Chapter 29
Nick watched the wharf approach, his attention divided between the crippled Fancy dragging behind them and Darcy standing at the railing beside his young lady.
Miss Elizabeth was as fine a lass as a man could find. He’d never forget how she’d run to Lexi’s side. She hadn’t balked or swooned at the sight of blood, nor had she cringed at the back of the boat at the first sign of danger. This was a good woman. Nick was pleased for Darcy—for his brother.
Brother. How strange the word felt in his own mind when Nick had always been alone. Strange, but wonderful. Comforting.
He was close enough to the couple to hear Miss Elizabeth speak when she smiled up at Darcy. “After a great deal of consideration, I think it best to keep my letter to my family brief and to the point.”
“Very discreet. If you refusing Mr. Collins was enough to give her the vapors, imagine how her poor nerves would suffer to learn you had been kidnapped by pirates.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed. “Until she learned you were also on board, wherein she would pray for a compromise.”
Darcy went solemn. “Elizabeth, I—”
She nudged him playfully on the arm. “No harm has been done. We are free to make our own choices for our happiness. Why should we not reflect on our adventures with anything but pleasure?”
Darcy’s deepening frown piqued Nick’s interest and warned him that he was now eavesdropping. Leaving the railing, Nick sought the rest of Alex’s crew. He prayed Darcy and Miss Elizabeth would be safe and happy. He’d do what he could to make certain they were. It was the least he could do.
Nicholas stopped, his brief glimmer of happiness dampened with reality. Which was worse: to find his place only to know his existence meant danger to the people he yearned to call family, or to wander the world searching for another place to claim?
At least he had Alex. And he’d care for her the best he knew how.
Boone, Beckett, and Alex stood in a circle with Lord Matlock, their arms crossed over their chests and their expressions grim. Whatever they were discussing was unpleasant for all four of them.
Boone clenched his hands in front of him. “If I get me hands on Arnold—”
Lord Matlock opened his mouth to protest, but Beckett spoke before he did.
“Just as you have yer laws on land, we must abide by a certain code of conduct we swear to uphold the moment we join a crew. If we don’t respect our own code, then mutiny’s born.
Arnold broke the code, Yer Lordship. He must pay the consequences. ”
Alex nodded tersely. “I hope the sharks eat him, or I’ll shoot the scurvy cur meself.”
“Justice must be meted out. He’ll not make it to shore. We honor the code,” Boone agreed.
Lord Matlock raised his palm. “Tell me no more. He made his choice and shall suffer the consequences the same as any man”—he eyed Alexandra—“or woman.” Looking at Boone and Beckett, he added, “See you serve your captain better than he served his.”
Nick approached, addressing the Quartermaster and First Mate. “Take care of her ship, will ye? I’ll see about hiring caulkers, sawyers, blockmakers, and whatever else the Fancy requires to put her to rights.”
“If you meet with any trouble, you come to me,” Lord Matlock said. “I doubt the prize Connell hoped to receive at my nephew’s hanging shall exceed the damage he caused tonight.”
Nick’s head reeled. His Lordship was a man to be admired, and the ease with which he claimed Nick as his own nephew made Nick’s heart soar and his stomach twist into knots.
It wasn’t right. He might’ve belonged to them once, but Arnold had been right to call Nick a black mark.
He’d only tarnish their name and bring danger to their doorstep. He already had.
Alex leaned closer to him, oblivious to the direction of his thoughts. “Never mind that, men. No expense shall be spared repairin’ the Fancy when we’re comfortable on this clipper. She’ll be yers to command, Beckett, once the Fancy is returned to me.”
Lord Matlock’s reaction was immediate. “This ship is not yours.”
Oh, Lord!
Alex whipped her head around to face him, and Nick noted how Beckett and Boone disappeared down the deck. Smart men. “I took her fair and square!” Alex said.
“Had this ship belonged to Arnold or Connell, she would be yours to take. However, it was hired.”
“They had to know what’d happen if they crossed me. It’s fair pillage!” Alex looked to Nick for support, but he knew this was a losing battle. And in the long run, Lord Matlock was right.
Of course, Alex was not one to consider consequences before taking action, and Nick would only start a fight if he attempted to point out the flaw in her reaction.
A gangplank was lowered to the dock, and Nick used the excuse it offered him to usher Alex off the ship to the Gull and Anchor.
She balked at Lord Matlock’s insistence that a surgeon see her injury, and Nick admired his relative’s patient firmness with her. Finally, she agreed to allow da Silva to at least clean her wound.
After a bath and change of clothes, they all met up in the private parlor where such a spread as Nick had rarely taken part in was displayed across the tables. It was a beautiful sight.
Maids carried pitchers and teapots, plates and platters back and forth from the kitchen to their room, attentive to their every need and quick to return with whatever His Lordship requested.
Darcy, too. The attention they commanded was tempered, not with the selfish entitlement Nick had observed too often with the rich of the upper echelons of society, but with sincerity, gratitude, and dignity.
Servants were not invisible to them, but hard-working, self-respecting individuals worthy of their notice.
When the last maid had slipped through the curtain separating their room from the others, Richard leaned his arms against the table. He looked exhausted. Pumping water and moving cargo was back-breaking work. He asked, “You know where we are?”
Nick knew the path down which his cousin’s thoughts had led him, and he thought it best not to reply. Parting would be painful enough as it was. Why make it harder by delaying the inevitable?
Richard continued, “We are a stone’s throw from Devonshire. Let us put this mystery to rest.”
Alex piped up. “I’m willin’.” With a pointed glare at Lord Matlock, she added, “It’s not as though I’ve a seaworthy ship right now, anyway.”
Lord Matlock did not look the least bit repentant.
Nick suppressed his grin. “Thanks to Lord Matlock, we’re in the people’s good graces in Weymouth.
We’ve provided them with work that’ll pay.
” Had Alex insisted on keeping the ship she’d taken, she’d be hard-pressed to hire anyone to help her fix the Fancy.
And she knew it, judging by the scowl on her face (now directed at Nick).
“I already made inquiries, and the work shall begin in the morning,” Lord Matlock said. “Your men shall be happy for the shore leave, no doubt.”
Nick marveled at his family. Lord Matlock would make a marvelous captain with the way he assumed command and respect. People bent to him without a fight, and as powerful a skill as that was, Nick had yet to see him abuse it. He was starting to doubt he ever would.
Even Darcy, dressed as the gentleman he was, commanded respect. Nick noted with pride how Darcy graciously acknowledged the privilege granted him.
And then, there was Richard. He was a man of action, the best of men. He’d held his own at the seedy taverns, and he’d manned a pump to keep the Fancy afloat without being told or instructed on what to do.
Also, Miss Elizabeth. Nick couldn’t help but admire her. With one look, she’d calmed Darcy and controlled Alex’s flaming temper. Nick would have to ask her how she did that. He needed all the help he could get.
Good people, the lot of them. Good people whose lives had taken vastly different paths, and yet, here they were, together.
Nick wished he could enjoy their company longer, but his heart was already trying to convince him to betray what his mind had already decided.
If he were to make his escape, he’d have to sneak away that same night.