Chapter 17
After a lifetime of salty brine, not to mention the past few weeks of filthy bilge water and bug-infested cells, Nick reveled in the soft, fresh, steaming water.
He dunked himself under, letting his body relax before he grabbed the razor and nice-smelling shaving cream on the table beside the tub.
The razor was sharp, just like it should be.
He didn’t know when Hopkins had slipped inside the bathing room, but Nick appreciated the tray of food sitting on top of the table where the shaving implements had been.
Washing off his face and shaking his hands mostly dry, Nick grabbed a biscuit, tapping it against the platter out of habit.
No weevils or worms crawled out. Had he died and gone to heaven?
Nick crammed the whole biscuit in his mouth.
It went down his throat like melted butter.
He reached for another. He hadn’t tasted this kind of cooking since—.
Nick stopped his treacherous thoughts. Jean-Christophe had been his find. It’d serve Alexandra right if Nick stole him away from her.
He’d polished every crumb and piece of meat and cheese from the platter clean by the time Hopkins came in to cut his hair.
Being full and in a more amiable mood, Nick let him snip and comb away.
He even donned the stiff collars and breeches without complaint.
They’d fit perfectly once he got a few more meals in his belly. The boots fit his feet like kid gloves.
But when it came time to tie the noose Hopkins called a cravat around his neck, Nick put his foot down. “I’ve spent my whole seafaring life avoiding a noose. Why would I agree to have ye tie one around my neck? It’s unnatural,” he argued. No sailor worth his salt would agree to that torture.
“A proper gentleman wears a cravat.”
“What makes ye think I’m a gentleman? It’s bad enough I’ve got to wear these collars up to me ears.”
Hopkins did not yield. He was made of tougher stuff than Nick had initially credited him with. “A simple knot, tied loosely, should suffice, but you must wear a cravat.”
This altercation was leading nowhere. “Loose,” Nick repeated, pointing his finger at Hopkins’ face, holding him to it.
He still broke into a cold sweat as the valet tied the fabric, and it was all Nick could do not to pull the dreaded thing off. But he resisted the impulse.
When the deed was done, Nick stepped back. Opening his arms and turning to the side, he asked, “What d’ye say now, Hopkins? Am I still the spitting image of this Darcy fellow?” He lifted his chin, certain of the valet’s reply.
“It is striking, sir. An exact replica.”
Nick dropped his arms. That was not at all the reply he had expected.
The colonel tapped on the door and entered along with an older gentleman—a portlier version of the colonel. He introduced him as his father, the Earl of Matlock.
The earl wore a gold signet ring on his finger and walked in a bold manner which communicated that, wherever he went, he was in charge. He also wore a smile.
Nick bowed. “Thank ye for getting me out of Newgate, Me Lord.” Now, down to business. “What do ye want from me?”
The earl eyed him for several moments. Nick stood his tallest. Finally, the gentleman spoke. “I sense you are a man without a place in the world. We might be able to help you with that.”
“That’s fine, Me Lord, but ye didn’t answer me question. What’s this generosity going to cost me?”
“Must assistance have a price?”
“I’ve always known it to.”
Again, that assessing stare. “I see you will not accept my help until you are convinced it shall not be too dear—”
“If I accept.” Only after he’d interrupted did Nick realize that probably wasn’t something you did to an earl.
His Lordship tilted his head, repeating, “If you accept. However, young man, by all appearances, you are my nephew, and I shall act toward you as I would to Darcy or any of my other nieces and nephews.”
Nick deflated. Changes in fortune were earned with the sweat of a man’s brow, not handed to him on a silver platter.
As much as he wanted to believe he had a place with these kindly people who had already done him more favors than he could ever repay, he also expected for reality to come crashing over his head at any moment.
“I can’t…” He looked up at Lord Matlock, over at the colonel, unable to complete his sentence.
“Then, you shall have to trust that whatever I ask of you shall be reasonable and within your power to provide,” Lord Matlock said.
He had Nick there. He was already too far in debt; there was nothing for him to offer but a degree of trust.
“You do not understand the gravity of your discovery to this family, do you?” The earl motioned and began charging down the long hall. “Follow me.”
Down the stairs to the main level, he entered the third door to the right. Portraits lined the walls, portraits of men and women Nick did not know—faces as strange to him as he was to them.
Until he saw himself.
Nick was too stunned to breathe. He pointed at the picture, the only explanation answering his unspoken question before it crossed his lips.
Two dark eyes with thick eyebrows regarded him sternly—his own eyes.
Nick reached his hand up to his dark, curly hair, cut in the same style as the man in the portrait.
Rubbing his fingers over his chin, he felt the same small dimple the artist had captured in the painting.
Even their build was the same. Taller than most men, lean, and strong. It was him. But it wasn’t.
Until that moment, Nick had thought Darcy’s family half-mad. He’d planned to get a few more meals, at least one more delicious bath, and then make his escape.
But now…
He was curious enough to stick around.
“William! You are here!” a girl squealed seconds before a young lady jumped at Nick and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing him to her and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. She smelled perfect, like heaven.
Nick did not know what to do with his hands. He patted her on the back, looking at the earl and the colonel for help.
Their frowns were deep. “Georgiana, I thought you were resting in your rooms.” The earl glared at his son.
She stepped away, her brow furrowed. “William, what is wrong? You do not seem yourself.” She looked between Nick and her relatives.
Nick was tongue-tied. The young lady, Georgiana, was a rose-scented angel. He recoiled, lest he tarnish her with an ill-spoken word or impolite gesture. He wasn’t worthy of her company.
The earl wrapped his hand around her elbow, steering her closer to them. Away from Nick. Gently, he said, “Georgiana, this is Mr. Nicholas Blackburne. Mr. Blackburne, this is Miss Georgiana Darcy.” He took a deep breath. “Your little sister.”
Georgiana’s neck snapped back and forth between them. “Uncle, why do you call William by another name? I am not blind.”
The poor girl was so confused. Nick was too, but it pained him to see the bewilderment etched on her innocent face.
He stuck out his hand. Then, thinking better of the gesture, he bowed.
He felt like a fool not knowing how to greet a proper young lady, but he did his best. “Name’s Nick, Miss.
Yer uncle and cousin think we might be related.
” After seeing the portrait, he was more inclined to agree with them, but he was still managing his own shock.
“A twin?” she whispered. She was quick, Nick thought proudly.
The earl nodded. “That is what we aim to discover.”
Georgiana looked up at Nick in awe, as though she were seeing flowers for the first time in ages. She gave him a shy smile that did funny things to his heart. “I have another brother!”
Nick felt the honor of her comment and the surge of panic.
He would have to be on his best behavior around her.
She was a real young lady, the sort respectable folks kept away from the likes of him.
He was rough and ill-mannered, a rogue of the sea.
Shame filled him. He said to the gentlemen, “She shouldn’t be in me company.
I’m not … I don’t talk right, and I’ll forget me manners. ”
The earl eyed him again, taking his time and adding to Nick’s discomfort. “I think you shall do. The bonds of blood run deeper than you are aware.”
Nick was not so certain. Tigers couldn’t change their stripes.
“Besides,” the earl continued in a lighter tone, “Richard shall stick to your side and make sure you stay out of trouble.”
The colonel bowed his head, a twinkle in his eye. “I have never chaperoned a … shall we call you a privateer captain? … before.”
Their levity appeased Nick.
The butler appeared like a ghost in the doorway, startling Nick when he spoke. “Mr. Jonathan Connell demands to see you, sir.”
“Demands?” boomed the earl. To the colonel, he asked, “He is the thief-taker?”
Richard nodded.
Nick tugged at his cravat, his back slick with sweat.
Connell would be a problem. Thief-takers gained rewards for the criminals they arrested only after their prey was convicted and sentenced.
From the moment they landed, Connell would have been gathering enough evidence with which to bury Nick before a jury.
After tracking him across the Atlantic, Connell would stop at nothing until Nick dangled from a short rope.
Georgiana clasped her uncle’s arm. “He cannot take my brother away when we have only just found him! You cannot allow it, Uncle!”
The earl said in a firm tone to the butler, “I am not taking calls today. Until Mr. Connell learns a measure of respect, he shall not get an audience with me … or anyone else in my household.” He looked pointedly at Nick.
Never in his life had anyone protected him like these folks. Nick’s throat swelled, and he reached up to pull the blasted cravat away again.
The butler disappeared as quietly as he had come.
In a low voice, the earl said, “It was no small feat to have you released into my custody. You have quite a reputation.”
Nick blushed. He hoped Georgiana hadn’t read any of his stories or heard any of the songs. He didn’t want her to be scared of him.
“Richard tells me you have already taken measures to leave your previous profession. Is this true?”
Nick clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head, feeling as though he was on trial. “Aye, Me Lord, I have,” he answered honestly.
“Do I have your word of honor that you will do nothing to make me regret my decision to offer you my protection?”
While a part of Nick rebelled at the unsolicited assistance, he was a rational man. He knew when he needed help. Were it not for Lord Matlock, he’d still be in prison.
And his curiosity was growing. If he had a family, he’d like to know them. He’d like them to be like the people standing with him in the portrait gallery.
And, since Nick was being completely honest with himself, he knew better than to turn down baths and food when prison was his alternative.
Georgiana watched him, her eyes full of expectation, of hope … and something else he didn’t recognize because nobody had ever looked at him like she did right then. Whatever it was, he couldn’t disappoint her.
Placing a hand over his heart, Nick said, “I swear on the stars, I’ll not betray yer trust.”
Richard crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his chin down. “And we shall not delay getting to the bottom of this matter. Have you had any success locating the midwife?” he asked his father.
“Mrs. Finchley’s last known residence was near Cambridge. She cannot be far. We shall find her.”
Georgiana’s gaze remained fixed on Nick. Releasing her hold on her uncle, she stepped toward Nick. “You will help us find William? Please … Brother?”
That dashed cravat did its best to choke Nick, but he got the words out. “I’ll do everything in my power to bring him to ye,” he swore. How easily the promise came to him. He, a man who was beholden to nobody, was now indebted to this family. His family, in all likelihood.
If he could find Mr. Darcy—his twin—he would do it. Nick always paid his debts.