Page 6 of A Match of Misfortune (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #7)

Chapter Three

N ash shifted impatiently on his seat as the hired carriage rumbled down the cobblestone road, the sound of its wheels echoing through the quiet, lamp-lit streets of London.

The ship he had arrived on had reached the docks earlier than expected, and he’d accepted Johnathan Steele’s offer to drop him by his parents’ townhouse despite that it was now past midnight.

When he’d last written home, he’d not only still been in India but had also planned to travel on a much slower ship.

With his fortunate change of plans ensuring he would arrive before any new letter he could write, it would be a grand surprise indeed when his parents awoke to find him already home.

How he yearned to see them both again. And meet his brothers.

It had been far too long, but he was home now. At least for a few months.

“Where would you like me to have your trunks delivered?” Johnathan asked from the bench across from him.

“I expect to be in my new townhouse by midday.”

Johnathan’s shadowed gaze shifted to Nash. “Is the matter of your inheritance settled, then?”

“Nearly. The letter I received from my great-aunt’s solicitor not long before we left India said that, to my uncle’s chagrin, another will has not been discovered.

So once I pay the probate fees, the Church Court in Dover will verify both the will and my role as executor.

After that, I need only pay the death tax for the distributions to be made.

It should all be settled within a month. ”

“If the process is not complete, how are you to be in possession of your great-aunt’s Mayfair house by tomorrow at midday?”

Nash smiled. “Let’s just say that the solicitor is a man of logic and also sees no sense in delaying my occupancy at this point.”

Johnathan gave an amused hmph. “I’m not sure logic was as much in play as persuasion, but I’m not the least bit surprised. You are one very fortunate man.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Repeatedly and by many.

But Nash never subscribed to such nonsense as luck and fortune.

He certainly had his fair share of opportunity, but a positive outlook, directness, and hard work were the real reasons behind any success he could claim.

If fortune had favored him, it had been in his ability to connect with others, to make friends everywhere he went.

Which might also be the reason his great-aunt Agnes had left him everything—her London townhouse, a small country estate near Dover, and a sum of over thirty thousand pounds—despite that he’d only met the childless widow a handful of times throughout his life.

With Nash’s mother having died when he was only a few years old, everyone had assumed Nash’s uncle would receive the bulk of Aunt Agnes’ estate.

He had been her most direct relative, after all.

But it had been Nash who had been named the sole heir of all her earthly possessions, shocking both Nash and his uncle.

Had his uncle attempted to have a relationship with him at any point during his life, he would feel sorry for the man, but as it stood, he’d wanted nothing to do with Nash since Nash’s mother had died.

Nash had only had word from him when his uncle had discovered he’d been disinherited, and the letter had been full of accusations and empty threats.

“Thank you again for allowing me to share your carriage,” Nash said to fill the ensuing silence.

“I was glad for the company.”

“After three months aboard a ship, I would assume company is the last thing you’d prefer, but I appreciate your generosity nonetheless.”

“Really, it was no trouble.”

“Have you decided how long you’ll need to be in England before your return?”

“With all I must see to, I expect I’ll also be here a few months. Perhaps we might find ourselves on the same ship back to India this autumn? You’d be welcome to make the return voyage on one of our ships again.” He paused. “Since your ship will likely have set sail long before then.”

Once the Dawn of India arrived, it would certainly be a swift turnaround considering Mr. Crauford, his mentor, had already chartered it to bring goods from England back to Madras.

But that was only part of Nash’s plan. “Not that I’d be opposed to making the journey with you again, but I am set upon having a second ship before my departure.

” Possibly even a third. There was too much opportunity to not act as swiftly as possible.

He only needed to garner a … fair amount of investors, but it shouldn’t prove too difficult.

It was a sound venture, after all. “If I can manage it, I shall be aboard it for my return.”

“Sounds like you have it well thought out.”

Nash laughed. “I’m not sure of that, but it is good to know that if I encounter any difficulties along the way, I have you to aid me.”

“Undoubtedly.”

The apparent fatigue of the two travelers fell over the cab again .

There was nothing like being aboard a ship for months that made the comforts of home so tantalizing. With each passing minute, Nash’s yearning to climb beneath the covers of his own bed was growing more intense.

As though he’d wished it into being, the carriage slowed and turned onto the lane behind the row of townhouses on Wimpole Street. Nash glanced out the window, smiling when the rear of his family’s townhouse came into view. “This is it.”

Johnathan gave a thump on the roof, and the carriage rolled to a stop.

Before Nash could see to the door himself, it swung open. It wasn’t a footman who held it but Johnathan’s personal guard—a man of few words. Though throughout their months at sea, he’d proved a decent enough fellow that Nash was no longer intimidated by his ever-present glower.

Nash flung his seabag over his shoulder. “Thank you again, Johnathan.”

Johnathan leaned forward, the light of the moon lightening his features some. “If you are ever in need of some curry, there is a place here in Marylebone that has authentic Indian dishes. It’s at 34 George Street. Send word and I’ll gladly meet you there.”

“Sounds ideal.” Nash took a backward step, offered a lift of his hand, and waited for the carriage to continue forward before entering the back gardens.

He did not have a key, but that was of little concern.

While in the stupidity of youth, Nash had learned the dining room window on the ground floor had a lock that was finicky enough to open with some slight maneuvering.

And, precisely as he recalled, a gentle shaking in combination with an upward motion at the right moment dislodged the lock.

Quietly, Nash lifted the window. He was larger now and not nearly as agile, but he managed to climb inside without incident.

After one rather heavy step on the wooden floorboards, he thought to take off his boots to prevent the servants from being alerted to his presence.

Fear of an intruder was not the sort of surprise he intended, especially when no one likely expected him for another several weeks.

With his boots in one hand, his seabag in the other, and his greatcoat slung over his arm, he left the dining room with all the stealth of his youthful nighttime escapades and made his way through the darkened house.

How strange it was to be home. It felt as if an eternity had passed, and yet now that he was here, it was as if he’d only just left.

When Nash reached the second-floor landing, he was especially heedful.

Father’s and Mother’s rooms were also on this floor, and though a part of him wished to wake them directly, he felt it prudent to wait.

He was exhausted, and a few hours of rest would be just what he needed to greet them with the enthusiasm they deserved after so many years apart.

Once he was safely inside his room with the door closed behind him, he carefully dropped his items at his feet and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

A familiar, feminine scent hung in the air, but despite the face it conjured in his mind, he supposed it was his mother’s doing.

After she and Father had married, Nash had only lived here a matter of weeks before he’d left for India, and he was glad to see she had made this house her own since his departure.

With the curtains securely drawn over the windows and no fire in the hearth, he could make nothing out besides a vague outline of the bed.

He made his way toward it with slow, careful steps.

The last thing he needed was to send some unexpected item sprawling across the wooden floor and wake the entire household.

When he reached the bed, he shrugged off his coat and waistcoat, draping them over the footboard.

Then, with growing eagerness, he felt his way along the edge until the top of the coverlet was in his hand.

He lifted it, then climbed beneath. It was as welcome an embrace as he remembered.

Better even, for now he knew what it was like to sleep in far less comfortable accommodations.

As he pulled the covers more securely around him, an odd sound gave him pause—like a quick exhale of breath.

What the deuce was that?

Had he imagined it?

Slowly, he rolled onto his side, straining to see in the direction he’d heard the noise, but it was nigh impossible to distinguish anything in the darkness.

“Jamison? Could you not sleep?” A young woman’s slumberous voice was close, and Nash nearly alighted from the bed at the sound of it.

But aside from his mother, he could think of only one woman who would be so comfortable having his five-year-old brother seek her out in the middle of the night.

A woman who had always smelled of jasmine and rose water.

Cecily Bradshaw.

Despite all reason, a smile broke onto his lips. Now this was an unplanned turn of events. He lifted onto his elbow. “I’m not Jamison, but I was hoping to sleep. Until I found you in my bed, that is. Not that I’m complaining.”