Despite Lord Blackstone’s eccentric tendencies, each member of the club Nash had spoken with held him in high regard, and they all had seemed like gentlemen worth trusting. Father had suggested he speak with him, and even Mr. Crauford apparently had some sort of business relationship with the man if he sent him taxidermied animals from India. Though perhaps Nash was merely justifying his choice because he had nowhere else to turn. “That is an honorable thing, indeed.”