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"A Match of Misfortune" Sample
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Chapter One
Summer 1811
From the moment Cecily Bradshaw had first set eyes on Nash Markham, she disliked him. In truth, she’d disliked him even before that. One could only countenance so many mentions of a young man who boasted a never-ending list of accomplishments, and Miss Patterson, the Bradshaws’ former governess–well, Mrs. Markham now–had done an ample job at singing Nash’s praises in the weeks approaching her wedding to his father. Nash this and Nash that was all Cecily had heard, and she had grown weary of it.
Not that Cecily would begrudge Mrs. Markham her excitement. The woman was as dear to her as a mother. It was only that until Nash’s father had swooped into their lives and captured Miss Patterson’s heart, it was Cecily who had been her pride and joy. To share that position with anyone but her younger sister had proved trying, but to now also share it with Nash Markham—the most pompous, arrogant charmer of her acquaintance—was nothing short of intolerable. In her fifteen years of life, she’d never met such a disagreeable young man.
Which was why, with the wedding now behind them, Cecily could bear to leave London. Not that she wished to leave Mrs. Markham, of course. It physically hurt to think about that aspect of their departure, but after a full week of enduring Nash and his incessant need to outshine her, she would finally have a respite. And an extensive one at that, considering his upcoming venture to India to apprentice under a merchant his father knew. She’d likely not see him for another two or three years at least. More if fortune favored her. Not that it often did.
“Can we not stay for a few more days?” Adelaide’s question pulled Cecily’s attention to her eight-year-old sister. Light blonde curls framed rounded cheeks and a rosy complexion. She was a near replica of their mother with her fair coloring and enchanting green eyes, whereas Cecily’s golden-brown hair and olive skin came from their father. Though even Papa’s eyes were not as drab a brown as her own.
“We cannot.” Cecily leaned forward in her seat toward Adelaide’s invalid chair and placed her hand upon her sister’s, hating to disappoint her. “Now that Mrs. Markham is married, she must build her new life here.” A life that, for the first time in nigh on ten years, would not have Cecily, nor Adelaide, as a daily part of it.
“But I shall miss her.” The emotion in Adelaide’s voice was nearly Cecily’s undoing. Since their own mother had died giving birth to Adelaide when Cecily was only seven, Mrs. Markham had become a mother figure to her.
“I know.” Cecily tightened her grip on her sister’s hand, fighting her own tears that attempted to surface. She had to be strong for Adelaide. “But you still have me and Papa.” She glanced at their former nursemaid, now Adelaide’s private maid, who sat on a chair along the library wall. The needle in her fingers paused just above the stocking she darned. “And you have Sarah.”
Adelaide sniffed and gave a small nod.
Cecily tucked a blonde curl behind her sister’s ear. “Besides, we are not so far from London. Mr. and Mrs. Markham have said we are welcome to visit whenever we like, and I’m certain they will make occasional trips to Penrose Court.”
“Cecily is correct.” The irksomely familiar voice from the doorway made Cecily’s spine stiffen, but she did not look over her shoulder at her eavesdropper as her sister did. “You may come visit London any time you desire it.” Nash sounded sincere, but his words were most definitely accompanied by that devilish grin of his. Not that Cecily would risk a glance to confirm it. “Both of you may.”
She did not respond, suspecting he’d take it as permission to remain in the room with them. Apparently, he needed no permission, for he rounded the side of the settee and dropped into the armchair directly next to Adelaide’s invalid chair and across from Cecily—devilish grin and all.
“What are you doing here?” Cecily did a tolerable job at concealing the animosity in her voice, a task she’d grown shockingly proficient at since arriving at the Markhams’ a week ago.
Nash’s gray eyes glimmered with mischief. “Do you mean in my own library?”
Cecily drew in a slow, calming breath. It did not serve her well when she allowed him to provoke her. “I only meant, did you require something?”
Nash leaned back into the chair, his long legs stretched out and his boot grazing the hem of her dress. “Mother wished for me to deliver a message.”
He did not say mother with any sort of divisiveness intended to prove a point, and yet hearing him refer to Mrs. Markham as such made Cecily unjustly cross. She had been there the first time he’d used the endearment, and she’d witnessed Mrs. Markham’s eyes fill with tears. I’d never thought I would be a mother, she had said, resting her hand on his cheek. How blessed I am to have you in my life! When he had answered, It is Father and I who are blessed, it had taken Cecily every bit of her self-control to not scowl daggers at him. She knew she was being ridiculous. She didn’t even doubt he meant it. He had been without a mother far longer than Cecily had, and Mrs. Markham was the best person in the entire world, so of course he would readily claim her as his own. What irked Cecily was how quickly it had happened. How easily this usurper had replaced her.
Cecily took hold of her skirts and repositioned them out of reach of Nash’s lingering foot. It was fortunate she experienced none of the infatuation other young ladies seemed to suffer in his presence, or she might be tempted to leave her skirts as they were. But she was not tempted. Not in the slightest.
Admittedly, she allowed that Nash had a boyishly handsome face. Anyone with eyes would be obliged to agree. The rich brown color and wavy thickness of his hair certainly did him no harm. And it was simply a fact that a matching set of dark brows did a decent job of framing a pair of light eyes. But aside from those few traits, he was rather … unremarkable. Well, if she were being entirely fair, she supposed his broad, inviting smile served his overall appearance to some degree. That was all though. Truly. Besides, he was tall and somewhat lanky, with hands and feet that were currently a size too big for his body. Not that his dexterity suffered because of it. Which was a shame.
“Well?” Cecily asked, with controlled patience. The sooner Nash delivered Mrs. Markham’s message, the sooner he could be on his way.
His lips turned upward at the corners, revealing his amusement. As was typical. “Your trunks are being loaded onto the carriage. My parents are currently speaking to your father in the study, but they’ll join us soon for farewells.”
Us? Surely Nash did not mean to keep her and her sister company while they waited, but when he did not budge, she feared she had her answer.
Adelaide’s big green eyes settled on Nash. “Can you tell us a story while we wait?”
Cecily gave a subtle shake of her head. “I’m certain Nash has much to do this morning,” she said, encouraging him toward the correct course of action—to leave them be. “He needn’t—”
“I thank you for your constant concern on my behalf, Cecily,” he said with a teasing lift of his brows. For Adelaide’s sake, Cecily bit back her stinging reply. “Allow me to reassure you that there is nothing I must see to at present besides the wellbeing of my guests.” His attention fell to Adelaide. “So I am more than happy to oblige you with a story.”
Adelaide brightened instantly.
“Have I told you about the fox and the hunting party?”
“No.”
Nash smiled. “I must warn you, one of us does not fare well in the end.”
Adelaide’s lips parted, perfectly taking his bait.
Having no desire to hear another of Nash’s cock-and-bull tales, Cecily stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I …” She glanced around the room and noticed an abandoned book on the end table. She retrieved it and presented it as evidence for her quickly contrived excuse, then took a seat more removed from them. “I shall be reading.”
Nash drew in a slow breath, watching her. She was well aware of how he prided himself on his storytelling, and she’d clearly pricked a nerve by her withdrawal. Not one to be outmaneuvered, his attention returned to Adelaide. “Why don’t we leave your sister to her reading and go sit in the drawing room?”
Ah. So his response was to be feigned consideration? An attempt to make her appear the petty one? Irritation prickled over Cecily’s skin at the apparent success of his strategy. “That is most generous of you,” she said, forcing a tight smile to her lips.
He stood and glanced down at Adelaide. “Shall we?”
She did not so much as glance at Cecily before nodding. It figured. The spell Nash cast over people was utterly mind-boggling. And as he took hold of the back of her invalid chair, the look of pure satisfaction on his face confirmed he very much knew it.
He gave a slight bow in Cecily’s direction, which was obviously for show. Or simply to irk her. “Do enjoy your reading.”
This time, Cecily could not control the intensity of her glare. Not that he cared. He pushed Adelaide’s chair forward, Sarah standing to join them. His caution at ensuring the small wheel in the back did not catch on anything made his removal take longer than Cecily would have preferred. It was becoming difficult to resist the nagging urge to call after him.
Was he intentionally drawing out the process? It certainly seemed that way. “I do hope it was the fox that fared well in your story,” she said, the words slipping from her before she could stop them.
Nash stopped mid-step, pausing Adelaide with him. Then, ever so slowly, he peered over his shoulder, his tiresome smile already in place like he had expected her reaction. “Why does that not surprise me to hear?”
If there was one thing this past week had taught Cecily, it was to not engage him. But she could not help herself. There was something about Nash Markham that rallied her to whatever cause he placed before her—even if it inevitably ended in her defeat. She gave an innocent shrug. “Perhaps you are less dim-witted than I perceived you to be?”
“Cecily!” Adelaide stared at her with eyes wide. “That was not very kind.”
Cecily’s stomach twisted, and she refrained from glancing at Sarah, avoiding the correction that would likely be perceptible in her dour expression. She was certainly not being a proper example for her sister, but who could blame her? In truth, she supposed everyone would, since Nash somehow robbed people of their good sense.
Nash glanced at Adelaide, his brow lowering in what she knew was false sympathy. “It appears your sister wishes to have a word with me.”
That was the very last thing she wished, but she resisted the impulse to say as much so as not to disappoint her sister, or Sarah, a second time.
“But what of the story?” Adelaide asked, a frown forming on her lips.
Nash lowered down in front of her invalid chair. “It won’t be but a moment and I’ll be along. Shall I escort you to the drawing room?”
“Sarah can take me.”
Sarah stepped up behind the chair.
“Very well. Why don’t you ring for Mrs. Ingram and have her bring up a couple of biscuits for us?” He straightened. “Or better yet, I believe there were some leftover tarts from the wedding breakfast yesterday.”
Adelaide gave an eager, gap-toothed smile before Sarah pushed her forward and out of the door.
“To be clear,” Cecily said after she was certain her sister was out of earshot, “I do not wish to have a word with you.”
“I am sure you do not.” And yet, Nash retrieved a nearby chair and positioned it directly in front of Cecily before taking a seat. “Though if you believe me too dim-witted to decipher your feelings regarding me, you are sorely mistaken. From the moment you arrived in London, I have been keenly aware that you are not the least bit fond of me.”
Cecily shifted in her seat but did not speak, unwilling to refute his claim for the sake of propriety.
Nash leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his gaze searching hers as though she were some sort of specimen to be studied. “What I haven’t been able to decipher is the reason for such an intense dislike.”
“I do feel for you.” Cecily sent him an overdone pout. “It must be utterly perplexing when someone does not instantly fawn over you.”
He chuckled and pointed a finger at her. “That was one of my suspicions.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What was?”
“That you’re the envious sort.”
“Envious of you?” She shook her head. “That is ridiculous.”
“Is it? And what of Mrs. Markham? Does it not bother you that you must now share her affections with me?”
Cecily set the book on a small end table near the chair, allowing her attention to linger on it so Nash would not glimpse the truth of his accusation in her expression. When she had successfully veiled her emotions, she met his measuring gaze. “I am thrilled that Mrs. Markham has found love. No one deserves it more than she. Besides, you are leaving for India soon, so it is not as though you will be in London with her and your father.” She sent him a pointed look. “So you see, that cannot be the reason for my disliking you so intensely.”
His focus was as unwavering as his smile. “Very well. My second guess is that you find losing a hardship.”
“Is this about our footrace?” At the memory, an assault on her pride flooded through her. Why she had ever agreed to race him when his strides were twice what hers were was beyond her. And now, because of that race, her favorite pearl necklace was missing. They’d started back to Cavendish Square to search for it the moment she realized it must have fallen off, but to no avail. “How can I be upset at losing to you when you are two years older than I and have the advantage of both size and strength? Not to mention, you did not have to run in a dress.”
“What of our archery match? Or our game of shuttlecock and battledore?”
She pulled in a slow, inconspicuous breath, refusing to let him get the better of her. “Your hands are the size of a giant’s. It is clearly an advantage in both sports.” She well knew that had little to do with anything, but it felt like some sort of consolation. Until he turned his hands over and appraised them with a look of pleasure, as though she’d offered him some great compliment.
“And I would assume you also have an excuse for why you lost our game of chess? Did my giant hands make it easier for me to move the pieces? Perhaps it’s difficult to play while wearing a dress?” He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Or do I hold a different advantage over you as well? An intellectual one, possibly?”
Cecily shot to her feet. “As enlightening as this conversation has been, I think I shall excuse myself.” She moved to step past him, but he stood, blocking her escape.
“So that is the reason for your dislike of me? Losing is a hardship for you, and I have bested you one too many times?”
There was no humor in Cecily’s laugh. “The only thing that is a hardship for me is you.”
Pure amusement lit his features. “In all sincerity, I am flattered to be considered your refiner’s fire. Though my quandary remains—why have I been given such a place of honor in your esteem?”
Cecily craned her neck to meet his gaze, and a strange wave of heat surged through her. Not only anger, though there was certainly much of that, but something else with it. Something that was far more unsettling. She straightened her posture, ignoring the odd, unfamiliar sensation. “I can offer you several potential possibilities: your constant need for attention, your presumptuous opinions, your tiresome optimism, your arrogance, your lack of perception, your—”
He stepped closer, and her heart flew outward, halting her words entirely. It would have been wise to step away, to put more space between them, but she did not. She could not. Some strange curiosity kept her rooted in place.
“Do you want to know what I believe is the true reason for your dislike of me?” His hushed voice was just above a whisper.
Cecily swallowed, not sure she did.
“I can’t help but wonder …” He looped his finger around one of the curls that hung over her shoulder. “Is your dislike of me a pretense? A cover for other feelings? Feelings that are equally strong?” He let the curl slide downward through his palm at a slow, intentional pace. “Stronger, perhaps?”
She stared at his hand, attempting to make sense of what was happening. “That is … absurd.”
“Is it?” he asked, his voice a low hum that reverberated through her.
“Entirely.” She shook her head, trying to chase the thought away. His rationale made no sense. None. But when she lifted her gaze to his, there was a strange look in his eyes—one of admiration and … hope?—that caused her confidence to waver. “It is not possible that …” she said, attempting to speak reason to herself, but with his nearness and the lingering scent of amber and sandalwood, her thoughts grew muddled. “I don’t … I …”
He lifted a hand to her cheek, making her breath catch. “So you do not have other, more amiable feelings for me?”
With the racing speed of her heart, she was suddenly far too aware of the answer that was forming on her tongue, but her pride would not allow her to say it. Not outright. “I am certain I should not.”
“Should not?” One side of his lips lifted into a partial smile. “That is not the same thing, though. Is it?”
Again, Cecily swallowed hard, imploring her good sense to return. But all she could think about was the sensation of his fingertips against her skin. “Not exactly, I suppose.” Her words were breathy and sounded strange even to her own ears.
Nash took another step, closing the space between them. He glanced at her mouth, filling her with anticipation. “Do you know what I am certain of?” he asked.
Her whole body tingled and her head grew dizzy. “What?”
He was but a breath away. “That I would like to kiss you.”
Without permission, her gaze settled on his lips. There was no longer a smile upon them. No hint of mischief. He leaned in, stopping just out of reach, as though waiting to see what Cecily would do. Waiting to see if she would welcome his kiss.
And, despite all reason, she closed her eyes in acceptance.
It felt like an eternity before Nash’s hand came to the nape of her neck. But instead of his lips meeting hers, they brushed along her cheek until his mouth settled by her ear. His breath was warm, and a surge of pleasure raced through her.
“It seems my suspicions are confirmed,” he whispered.
Cecily’s eyes fluttered open, not understanding his meaning until she caught sight of his teasing smile only inches from her. Icy clarity came in the next instant, and she reeled back. “How dare you!”
His amused appearance lessened to a degree. “Come now, Cecily. It was all meant in good fun.”
“Good fun?” She shook her head, withdrawing another step. “The only thing that was confirmed just now, besides that you are a horrible, wicked tease, is that I dislike you more than ever.”
“Please, I honestly meant—” He reached out, but she batted him away and pushed past him.
When she had made it to the library entrance, she turned to face him, tears stinging her eyes. “I hope you enjoy India. So much so that you decide to stay there indefinitely.”
He tilted his head to the side, and his shoulders fell. “Cecily, I—”
She did not wait to hear what he had to say this time. She had learned her lesson. Never again would she fall prey to Nash Markham and his charming deceptions. For there was not a person in this world she loathed more than him.
Chapter Two
April 28th, 1817 — Six Years Later
Cecily watched her younger sister’s gaze flit from one London sight to another as their carriage rolled by in the dimming evening light. If only she could find it in herself to be as excited about their visit as Adelaide was. Or even partially so. Not that Cecily did not look forward to seeing Mrs. Markham. In truth, spending six weeks with her and her sweet little boys—Jamison and Theo—was the only reason she had finally complied with Papa’s scheme. Well, that and his promise to her: if she underwent a Season and did not find a husband by the end of it, he would not press the matter of marriage further.
So, in one last attempt to see his oldest daughter married, Papa had appealed to Mrs. Markham, who had appealed to her sister-in-law, Lady Rothsburg, to sponsor Cecily. As the widowed wife of Mr. Markham’s brother, the dowager baroness was well placed to introduce Cecily into Society. Not that Papa would have his way in the end, nor did Cecily truly think he cared to, but regardless, it had grown unduly tiresome attending societal events when one was determined to remain unmarried. And most of those events had been of the country variety. It wearied her simply thinking about what she would endure in Town over the upcoming weeks.
Adelaide released an airy sigh and pulled her gaze from the window. “I still cannot believe you are to have a London Season.”
Cecily urged a smile to her lips, well aware of both her sister’s excitement on her behalf and the fact that Adelaide would not have such an opportunity herself. Regardless, she could not allow her sister to become too hopeful. “It will certainly be … something. Though I cannot imagine at one-and-twenty, I should garner much interest.”
“That is not true in the least. You have countless traits to recommend you to a husband.”
None of which—outside of any physical advantages—she would allow a gentleman to discover. She had grown exceptionally practiced at deciphering precisely what it was a man desired in a wife and discreetly appearing as the exact opposite. If a suitor wished for a demure wife without thoughts of her own, she would be bolder than typical, a touch impertinent, and give him an earful on the Corn Laws. If he wished for a wife who would be his social equal and run a household with precision, she would appear reticent, timid, and make hushed comments regarding her utter amazement over the most basic of accomplishments completed by the hostess.
Perhaps her method was somewhat misleading, particularly when Papa scratched his head at how no one had come to prefer her over the years she’d been out in Society, but it was far better than allowing a gentleman to set his cap at her when she would not have him. Not when a marriage came with such high consequences.
Adelaide’s attention had returned to the window. “Look, it’s Cavendish Square. We are nearly there.”
Cecily leaned forward in her seat, barely catching sight of the gated green space before the soft glow from candle-lit windows replaced it again. “So it is,” she said, relieved that their day of travel was finally at an end. Unlike Sarah, Adelaide’s maid who had spent her time in the carriage sewing placidly, the endless bouncing had prevented Cecily from seeking distraction in anything but the conversation of her companions and the view out of the window. And even then, her stomach had threatened revolt during several of the more abysmal stretches of road. Thankfully, Adelaide had not lost her appetite, although with the way she winced on occasion, Cecily guessed the journey had taken its toll on her in other ways. Not that Adelaide would complain.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Markhams’ residence on Wimpole Street in Marylebone. It was not the most fashionable neighborhood, but it was certainly growing in popularity. And with its proximity to Mayfair, Cecily would not be so very far from the Rothsburgs’ townhouse, where she would be spending much of her time.
Mr. Markham, who had been kind enough to travel to Penrose Court and make the return trip on horseback alongside the carriage, opened the door with a wide smile for them. His large frame and broad shoulders blocked the view of the townhouse’s front entrance behind him. “How went the last leg of your journey?”
“The roads could undoubtedly use some repair,” Cecily answered. “I do not remember being quite so jostled on our previous trips to London.”
“Easier by horseback than by carriage, certainly.” His gaze settled on Adelaide, his concern for her obvious. “And how did you fare?”
Adelaide smiled. “I am well enough.”
“Might I carry you inside?”
She gave a small nod of acceptance.
He gestured to a servant. “Bring in the chair directly. I’ll see to Miss Adelaide.” Mr. Markham was a large man—both tall and thick—and was certainly the most trusted option to transport Adelaide safely, though Sarah, albeit much smaller, never seemed to struggle with the task. “Ready?”
Cecily collected the blanket from Adelaide’s lap and set it on the bench, then slid in beside her sister while Sarah came to her other side. With careful movements, they supported her into Mr. Markham’s outstretched arms. With Adelaide secure, he started toward the open door.
In the busyness of getting Adelaide into the house and her invalid chair with her, Cecily and Sarah were left to see to themselves. The maid clambered down and then turned to assist Cecily. Once on the pavement, with Adelaide’s blanket on one arm, Cecily shook out her skirts with her free hand and then hurried in after the others.
“You are finally here!” Mrs. Markham stood in the entrance hall, pausing her husband to give Adelaide a kiss on the cheek, then doing likewise to Cecily. “How were your travels?” She sent Cecily a nervous glance. “Not too taxing, I hope?”
“We managed well enough.” Cecily steadied the invalid chair while Mr. Markham set Adelaide in it, then she draped the blanket over her sister’s lap.
Mrs. Markham lowered herself in front of Adelaide and took hold of her hands. “I have instructed the servants to prepare a bath for you. I thought it might be a welcome respite after spending all day in the carriage.”
Adelaide smiled. “That sounds delightful.”
A footman stood, awaiting orders, and Mr. Markham turned to his wife. “Have you decided which rooms they are to be in, my love?”
“Yes. As always, Adelaide will be in the Blue Room. The trundle bed for Sarah is in the dressing room already.” She straightened and faced Cecily. “But since your father is not here, I thought to put you in Nash’s old room. Is that acceptable?”
Cecily’s chest constricted at the mere thought of being in Nash’s room. It hardly mattered that he’d not been inside it for over six years. It was the one room she avoided while staying with the Markhams. “Oh, I …” She cleared her throat, hoping the heat coursing through her would not settle in her cheeks. “I am more than happy to sleep in my usual room across from the nursery.”
Mrs. Markham tilted her head, reaching a hand out to Cecily. “Of course you would be. You are always so accommodating, but it makes little sense to leave Nash’s room empty. It is far larger, and you will be nearer to your sister should she require you.”
How could she refuse the offer? Mrs. Markham had mentioned on previous visits how she wished they could better accommodate Cecily instead of relegating her to a smaller room on the second floor. But Cecily had never taken it as a slight, for she well knew her sister required the larger space for her chair and a place for Sarah to sleep. It also helped to have one less flight of stairs for her to be carried up. “That seems like the most sensible plan, I suppose.” The knots in her stomach suggested otherwise.
Mrs. Markham gave a decisive nod. “Then it is settled.”
“Bring Miss Bradshaw’s and Miss Adelaide’s trunks to the rooms Mrs. Markham indicated,” Mr. Markham said to the servant before glancing at his wife. “While we wait for the trunks to be brought in, I might have a quick glance at the correspondence on my desk.”
“Of course. Do not rush on our account. I have tea in the drawing room whenever you are finished.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Markham watched her husband with a tender look as he headed toward the stairs to the first floor. When he disappeared from sight, her gaze returned to the Bradshaw sisters and she gestured to the drawing room. “Shall we?”
Cecily carefully steered Adelaide’s chair forward, ensuring that the small back wheel did not catch on the rug as she maneuvered it toward the sitting area.
“I am so pleased you are both here,” Mrs. Markham took the chair nearest Adelaide. “And Jamison has not stopped speaking of your visit since he woke this morning.”
Cecily’s heart warmed at the thought. “Have the boys already gone to bed?”
“I am afraid so.” Mrs. Markham’s lips turned downward at the corners. “I thought to keep them up, but I did not wish for our first full day together to be tainted by their fits of exhaustion. In the morning, though, the moment you are both ready and willing, they will be eager and waiting to greet you.”
A loud thud from outside the room caused them all to glance toward the door. Mrs. Markham stood. “I shall be back momentarily. Please help yourselves to tea.”
Cecily did not hesitate to pour her sister a cup. When she’d handed Adelaide her tea, she knelt down in front of her. “How are you truly feeling?”
Her sister’s green eyes fell on the rigid set of her legs beneath her thick blanket. “I am in some pain, though I’m certain the bath will be a great help to me.”
“I packed the ointment Dr. Thatcher had the apothecary make up. As well as all the tinctures.”
“Thank you. I shall let Sarah know if I require any.” Adelaide took a sip of tea and set the cup on the saucer again. “It is strange being here without Papa, is it not?”
Cecily poured her own tea, then moved onto the settee, leaving Mrs. Markham’s previous chair unoccupied. “It is. But I think he did well to remain at Penrose Court with all he must see to at present, especially considering how long we are to be away.”
Adelaide nodded her agreement, then her gaze settled on the family portrait above the mantel. The painting had been completed not long after the wedding, before Nash left for India. The artist had managed the likeness well, and though Nash did not wear his usual smirk, the glint of mischief in his eyes was very much present.
Looking at it made Cecily’s insides squirm.
“When is Nash to come home?” Adelaide asked. “Or does he mean to stay in India indefinitely?”
Her sister’s question, phrased in such a way, caused a spear of guilt to pierce Cecily’s conscience. Surely Nash would not have stayed away this long because of one solitary comment she’d made. If anything, their previous interactions would suggest that her parting words would prove a catalyst for his returning sooner with the sole hope of vexing her. Though perhaps he’d stayed away knowing she would partially bear the guilt of his absence. That seemed like something Nash would do—let her shoulder the blame because she was a feeling, thoughtful person. To spite him, she would not do it. At least, she would try her hardest to push aside any such thoughts of responsibility. “I’m not certain even the Markhams know.”
“As a matter of fact, we have just received word that he is to come home.” Mrs. Markham entered the room behind them. “The letter arrived four days past. I would have written with the news, but I wasn’t sure if it would arrive before your departure, and I wanted to tell you both in person.”
Cecily’s lips instinctively parted.
“Nash is coming home?” Adelaide clasped her hands in front of her chest. “How exciting!”
“Truly.” Cecily forced a similar expression onto her face as the one Adelaide was wearing. She knew how much the Markhams missed Nash, so for their sake, and for the sake of Jamison and Theo, who had not even met their older brother, she would be happy for Nash’s return. Though she desperately hoped his arrival would not overlap with their visit. “When is it you expect him?”
Mrs. Markham resumed her seat, her smile making Cecily nervous that the answer would not be to her liking. “In truth, we are not entirely sure. His last letter did not state any specifics regarding his travels, only that he was still uncertain how soon they would have the ship loaded and ready to sail. He said it would likely be several weeks before their departure, but that he’d write to us before he embarks.”
Cecily straightened her posture, ignoring the ball of nerves forming in her stomach. “Was the letter dated, by chance?”
“Yes. December ninth. Edmund says that until Nash’s next letter arrives with more information, I should not get my heart set upon anything.” Mrs. Markham gave a conspiratorial smile. “But, if he left before the end of January, as he seemed to imply, and given that an Indiaman ship typically takes five to six months to make the voyage, I’d venture he’ll be here by the end of June or sometime in July.”
Cecily relaxed slightly at the news. She and her sister would be back at Penrose Court by mid-June, which meant, even if he made the trip in five months, which she did not doubt he would, their paths needn’t cross.
“Will he stay here when he returns?” Adelaide asked.
“No, I do not believe so, though he would certainly be welcome. But one of the main reasons he is returning to England is to claim the inheritance he received from his great-aunt.”
“An inheritance for Nash? How utterly unexpected.” Any belief Cecily had in luck was solely because of Nash Markham and the blessed life he lived. Nothing ever went wrong for the man. Ever.
“It certainly was,” Mrs. Markham said, thankfully not deciphering the sarcasm in Cecily’s voice. “We all assumed her nephew—Nash’s uncle—was her heir.” She paused, glancing between the sisters. “Have I truly not told you of it? It would have been over a year ago we first received word.”
“Not that I recall.” And Cecily certainly would have remembered hearing such news about Nash.
“Nor I,” Adelaide confirmed.
Mrs. Markham gave a small hum. “How odd. I must have only written to your father about it, and seeing as Nash has not returned to execute the estate and nothing has progressed on the matter, I have not thought to mention it again.” She paused briefly. “Well, if you care to know, the inheritance comes from his great-aunt on his mother’s side and includes a townhouse in Mayfair. I expect he shall reside there upon his return, for I cannot imagine a young bachelor, even one as doting as he, would prefer to stay with his parents and two young brothers when he can live independently. At least until he returns to India.”
“He is not to remain in England?” Adelaide asked, thankfully preventing Cecily from having to be the one to ask after the matter.
“No. His plan is to stay long enough to see his great-aunt’s will executed and to procure investors for a new venture he is undertaking. He assumes it will only take a few months, though I would not complain if he were here longer.”
Adelaide’s frown intensified. “Does he ever intend to live in England again?”
Mrs. Markham gave a solemn shake of her head. “Honestly, I cannot say. I don’t even know if he could tell you at this point. Nash has always been one to go wherever opportunity leads him, and for now, that is India.”
The idea perturbed Cecily most intensely. Clearly for the Markhams’ sake. They had missed Nash terribly, and for him to only return home for a few short months seemed a rather heartless thing to do. But then again, she should be grateful for his thoughtlessness, for a half world between them was a much more tolerable distance to maintain.
Eager to shift topics, Cecily set her teacup down. “Forgive me for the change in subject, but may I inquire after our engagements for the remainder of this week?”
Mrs. Markham tilted her head, and a slight frown appeared on her lips. “That is the other thing I wished to speak to you about. Unfortunately, Lady Rothsburg’s brother-in-law has taken ill. She left for Cornwall to assist her sister and does not know how long it will be until she can return.”
“How unfortunate.” And it was, though a small part of Cecily couldn’t help but wonder if this was her saving grace. Without the dowager baroness to sponsor her, who would introduce her into Society? Mrs. Markham had gained her own social circle since marrying Mr. Markham, but she had claimed, on more than one occasion, that she was not well enough integrated into Society to take on the role of sponsor.
“It certainly is,” Mrs. Markham said. “But thankfully, her daughter-in-law, Lady Bridget has offered to take her place. I know she is young, but she is married, and as the daughter of an earl, she has many useful connections.”
“Oh, I …” Cecily paused, thinking how best to word her concern. “I very much enjoyed meeting Lady Bridget last autumn, but does it not seem odd that someone younger than me is to act as my sponsor?”
“I doubt anyone will think it odd, especially when she explains how it all came to be.” Mrs. Markham smiled. “She wishes us to call in the morning so that we may discuss upcoming plans and ensure you have everything you might need for the Season. She also mentioned having secured you an invitation to Lord and Lady Darlington’s ball Friday.”
“Are you not to join us?”
“Not to the Darlingtons’, no. But I shall be at other events.” Her gaze shifted to Adelaide. “Though I have already explained to Lady Bridget that I do not intend to maintain their schedule.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” Adelaide said. “I have Sarah and the boys to keep me company.”
Mrs. Markham dipped her chin. “I do not worry. I simply wish to spend as much time with you during your stay as I am able. Besides, Cecily will want for nothing under the care of Lady Bridget.”
In all honesty, though the thought of attending events without Mrs. Markham was somewhat unsettling, it would be simpler to continue dissuading gentlemen against her if she were not constantly under Mrs. Markham’s watchful gaze. If only the baroness would prove as distracted of a chaperone as Mrs. Thompson, their neighbor at Penrose Court, had been over the last few years. Her hopes were not high, however, especially considering that Lady Bridget had fawned over her most intensely during their brief acquaintance last autumn. Regardless, she would not allow Adelaide to think she opposed the idea of Mrs. Markham forgoing events to spend time at home with her. “It is true,” Cecily agreed. “I shall be well looked after.”
Adelaide glanced between them, then her gaze settled on Mrs. Markham. “Well then, I shall be grateful for the time I have with you.”
Heavy footsteps in the corridor brought all three gazes to the doorway, and Mr. Markham stepped onto the threshold. “Are you ladies ready to head upstairs?”
Mrs. Markham glanced at Adelaide and Cecily expectantly.
“Yes,” Adelaide said. “I believe we are.”
Cecily, however, only nodded her agreement when she saw how exhausted her sister appeared. The very last thing she wished to do at this moment was to retire to Nash’s room. To sleep where Nash had once slept.
* * *
Cecily ran a brush through Adelaide’s waist-long, blonde hair. Between her focused efforts and the heat of the fire, her sister’s hair was nearly dry, a fact Adelaide realized when she slid her fingers through the thick strands. “It should be dry enough for Sarah to plait,” she said. “Thank you for brushing it.”
“Of course.” Cecily hesitated, but with Sarah hovering nearby, she reluctantly gave up the small stool she’d been sitting on and glanced around for something else to do. Since coming upstairs, Cecily had avoided going into Nash’s room by busying herself with tasks, even helping Sarah unpack Adelaide’s trunks while her sister had soaked in the tub.
“Is something the matter?” Adelaide watched Cecily with a bemused expression. “You seem ill at ease.”
“Do I?” She gave a small lift of her shoulders. “I can’t think of a reason I should be.”
Adelaide’s discerning smile only added to Cecily’s trepidation. “Nor I. Perhaps you are overly tired and should retire to your own room.”
Cecily’s stomach twisted before she rebuked herself for the senseless reaction. It was only a room, after all. Several others, including Papa, had occupied the space since Nash last did. And that’s exactly how Cecily would view it—as a guest room of sorts. A guest room that unfortunately had once belonged to the most aggravating man in all of England. But no longer did. For even when he returned, Mrs. Markham had said he would live elsewhere. “Yes. Perhaps you are right. That is, if you do not require me for anything else?”
Regrettably, Adelaide shook her head. “Sarah can see to anything I need.”
“Sleep well, then.” Cecily placed a kiss on her sister’s cheek and glanced at the maid. “Thank you, Sarah. And if you should need me—”
“You are in the room next door,” Sarah said, repeating Cecily’s reminder back to her.
It took a great deal of effort for Cecily to convince her feet to move. So much so that she paused again on the threshold and looked back at Sarah. “Be certain Adelaide is well covered tonight.” She paused. If there was anyone as concerned about Adelaide’s well-being as Cecily, it was her maid. “But of course you know that, so”—she gestured to the corridor behind her—“I shall be on my way.”
Adelaide’s eyes shone with amusement in the firelight. “Goodnight, Cecily.”
Cecily closed the door behind her, pulling in a long inhale before stepping to the neighboring door. She rested her hand on Nash’s doorknob. “It is only a room,” she whispered. To prove the point to herself, she stepped inside, pushing aside the image her mind conjured of its former occupant, and glanced around the fire-lit space objectively. It was similar in size to her own room at Penrose Court and decorated in rich tones of burgundy, brown, and gold. Dark wooden furniture—a dressing table, two bedside tables, a bureau, and an armoire—all looked to be carved from the same tree as the large four-poster bed in the center.
Nash’s bed.
A noise behind her made her jump, and she spun around with a hand clasped over her heart.
“Forgive me.” Mrs. Markham stepped into the room with a stack of extra blankets. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“No, it is …” She did not know how to explain her skittish reaction, so she didn’t. “Are those for me?”
Mrs. Markham nodded, handing her the blankets. “Once the fire is banked, it can get a touch cold in here.” She glanced behind Cecily at the windows that were shrouded in drapery. “The curtains keep in the warmth, so until the nights grow warmer, make certain they are securely in place before you go to bed. You can also draw the curtains closed on the bed if you so choose, and I can always have one of the maids warm your bed with a warming pan.”
“I truly think these will be sufficient.” Cecily hugged the stack of blankets to her chest. “But I shall let you know if it proves otherwise.”
Mrs. Markham’s gaze settled on Cecily’s unpacked trunks pressed against the far wall. “Were you not to bring your lady’s maid?”
Cecily’s pulse increased at the mere mention of what had occurred. “I dismissed her a few days before our departure. She was speaking with some other servants when I heard her disparage Adelaide.”
Perhaps Cecily had acted too harshly in handling the situation—sending the woman away without so much as a reference when she’d overheard her—but she could not find that she regretted it. Penrose Court was Adelaide’s home. Her haven. The one place where she should be free of being ridiculed, so to hear her condition openly mocked had been more than Cecily could abide. Thankfully, it had not been Adelaide who had heard such unfeeling words, nor had the other servants seemed at all willing to tolerate such toward a member of the family.
Mrs. Markham gave a shake of her head. “I am sorry. And you are, of course, welcome to hire another, but my lady’s maid has just informed me that, as you did not come with a maid, she would gladly assist you during your stay. Mrs. Batton’s knowledge of fashion is too often wasted on a matron such as myself.”
Cecily smiled at the kindness. “If she truly does not mind, that would be very much appreciated.”
Mrs. Markham’s gaze settled on Cecily’s gown. “Would you like her to come help you ready for bed?”
“I can manage myself tonight.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Markham hesitated, and Cecily knew exactly what she was going to say. She had been expecting the conversation since their arrival. “I know you are not eager for this Season, and I understand your reason for it. But perhaps there is a way to achieve your goal of securing Adelaide’s future while also seeing to your own. There are many good men. I do not doubt you could find a husband that would see to Adelaide’s needs as attentively as he would see to yours.”
“Do you recall Mrs. Leetle?”
Mrs. Markham sighed, as though she well knew precisely why Cecily would mention her. “I do.”
“Then you likely also recall that her sister had a child who was an invalid. When her husband unexpectedly died, the guardianship went to her husband’s brother. He sent that little boy to an invalid house and she could do nothing. The child did not live a year.”
“Not all stories end that way.”
“But some do. Whoever I marry will become Adelaide’s guardian when my father dies. Even if a suitor claimed he would allow her to live with us, he could change his mind at any point after we marry. Adelaide and I could not bear a life apart from one another. And if my husband were to die prematurely as happened to Mrs. Leetle’s sister, he could appoint a new guardian in his will, and I would have no say in it. Nor for her care. If, heaven forbid, Papa were to die, it would be better that I be unmarried and Mr. Markham could remain as our guardian. At least until Adelaide gains her majority.”
“But your father could put those stipulations in the marriage settlement so they could not be altered.” She said the words cautiously, as though she herself wanted to believe but didn’t fully.
“A marriage settlement is a protection that is difficult to enforce. Besides, what sort of gentleman would marry me with so many stipulations and restrictions on my dowry? My father would have to make compromises in the negotiation, and I fear those compromises would not be beneficial to Adelaide.”
Mrs. Markham gave a heavy nod. “As I said, I understand your reasons. I simply …” She exhaled. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“I know you are. It’s only that marriage and motherhood have brought a measure of fulfillment to my life that I did not even realize I was missing. Some things are worth the risk.”
This was not one of those things. Not for Cecily. And certainly not for Adelaide. But hating to disappoint Mrs. Markham, Cecily gave a small smile. “I shall consider your counsel.”
“That is all I ask. I shall not say another word about it.” Mrs. Markham raised a hand to Cecily’s cheek. “And regardless of how this Season turns out, I am so pleased you are here.”
“As am I.”
With one last smile, Mrs. Markham took a step toward the door but then stopped again. “Oh, I must warn you. Jamison has formed a rather poor habit of climbing into bed with me or his father if he wakes in the middle of the night. As he knows you have arrived, I worry he might attempt the same with you. You may wish to lock your door.”
“I appreciate the warning.”
When Mrs. Markham bid her a goodnight, Cecily contemplated locking the door, but the thought of a disheartened Jamison was too much. Besides, it was disconcerting enough to be in Nash’s room; she had no desire to lock herself inside.
Cecily made quick work of readying herself for sleep, then retrieved the extra blankets and neared the bed with hesitant steps.
It was only a bed, like any other.
She pulled back the coverlet, then paused. It would make sense that Nash had likely taken the spot closest to the door, so to ease her mind some, she would take the opposite. She made her way to the other side. Satisfied with her decision, she spread out the extra blankets, snuffed out her candle, and slid beneath the covers. Perhaps it was the day of travel wearing on her, but the bed was surprisingly comfortable.
Now, if she could only keep her thoughts from drifting to Nash.
The last thing she needed was to invite dreams of the tiresome man. And yet, in the darkness, lying near where he had once lain, she had a very difficult time keeping memories of the vexing man at bay.
This was going to prove a very long night.
Chapter Three
Nash shifted impatiently on his seat as the hired carriage rumbled down the cobblestone road, the sound of its wheels echoing through the quiet, lamp-lit streets of London. The ship he had arrived on had reached the docks earlier than expected, and he’d accepted Johnathan Steele’s offer to drop him by his parents’ townhouse despite that it was now past midnight. When he’d last written home, he’d not only still been in India but had also planned to travel on a much slower ship. With his fortunate change of plans ensuring he would arrive before any new letter he could write, it would be a grand surprise indeed when his parents awoke to find him already home. How he yearned to see them both again. And meet his brothers. It had been far too long, but he was home now. At least for a few months.
“Where would you like me to have your trunks delivered?” Johnathan asked from the bench across from him.
“I expect to be in my new townhouse by midday.”
Johnathan’s shadowed gaze shifted to Nash. “Is the matter of your inheritance settled, then?”
“Nearly. The letter I received from my great-aunt’s solicitor not long before we left India said that, to my uncle’s chagrin, another will has not been discovered. So once I pay the probate fees, the Church Court in Dover will verify both the will and my role as executor. After that, I need only pay the death tax for the distributions to be made. It should all be settled within a month.”
“If the process is not complete, how are you to be in possession of your great-aunt’s Mayfair house by tomorrow at midday?”
Nash smiled. “Let’s just say that the solicitor is a man of logic and also sees no sense in delaying my occupancy at this point.”
Johnathan gave an amused hmph. “I’m not sure logic was as much in play as persuasion, but I’m not the least bit surprised. You are one very fortunate man.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Repeatedly and by many.
But Nash never subscribed to such nonsense as luck and fortune. He certainly had his fair share of opportunity, but a positive outlook, directness, and hard work were the real reasons behind any success he could claim. If fortune had favored him, it had been in his ability to connect with others, to make friends everywhere he went. Which might also be the reason his great-aunt Agnes had left him everything—her London townhouse, a small country estate near Dover, and a sum of over thirty thousand pounds—despite that he’d only met the childless widow a handful of times throughout his life.
With Nash’s mother having died when he was only a few years old, everyone had assumed Nash’s uncle would receive the bulk of Aunt Agnes’ estate. He had been her most direct relative, after all. But it had been Nash who had been named the sole heir of all her earthly possessions, shocking both Nash and his uncle. Had his uncle attempted to have a relationship with him at any point during his life, he would feel sorry for the man, but as it stood, he’d wanted nothing to do with Nash since Nash’s mother had died. Nash had only had word from him when his uncle had discovered he’d been disinherited, and the letter had been full of accusations and empty threats.
“Thank you again for allowing me to share your carriage,” Nash said to fill the ensuing silence.
“I was glad for the company.”
“After three months aboard a ship, I would assume company is the last thing you’d prefer, but I appreciate your generosity nonetheless.”
“Really, it was no trouble.”
“Have you decided how long you’ll need to be in England before your return?”
“With all I must see to, I expect I’ll also be here a few months. Perhaps we might find ourselves on the same ship back to India this autumn? You’d be welcome to make the return voyage on one of our ships again.” He paused. “Since your ship will likely have set sail long before then.”
Once the Dawn of India arrived, it would certainly be a swift turnaround considering Mr. Crauford, his mentor, had already chartered it to bring goods from England back to Madras. But that was only part of Nash’s plan. “Not that I’d be opposed to making the journey with you again, but I am set upon having a second ship before my departure.” Possibly even a third. There was too much opportunity to not act as swiftly as possible. He only needed to garner a … fair amount of investors, but it shouldn’t prove too difficult. It was a sound venture, after all. “If I can manage it, I shall be aboard it for my return.”
“Sounds like you have it well thought out.”
Nash laughed. “I’m not sure of that, but it is good to know that if I encounter any difficulties along the way, I have you to aid me.”
“Undoubtedly.”
The apparent fatigue of the two travelers fell over the cab again.
There was nothing like being aboard a ship for months that made the comforts of home so tantalizing. With each passing minute, Nash’s yearning to climb beneath the covers of his own bed was growing more intense.
As though he’d wished it into being, the carriage slowed and turned onto the lane behind the row of townhouses on Wimpole Street. Nash glanced out the window, smiling when the rear of his family’s townhouse came into view. “This is it.”
Johnathan gave a thump on the roof, and the carriage rolled to a stop.
Before Nash could see to the door himself, it swung open. It wasn’t a footman who held it but Johnathan’s personal guard—a man of few words. Though throughout their months at sea, he’d proved a decent enough fellow that Nash was no longer intimidated by his ever-present glower.
Nash flung his seabag over his shoulder. “Thank you again, Johnathan.”
Johnathan leaned forward, the light of the moon lightening his features some. “If you are ever in need of some curry, there is a place here in Marylebone that has authentic Indian dishes. It’s at 34 George Street. Send word and I’ll gladly meet you there.”
“Sounds ideal.” Nash took a backward step, offered a lift of his hand, and waited for the carriage to continue forward before entering the back gardens. He did not have a key, but that was of little concern. While in the stupidity of youth, Nash had learned the dining room window on the ground floor had a lock that was finicky enough to open with some slight maneuvering.
And, precisely as he recalled, a gentle shaking in combination with an upward motion at the right moment dislodged the lock. Quietly, Nash lifted the window. He was larger now and not nearly as agile, but he managed to climb inside without incident. After one rather heavy step on the wooden floorboards, he thought to take off his boots to prevent the servants from being alerted to his presence. Fear of an intruder was not the sort of surprise he intended, especially when no one likely expected him for another several weeks.
With his boots in one hand, his seabag in the other, and his greatcoat slung over his arm, he left the dining room with all the stealth of his youthful nighttime escapades and made his way through the darkened house. How strange it was to be home. It felt as if an eternity had passed, and yet now that he was here, it was as if he’d only just left.
When Nash reached the second-floor landing, he was especially heedful. Father’s and Mother’s rooms were also on this floor, and though a part of him wished to wake them directly, he felt it prudent to wait. He was exhausted, and a few hours of rest would be just what he needed to greet them with the enthusiasm they deserved after so many years apart.
Once he was safely inside his room with the door closed behind him, he carefully dropped his items at his feet and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A familiar, feminine scent hung in the air, but despite the face it conjured in his mind, he supposed it was his mother’s doing. After she and Father had married, Nash had only lived here a matter of weeks before he’d left for India, and he was glad to see she had made this house her own since his departure.
With the curtains securely drawn over the windows and no fire in the hearth, he could make nothing out besides a vague outline of the bed. He made his way toward it with slow, careful steps. The last thing he needed was to send some unexpected item sprawling across the wooden floor and wake the entire household.
When he reached the bed, he shrugged off his coat and waistcoat, draping them over the footboard. Then, with growing eagerness, he felt his way along the edge until the top of the coverlet was in his hand. He lifted it, then climbed beneath. It was as welcome an embrace as he remembered. Better even, for now he knew what it was like to sleep in far less comfortable accommodations. As he pulled the covers more securely around him, an odd sound gave him pause—like a quick exhale of breath.
What the deuce was that?
Had he imagined it?
Slowly, he rolled onto his side, straining to see in the direction he’d heard the noise, but it was nigh impossible to distinguish anything in the darkness.
“Jamison? Could you not sleep?” A young woman’s slumberous voice was close, and Nash nearly alighted from the bed at the sound of it. But aside from his mother, he could think of only one woman who would be so comfortable having his five-year-old brother seek her out in the middle of the night. A woman who had always smelled of jasmine and rose water.
Cecily Bradshaw.
Despite all reason, a smile broke onto his lips. Now this was an unplanned turn of events. He lifted onto his elbow. “I’m not Jamison, but I was hoping to sleep. Until I found you in my bed, that is. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Nash?” The grogginess was gone from Cecily’s voice. “What in the—”
“Shhh!” he said, lifting a warning hand toward her, though it was doubtful she could see it.
The bed shifted beneath him. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” she hissed. Her voice came from above now, and he could barely perceive the outline of her sitting up.
“I believe I could ask you the same considering this is my bed.”
“Never mind that. You need to leave. At once.” A set of hands thwacked into Nash’s chest with such force it pushed the breath from his lungs and nearly sent him onto the floor. “Go.”
Nash took hold of her wrists to prevent himself from toppling backward. “I intended to, so you needn’t push me,” he whispered. “Unless you wish for me to fall and alert the others of our nighttime tryst?”
“You are as ridiculous as ever.” She gave a little grunt and wriggled her arms free of his grasp. “Now make haste. And be quiet about it.”
Nash contemplated tarrying a moment longer simply to irk her, but she threw the coverlet off of him, letting in a blast of frigid air. If he could see her face, he was certain she’d be wearing that smug little smile of hers that he always enjoyed evoking. His thoughts lingered on the memory of her lips a bit too long, and he pushed the image away.
“Go on,” she urged again.
“Gads. You certainly haven’t lost your gall.” He found his footing on the cold floor and took a step forward with outstretched hands.
“Wait.” Cecily’s voice paused him. “Where are you going?”
Where did she think he was going? The woman had all but thrown him from the bed. And rightfully so, which made her question all the more perplexing. “I’m leaving. Clearly.”
“I only meant, where are you to sleep? Adelaide is in the Blue Room.”
“And your father?”
“He did not come to Town with us.”
How strange. Sir Vincent always accompanied them to London, though he supposed they usually came for their yearly visit in autumn. So why were Cecily and her sister here now? Nash nearly asked, but he figured the conversation was better saved for the light of day. “I’ll head upstairs, then.”
“The room across from the nursery has a comfortable bed.” Was that concern coloring Cecily’s voice? Nash smiled. Perhaps she didn’t despise him as thoroughly as she’d declared the last time he’d seen her. A most promising development, to be sure.
Nash continued in the general direction of the door, his hands once again stretched out in front of him and his foot searching for objects with each cautious step. When his fingers grazed something solid in front of him, he took hold of it. What piece of furniture was this? The armoire or the—
A loud clanking echoed through the room, and a splash of water wetted his hand and soaked the end of his shirtsleeve. The water pitcher and basin. He must be at the dressing table.
A quiet groan sounded from the bed.
As he wrang out the saturated shirt sleeve, the bite of cold water against his skin reminded him of his discarded coat and waistcoat. The evidence would be too condemning to leave, so he turned toward the bed again.
“What are you doing?” Cecily whispered before he had a chance to explain his shift in direction. Her eyes were clearly more adjusted to the lack of light.
“My coat is draped over the footboard. I figured you wouldn’t wish to explain how it got there in the morning, but if you would rather, I can—”
“No. You may retrieve it.”
When his searching hands again came in contact with the bed, he made his way along the edge until he located his discarded items. He glanced over his shoulder, and though he could not make out Cecily’s form in the darkness, he smiled at the thought of her being placed in his room. At having to sleep in his bed. She’d likely hated the assignment, but regardless, he would certainly need to tease her as though it had been her choice. What was it about Cecily that made her so fun to rankle? Six years apart had not dampened his desire to evoke her ire against him. An ire that he’d always found entirely too endearing. “Enjoy my bed.”
He waited to hear her agitated exhale, then started his cautious walk across the room with a satisfied smile on his face. He’d just made it to the door when the sound of shifting blankets, followed by pattering steps in his direction, lit him with amusement. “Not ready to say goodnight quite yet?”
“Would you like to know the real reason I left the warmth of the bed?” Was there a touch of playfulness in her voice? It couldn’t be.
And yet, Nash’s interest was piqued. “If you wish to tell me.”
Cecily pulled in a slow, audible breath. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he felt the air shift, as though she’d leaned toward him. “I want to lock the door after you leave. Prevent any other unwanted nighttime visits.”
Without warning, his amusement surfaced at the unexpected response, and a low, rumbling laugh escaped him.
“Quiet,” Cecily snapped, slapping a clumsy hand over his mouth. “We shall be discovered.”
Nash stifled his laugh, partly because it would be most unfortunate for him to travel all the way from India only to have Cecily murder him now, partly because he had no desire to alert his parents to his being home just yet, and partly because Cecily’s hand against his lips was far too unnerving. He’d clearly been at sea for too long with no females as company besides three matrons over twice his age. But again, this was Cecily, and she’d always had that effect on him, despite how illogical it was.
Needing to get ahold of himself, he peeled Cecily’s hand from his mouth, attempting to ignore the buzzing sensation that flooded through his fingers at the contact with her soft, warm skin. “Come now. Would that be the worst thing?”
“The two of us being found alone in a darkened bedroom? I cannot think of anything worse.”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Had you not awoken and had I not heard you, there is a chance that, tomorrow morning, we could have been discovered sharing a bed. It makes our standing here together feel rather fortuitous. Does it not?”
Cecily gave a muted scoff, as though she understood his jocose suggestion precisely as he intended it. “Are you now also capable of talking yourself into good fortune?”
Nash quirked his head. “Is that bitterness I sense?”
“Perhaps it’s perplexity?”
Nash couldn’t fight his smile at her indirect acknowledgment. “Well, I’ll have you know, fortune does not favor me any more than anyone else. As you said, I simply choose to focus on the positive.”
“That sounds like the precise declaration of someone who is accustomed to being the constant benefactor of good luck. But unfortunately, I do not have that benefit.” The door gave a slight creak as she opened it a sliver. “So go.”
She was clearly aware that he would not dare linger near the open door for risk of being heard, so Nash reached down, blindly searching out the items he’d set near the door. When he had retrieved them, he slipped out into the corridor with his armful of possessions.
Though it was still dark, there was some ambient light that reached them from the moonlit skylight over the staircase, and his returned sense of sight, as limited as it was, was a welcome development. He turned back toward Cecily, not to get a glimpse of her, or not only anyway, but because he also wished to do the gentlemanly thing and bid her goodnight. “I—”
The door clicked shut, and the distinct sound of the lock followed.
Nash smiled. All things considered, his first meeting with Cecily Bradshaw had gone rather smashingly.