Chapter 21
“Is this right, Brother?” Georgiana leaned closer to Nick, holding up the ribbons he’d shown her how to braid and knot into the figure of a heart. Sailors often gave a Celtic knot as a keepsake for the loved ones they’d leave behind.
Nick wished he could be as relaxed in her company as she was in his.
He was still adjusting to being a big brother to this wide-eyed maiden who looked at him as though he’d made the sun.
He’d try his best not to disappoint her, but he was a black mark on the Darcy name.
Nick knew it. Lord and Lady Matlock knew it.
Lady Matlock sat nearby with her two daughters, who peeked at him when they thought he didn’t notice.
Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana’s governess, stuck to her side, her embroidery stitches miraculously neat and even, though her eyes darted between him, her charge, and the door where Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner had entered a quarter of an hour ago.
Lord Matlock was with them … leaving Nick guarded by a bunch of females.
But they were kindly guards, and over the past hour he’d grown to rely on their calm encouragement, warning looks, and gentle nods.
“It’s perfect. Ye’re quick to learn.” He prayed the blush his praise provoked on her cheeks was from pleasure and not embarrassment.
Lady Matlock’s warm look and gentle nod told him he hadn’t said anything wrong.
He exhaled in relief. One hour in their company was more exhausting than an entire morning pumping bilge water.
Looking at Georgiana’s wrist, Nick calculated its circumference in comparison to the threads he’d braided, looking for the point where he needed to splice them together.
He didn’t know how it’d come about, him showing Georgiana how to braid and knot ribbons in lieu of ropes, but it’d been Mrs. Annesley’s doing. Slicker than a wet plank, she was.
Tucking the last of the thread through, Nick broke off the extra length and handed the bracelet to Georgiana.
“Here,” he blurted gruffly, realizing that he should try to say something grander, but not knowing how to speak softly when everything about him was rough.
Even his fingers were rough; his touch frizzed the silk threads.
What’d he been thinking? He shook his head at himself, feeling the fool. There was nothing he could give Georgiana that she didn’t already have. She probably had dozens of bracelets of far superior materials—gold and silver, inlaid with jewels.
“It is beautiful!” she exclaimed, rolling the pink, yellow, and blue strands over her hand. “It fits perfectly.” Cheeks pink and eyes bright, she pressed her wrist close to her heart. “I shall wear it every day.”
Nick didn’t know how to react. “I’m honored,” he choked out, bobbing his head in what he hoped looked like a gentlemanly bow.
Georgiana held the bracelet closer to Mrs. Annesley, who nodded her approval. “It is lovely,” she said. Then Georgiana turned to her aunt and cousins, who praised Nick’s artistry.
He wasn’t the sort who easily blushed, but Nick felt the heat rising to his face and a strange mixture of satisfaction and mortification that made him both happy and miserable.
When he heard the entrance door open and footsteps against the marble floor, Nick popped up to his feet. He needed a reprieve. To escape before he made a muddle of everything.
To his left, the colonel strode. And to his right, coming down the stairs, was Lord Matlock, followed by Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner.
Nick breathed a sigh of relief. Georgiana followed him, but he was no longer outnumbered.
He could blend in with the men and trust them to take charge of all the pleasantries that put Nick on edge.
“Richard, see what Nick taught me to do?” She showed the Celtic knot, then raised her wrist to be admired. “And he made me this bracelet.”
Far from the oohs and aahs of the ladies, the men grunted approval.
“Very nice,” Richard said, looking to his father, who echoed the same sentiment.
Mr. Gardiner agreed, and Mr. Bennet merely chuckled.
After Georgiana had returned to the parlor, he commented, “You appear as comfortable surrounded by a bevy of females as Mr. Darcy.”
Lord Matlock nudged the gentleman with his elbow. “Darcy is more likely to insult a young lady than to flatter her, poor devil.”
Nick choked on his tongue.
“As my dear Lizzy can confirm,” Mr. Bennet added with a snicker.
“Best they get all these misunderstandings out of the way now; then they shall have a lifetime to be happy together,” Mr. Gardiner commented.
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “Now, do not speak of such things before it is time. I do not know what I shall do without my favorite daughter, and I refuse to anticipate an event which will surely lead to her departure.”
Lord Matlock rested his hand on the father’s shoulder, his voice grave. “Do not trouble yourself yet. We have yet to find them, and when we do, I know Darcy too well. It will take a great deal of persuasion to convince my bull-headed nephew that he has not ruined his chances beyond repair.”
The colonel bunched his cheeks and nodded agreement. “Beyond redemption. Those were the words he used.”
The same words Nick often used on himself. He had more in common with Darcy than he thought. He preferred determined and tenacious rather than bull-headed, but Nick supposed they had that in common, too.
Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, “Any promising leads regarding Miss Bennet?”
Mr. Bennet frowned. “We have inquired at every stable and post inn near the location of the abduction, and Gardiner has sent as many of his workers as he can spare to ask at the turnpikes.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
“But there are still a few more places left to ask, and I trust that, with Lord Matlock’s assistance, we shall find her.
” He glanced at Mr. Gardiner. “We should go.
If we leave now, we can stop at The Swan with Two Necks.
There is the Wild Boar and the Royal Hawk at Arms—
He could have gone on longer, and that was when Nick took a closer look at the gentleman—at his sleep-lacking, red-rimmed eyes and his pale complexion. Mr. Gardiner interrupted Mr. Bennet, “Mrs. Gardiner expects us to return with news. You cannot continue without rest.”
Mr. Bennet’s forehead furrowed. “All my life, all I have done is seek peace, rest. I have had my fill and shall rest again when I lie in my grave. My Lizzy is missing, and I was standing right next to her.” His shoulders slumped.
“I was standing right there, and I did not know she was in danger until she was gone.”
“We shall go to The Swan, and then I am taking you back to Gracechurch Street for a proper meal and a quick rest.”
Witnessing the father’s concern for his daughter, and seeing how he placed her welfare above his own need for rest and nourishment kindled a fire under Nick. Whoever had kidnapped Miss Bennet deserved a solid lashing.
Lord Matlock’s tone was firm. “We shall find Miss Bennet. And my nephew. I have hired a small army to see them safely returned to us.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Mr. Bennet responded, but there was no feeling in his words. “I am grateful for your assistance, but until Lizzy is returned, I simply cannot be reassured.”
“I understand,” Lord Matlock said, and they all agreed.
Nick did not know Miss Bennet or Darcy, but he saw how their loss affected their families.
It was strange that Miss Bennet should disappear so soon after Darcy.
It made him wonder if the same person was responsible.
He sensed that finding one would lead them directly to the other, but he had no proof beyond his own instinct and the suggestive timing of events.
Still, it was worth pursuing.
After overhearing the colonel and his father report on their findings of the morning—clues, clues, and more clues, but no Darcy or Miss Bennet—Nick determined it was time for him to try things his way. “There’re places I can go, people I can talk to that’re too dangerous for ye.”
He heard a gasp behind him, and he turned to see Georgiana.
Nick felt wretched. Had he known she was standing there, he’d have waited until he, the colonel, and Lord Matlock were in the study, far away from listening ears.
Smiling softly at her, he said, “I’ll be with me own kind, love.
They’ll talk to me. I know how to make ‘em talk.” He looked away from Georgiana, cursing his blasted tongue.
“Only do not go to The Devil’s Tavern.” Lord Matlock leveled his steady gaze first at the colonel, then at Nick.
Nick felt his hackles rise. Grinding his teeth, he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was a guest in His Lordship’s house. This was his ship, Lord Matlock was the commander, and Nick would do well to remember that.
Still, it grated his every nerve to take orders from another man—even one he respected.
With a curt nod, Nick acknowledged the command, though he took care not to agree with it or give his word to comply completely.
The best chance they had of learning anything was in the same tavern where Darcy was last seen.
“If you were to appear, they would think you are Darcy, and anyone who had been involved in his capture would create more trouble,” Lord Matlock explained.
Nick held in a snort. He was well aware of the danger, and it was of little concern to him. He could manage himself.
“My men and several others have made inquiries, and there is nothing there to be learned,” he added.
Nick bit his tongue. The folks who frequented spots such as that had a nose for sniffing out the law and anyone associated with it. They would have closed ranks and protected their own, no matter the cost.
“Richard shall accompany you,” Lord Matlock concluded.
Drat. It was a direct order, and Nick knew better than to complain. While he would defy His Lordship’s wishes if it uncovered a path leading him to Darcy, he could not endanger the colonel or ask him to act against his own father.
Blast.
Struggling to contain the mutiny threatening to overpower him, Nick excused himself to change into clothing more appropriate for the occasion. He suggested the colonel do the same. They could not poke around the underbelly of the wharf looking like wealthy targets.
Hopkins looked on in dismay as Nick donned his old clothes. “Wishing ye’d burned ‘em while ye had the chance?”
“Precisely, sir,” was the valet’s grim reply.
Deepening Hopkins’ consternation, Nick tied the cravat securely around his ribs. He’d tuck a knife on each side, snug to his body, hidden between his shirt and coat.
“I need four knives,” he said, adding when Hopkins did not hop to the task, “Two to hold at me side; and one to tuck in each boot.”
“Is that really necessary, sir?”
Nick grinned. Truth be told, he itched for the opportunity to throw his knives. He preferred the sword, but taverns were too crowded for that.
He tousled his hair, and that proved to be too much for Hopkins to endure. Darcy’s valet departed, mumbling under his breath as he disappeared down the hall.
Pretending he already had the shivs tied to his sides, Nick practiced pulling the blades out, adjusting the cravat around his middle until it was at the perfect angle to free the knives from their sheathes without disturbance.
He missed the special vest Connell had taken from him.
That had room for three blades: one at each side and another between his shoulder blades. He sighed. A man must make do.
The colonel rapped on the door and stepped inside. He wore simple garb, but it was still too fine. He handed Nick four sheathed knives. “I do not know what you want with so many weapons, but my father agreed on your promise that you shall not use them to harm another.”
“Not even if it’s to defend meself from attack?”
Richard shook his head. “You have already been spared from the noose, and he will not house a murderer.”
Nick mumbled, “When ye put it that way…” But what other way was there to put it? He’d lived his entire life scrapping to survive. Life had become cheap, something his peers cast off like yesterday’s linen. He’d felt the same until he’d found a reason to live to a good, ripe age.
Except she hadn’t wanted to grow old with him.
He shook his head. Alex had made her choice, and he had to move on. He had a job to do and a family to repay for saving him from the gallows. They were good people. If finding Darcy meant he could serve them a good turn, then he’d look under every bridge and crawl through every hovel to find him.