Chapter 30
Try as he might, Darcy could not sleep. The need to know what had happened to separate him from his twin gnawed at him, just as his need to see Elizabeth safely home to her family tied his stomach in knots.
He tossed the covers aside, turning and kicking his feet free of the sheets twisted around his legs.
He had to speak with Mr. Bennet the moment the gentleman arrived.
Darcy had a great deal to explain, and even more for which to apologize.
There was no excuse for the danger into which he had inadvertently embroiled Elizabeth.
Darcy could not rightly ask for forgiveness.
He could not explain how it had happened; he could not justify how Elizabeth occupied such a place in his dreams that he had uttered her name in his sleep.
His face heated at the thought. Some excuse that was!
Never mind that Darcy had every intention of asking for Elizabeth’s hand.
Why should Mr. Bennet grant his heart’s desire after witnessing Darcy’s ungentlemanly manners at Hertfordshire?
And there were more offenses—against Mr. Bennet’s favorite daughter, no less!
If Elizabeth were to tell her father the whole, he would be certain to refuse his consent.
Darcy cringed at the memories, wishing with all his might that there were fewer of them to recall.
Sleep became impossible, for now that his demerits had a firm foundation, they piled taller and taller on top of each other.
Would Mr. Bennet allow Elizabeth to attach herself to a man with ties to piracy and thief catchers? Darcy scrubbed his hands through his hair. Compared to his own family, the Bennets were as tame as lambs.
Rising to his feet, Darcy pulled the curtains aside and peered outside at the foggy black through the window.
He had tried to make amends—to arrange for Lydia’s union with Wickham, to apologize to Bingley for imposing his own erroneous views—but was it too little done, too late?
What if Mr. Bennet disapproved of him? What if Darcy was beyond redemption regarding the family he most wished to please, for Elizabeth’s sake?
A gust of wind rattled the window at the same time he heard a creak out in the hall. Or had it come from the rafters? Senses alert, Darcy heard another noise—one not easily dismissed as the complaints of an aged, wind-battered inn. He held his breath and listened harder.
Scratch-scratch. Like fingernails scraping against a door.
Grabbing his breeches, Darcy tiptoed to the door, feeling foolish for his precaution. It was the darkest hour before dawn. He was unlikely to wake anyone at this ungodly hour. More likely, he would scare a maid who was merely trying to warm their rooms before their occupants stirred.
One peek. He would see the maid, then he would try … again … to go to sleep.
Quietly, so as not to scare the poor girl, he eased his door open a crack. Nothing. Widening the gap, he looked down the hall.
Nick stood in front of Alexandra’s door. Jaffa sat in a chair beside it. His eyes met Darcy’s. He nodded once, then looked up at Nick.
A stuffed canvas bag was slung over Nick’s shoulder; his boots dangled from his hand. Was he trying to escape? Darcy did not want to believe it. Not after all his uncle had done to secure his brother’s freedom. “Nicholas?”
His brother’s shoulders deflated as he turned to face Darcy. His cheeks were bunched up like a child caught doing something for which he knew he would be punished. “I can’t stay.”
“You cannot leave.” Darcy responded louder than he should have. Looking up and down the hallway, he waved for Nick to come inside his room.
The embers still glowed in the fireplace, and Darcy coaxed them to life with the poker, adding more wood from the rack beside the hearth.
Poke-poke. Why would Nick escape like a thief in the night?
Jab-jab. Without so much as a farewell, nice to meet you?
Stab-stab. Was he so heartless to leave so soon after finding his own family?
How could he turn his back this quickly?
Nick sat in one of the chairs placed around the fire, his bag on the carpet at his feet. At least now, at this moment, he was here.
Darcy took a deep breath, cooling his blood and calming his thoughts.
Had he learned nothing from his failed courtship?
His assumptions had led him to all the wrong conclusions when one open conversation would have cleared the misunderstanding between him and Elizabeth.
He could have made a more favorable impression had he not haughtily taken for granted that she would feel the honor of his attentions. What a fool he had been.
He would not be a fool now, making assumptions—none of which were flattering to his brother. Darcy turned to Nick. “Why can you not stay?”
Shoving his hands through his hair, Nick dropped his elbows to his knees. “I can’t change what I’ve done; who I am—”
Darcy spun around to face him. “You are a Darcy.”
A gasp that sounded painful, like it was wrenched from Nick’s chest, soothed Darcy’s ire. “In face and form, yes, but ye know I could never belong.”
Darcy shook his head. “It does not need to remain thus.” He motioned toward the hall where his uncle and cousin slept.
“We are your family.” As he spoke the words, Darcy wondered how Nick had escaped without waking Richard.
With Elizabeth’s family soon to arrive and in need of a room, Richard and Nick had shared a room, as had Alex and Elizabeth.
Nick winced. “I put a pinch of da Silva’s sleeping powder in Richard’s drink, if that’s what ye’re wondering. Alex told me ye’re familiar with the stuff.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I ought to have put a pinch in yer drink, too.”
“I am glad you refrained. Otherwise I would not have had the chance to convince you to stay.”
“I see how ye are. How Lord Matlock and Richard run to yer aid as fast as Alex can fling a knife.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “But I can never be a Darcy. Not truly.”
Darcy put the poker down and sat. He imagined riding over the property with Nick, slowly introducing him to the rest of their family as his long-lost twin.
He would save Aunt Catherine for last. They would get along like oil and water.
There was nothing in the moment to smile about, but Darcy felt his lips quirk at the images in his head—the images of him and his brother.
“I shall show you.” Darcy realized, as his heart squeezed and his throat swelled, just how much he wanted his newfound brother to stay in his life. He would even endure Alex if it meant Nick would stay. Darcy swallowed hard, adding, “Please, stay.”
“And repay yer uncle’s kindness by endangering ye?” Nicholas squeezed his hands against his temples. Looking up, he met Darcy’s gaze. “What about Georgie? She came to London to help find ye, ye know?”
Darcy leaned forward in his chair. “You met Georgie?” He had thought she was safe with Mrs. Annesley at Pemberley, far away from this mess.
“She’s safe,” Nick assured him, as though he sensed what Darcy needed most to hear. “I met her at Matlock House. She and her companion came when they heard ye’d disappeared.”
While it pleased Darcy’s heart that his little sister had been concerned enough about his welfare to make the three-day journey to London, he wished she had stayed away. Until he knew how best to proceed.
Nick leaned back in his chair, looking wistfully into the fire. “She’s a fine young lady. I’d never forgive meself if her reputation suffered because of me. I’m a black mark on yer family. The farther away I go, the better.”
Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but Nick continued, “Ye know it’s true, Darcy. Don’t deny it.”
“You are as bossy as Richard.”
“He’s a good man. Wise beyond his years.”
Scowling at his brother as he would have had it been Richard sitting across from him, Darcy felt the connection like a kick to the gut—merciless and undeniable.
Nick fit. He and Darcy were too similar.
If Darcy really wanted him to stay, he would have to reason with him as if he were reasoning with himself.
“If Richard were here, he would tell you to stay. Uncle Matlock stretched his neck out for you. If you leave, he will have no choice but to hunt you down lest he be accused of enabling your escape.”
Nick laughed mirthlessly. “And allow Connell to continue threatening ye?”
“We do not know if he is even alive.”
“Beckett saw he made it safely to shore. We spared Connell’s life, as yer uncle wished, but he’ll be a plague to ye until I leave … or he carries me back to Newgate for trial.”
“My uncle’s authority exceeds his. So long as you stay with us, you are safe.”
“And what of ye? Would ye risk another kidnapping?” Nick asked with a scoff.
“In all fairness, the kidnappings had nothing to do with you.” Darcy bit his tongue. They had little to do with Nick, and everything to do with Alex. The woman who would be his sister once she and Nick married.
Nick waved his hands. “Me. Alex. It’s all the same. Once a pirate, always a pirate. Nobody’ll see me as anything different.”
Darcy shook his head. “Nobody here knows you. Nobody could testify to your likeness. They only know your name. That is what they fear. It is the same with Alex. If you truly wish to change, now is your chance. Let me help you.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Nick bowed his head. Was he frustrated? Was Darcy wearing his resolve down?
Praying he was making some progress, Darcy voiced his most powerful argument. “Do not make me hunt you. I could not do it.” His voice was softer than he had intended, but the thought of chasing his brother down to spare his uncle’s honor was too deplorable to exclaim.
Nick heaved a sigh. “What if it’s too late? What if I’m beyond redemption?”
The air sucked out of Darcy’s lungs. He knew exactly what his brother felt, having only recently worried the same about Elizabeth.
And yet, he would ask Mr. Bennet for her hand at the first opportunity. Darcy would fall to his knees and apologize and explain, and he would beg the man for his blessing. Darcy would do it because he loved her enough to take the risk of another (final and permanent) refusal.
He looked intently at his brother. Did he love Nick, a brother he had only recently met, enough to accept the risks an attachment to him would surely bring to his family?
Darcy knew without a shadow of doubt what Elizabeth would counsel.
Her loyalty, her love for her family, would never allow her to forsake them—not even to spare herself society’s censure.
She would rise to their every challenge, eyes glinting with mischief as she upheld what she knew in her heart to be true and right and kind.
Elizabeth had no time for those who would mock her, and she was clever enough to laugh at the faults and flaws of the people she loved so as to lessen the power of society’s cuts. She was above their reach.
How could Darcy ask Elizabeth to spend the rest of her life with him unless he was willing to demonstrate that his loyalties were as strong as hers?
Slowly, Darcy spoke. “I will not deny the risks, the scandal we stand to confront. However, if people will interfere and make accusations, let them do so to our faces, so that we may unite in opposing them. We are stronger together, and few would dare mock my uncle. Few would dare to mock me. They will soon learn better than to mock you.”
“Ye’d endure that for me?” Nick asked, more in shock than incredulity. “Ye don’t know me.”
“I know enough. Or would you allow me to believe you had nothing to do with my and Elizabeth’s recovery?”
“That was nothing.” Nick batted the compliment away with a wave of his hand.
“Ye’d already convinced Alex to bring ye to shore.
She told me everything.” He shook his head.
“Yer lady is a worker of miracles. I’ve never seen Alex work so hard to be proper.
She hasn’t uttered one curse since I boarded the Fancy—and that was with yer uncle denying her the ship she’d captured.
Like taking a bone from a hound is taking a prize from a pirate.
The man has gall!” His eyes were wide with awe and respect.
Darcy accepted the change to a lighter topic, seizing the opportunity to learn more about his brother’s life. “How did you end up at sea?”
“An old fisherman and his wife raised me, taught me how to make and mend fishing nets ‘til I was old enough to apprentice on a merchant ship. We were captured near Charleston.”
“The Lafittes?”
Nick nodded. “The captain didn’t even put up a fight.
Just let ‘em board and take their cargo. The ones who fought got shot. I climbed up the rigging for a better look and to learn what the pirates meant to do with the rest of the crew—with me. They saw me dangling like a monkey from the lines over their heads and figured I was more useful to them alive than as crab feed at the bottom of the harbor.”
Condensing twenty-eight lost years into the small hours of dawn was no trivial task, but Darcy did his best. And with every strum of the passing hour, his conviction strengthened. His brother was a good man.