Chapter 16
Nicholas woke up in his dank, dreary cell the following morning, cold and stiff.
Either the colonel was full of drivel or he’d come to his senses and changed his mind.
After all, who was Nick to this Darcy and his family?
He was a complete stranger—a reformed pirate.
The law would never allow Nick to prove himself a changed man. Why should the colonel?
Sitting in a ball, he waited for the chill to seep out of his chest while he inspected the bars.
He was too weak to attempt to bend them.
He hadn’t had a proper meal in…. Nick’s stomach growled.
He would trade his soul for a loaf of Jean-Christophe’s bread.
A bite of his beef stew. Perhaps it was best not to remember.
Nick kicked the straw at his feet and stood. He and Alex had drawn straws over the chef—lengths of twine, but close enough—and Alex had won. Nick had known she’d cheat; she always did. He hoped she choked on a chicken bone.
Keys clanged against the metal door, and a guard stepped inside, fumbling through more keys on a ring. “You have friends in high places,” he grumbled as he crossed the room and grabbed Nick’s bound hands and unlocked them.
Nick dared not say anything lest his good fortune shift like the tide. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed like a good man. Nick was inclined to like him, though it remained to be seen if he could be trusted.
Trust was everything. If a man had nobody to trust, he had nothing. And if a so-called friend betrayed his trust, that person was dead to him. He accepted his resentful nature; it had kept him alive this long.
He followed the guard down the long hall and down the stairs to the open yard where the less offensive criminals meandered, past the guardhouse.
They did not stop him, so Nick kept walking.
But the sight of the gallows in the courtyard drew him up short.
The sturdy beams and trap doors invoked as much fear within him as they did in his nightmares.
“Blackburne,” a voice to his left called out.
Colonel Fitzwilliam walked away from the carriage he must have been waiting in, freshly shaved, coat brushed, and boots gleaming—a stark contrast to the mucky streets and the stench of the prison.
He looked down at his own frayed trousers and stained shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t dress for the occasion. Are we going to have tea with Prinny?”
The colonel chuckled. “Not the Prince Regent. My father.”
Nick swallowed down his shock. Who were these people?
“My father is the Earl of Matlock, and as a peer of the realm—”
“He can do whatever he wants,” Nick supplied, wary. He had known too many peers—so-called princes—who abused their status and got away with crimes men like Nick hanged for.
“That is one way to put it.”
“I’m on bail, then? He paid off the warden?”
“He secured your release, Nick, on the condition that you are under our care. Anyone who challenges it shall have His Lordship to deal with.”
“Connell won’t like it.”
“Connell shall have to accustom himself to disappointment.” The devilish glint in the colonel’s eye reassured Nick. This man wasn’t a fool. Nor did he seem scheming. Still, Nick would be cautious.
A servant in fancy livery held the carriage door open. Colonel Fitzwilliam motioned for Nick to follow him. “My father is eager to meet you,” he said.
For a flicker of a heartbeat, Nick was tempted to return back inside the prison rather than face this new world full of rules and contradictions he did not understand. A world he could never belong to.
But freedom was a heady sensation, and not one to take lightly.
He followed the colonel, trying to ease his misgivings with conversation. He despised idle chatter, was no good at it, but if His Lordship had gone to so much trouble to get him out of Newgate, Nick figured he could make a worthwhile effort to be polite. “Ye’ve had a busy morning, I take it?”
“I apologize I could not come earlier. There was an urgent matter I had to attend to—a wedding.”
“Yers?”
“No.” If the colonel meant to elaborate, him stepping inside the carriage prevented it.
“I wish the couple happy,” Nick said, sitting gingerly against the cushions, doing his best to make himself small and therefore minimize the damage he was certain the interior of the fine conveyance would suffer.
The colonel bunched his chin, then spoke. “I would rather they be happy, too; however, I doubt they shall be.”
Nick held his raw wrists, meaning to comment but getting distracted when the carriage jolted forward. Gripping the sides of the padded bench, he watched the streets through the windows. He was unaccustomed to being a passenger.
He didn’t like how close the sides of the carriage got to other passing vehicles, but his uneasiness inside the confined box paled compared to his anxiety in meeting His Lordship.
What if Lord Matlock took one look at Nick and sent him packing? So long as he did not send Nick back to prison, he would manage. But Connell would be a problem.
Nick would have to keep his head low until he could get aboard a ship—a nice frigate would do—and…
He shook his head at himself. Old habits were hard to break.
That was the old him. The one he had left behind in Louisiana.
Nick was an honest man now. Or as close as he could be to it, he chuckled facetiously.
The colonel raised his eyebrows.
Nick explained, “You know, when I lived as a pirate, I was prosperous and at peace. And ever since I decided to leave that life behind, I’ve been properly damned. Me ship was seized, I’ve been in prison, and I’ve been threatened with the noose.”
“Why did you leave?”
A question Nick had spent weeks pondering of late. He shrugged. “Me conscience got too loud. It was time for a change.”
“A pirate with a conscience. You are a rarity. How did you get captured?”
A flash of black hair and steel-blue eyes crossed his mind.
Nick shoved the memory of her away with a scowl.
“I was stabbed in the back by me own kind. She didn’t want me to go, and when I went anyway, she turned on me.
” That was the only explanation for it. Connell had been waiting for him.
It had been an ambush. And she had been the only one who had known Nick’s route.
“She?” the colonel asked.
“Alexandra Lafitte,” Nick spat her name—a name which had once been sweet across his lips but now filled him with bitterness. “Ye might know her as La Femme Lafitte. Blasted proud of that name, she is, too.”
“Is she any relation to the Lafittes operating at the Louisiana Purchase?”
Nick nodded. “Their little sister.” He rubbed his chest. Why had she not come with him?
Why the betrayal? Nick hated the void her absence created in him.
It hurt. He’d rather be angry. “If I ever see her…” he seethed, cutting short his threat.
He could never hurt her, no matter how tempting the prospect.
“She’d better pray I never see her again. ”
The colonel left him to woolgather, so Nick stewed over that blasted woman until the lanes widened and he saw houses as clean as his ship, The Revenge, on the other side of the carriage window. That was where the familiar ended and the new began.
Parks with velvety green lawns and trees in full bloom lined the pavements.
Flowers bordered pointy iron fences. Nick hadn’t seen flowers in weeks, and there’d been a time during his youth when he’d gone years without seeing their vivid colors or smelling their exotic perfume. Roses were his favorite.
He let out his breath and turned to the colonel. “I forgot how pleasant being on land can be.”
“You shall like Matlock House. That is where I am taking you. Under the circumstances, it was what my father and I considered best.”
Nick nodded. He would not argue with the man who had freed him from Newgate. He’d bide his time and slip away quietly.
They rolled to a stop in front of a tall, wide house. Nick tried not to look impressed when he alighted the carriage and stood on the pavement.
Two rose bushes flanked either side of the entrance, and had the butler not opened the door before they reached the threshold, Nick would’ve paused to sniff their aroma.
Nick stood tall, trying to give a semblance of dignity in his unfortunate state.
To his credit, the butler did not look shocked or in the least bit shaken by Nick’s appearance.
He merely informed the colonel that the guest room was ready, as was a bath—a glorious, blessed bath.
He wondered if he’d get a meal out of the deal soon.
A bath was already more than he’d dared to dream.
In a lower voice, which only made Nick more determined to listen, the butler added, “Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley arrived while you were away.”
The colonel’s jaw clenched, and Nick imagined that the army man was swearing in his head. He certainly looked like that was what he was doing.
He did not give Nick time to ponder more on the subject. He spirited him up carpeted steps and down a wide hall so long, there were chairs placed partway down the length, which Nick supposed were for guests to rest on their quest to their room.
The colonel opened a door, and the first thing Nick saw was a large, four-poster bed piled with blankets and pillows.
He didn’t need to lay on it to know it’d feel as soft as clouds.
It was a beautiful sight … but not as beautiful as the copper tub filled to the brim with steaming water. It was enough to make a man weep.
He started unbuttoning his shirt when a stiff man wielding a towel over his arm like a shield joined them. The colonel introduced him as Mr. Darcy’s valet, Hopkins.
Hopkins’ jaw dropped, but he closed it quickly enough. “He is the spitting image, sir, just as you said. I apologize for doubting you.” He bowed to the colonel.
Nick guffawed. He’d expected criticism, not comparisons to this mysterious Darcy. “When I shave this beard off and ye get a better look, ye’ll change yer mind.”
Snapping the towel off his arm, Hopkins said, “I shall shave you, sir.” His tone was offended.
Holding up his hands, for Nick really meant no offense, he said, “Nobody touches a blade to my neck besides me.”
The valet looked to the colonel.
The colonel nodded. “Hopkins shall see to your hair. Is that acceptable?”
Nick reluctantly agreed, and the colonel departed to speak to his father, who’d attend to Nick once he was more presentable. Nick didn’t blame the man. He was sure the inside of the carriage had smelled rather ripe by the time they arrived.
Hopkins reached forward to help Nick undress.
Nick smacked his hand away. “Make yerself scarce for five minutes, will ye?” he said, seeing to his own buttons.
With a dignified bow and a forbearing sigh, Hopkins said, “I shall brush your coat, sir.”
“I’ve no coat to brush.”
“I brought several changes of clothes from Mr. Darcy’s closet.”
Waving him off because the water beckoned, Nick stepped out of his tattered breeches and into the tub. With a groan, he lowered himself, letting the water soothe his aches. Shouting, he said, “Hopkins! Make that ten minutes!”