They rolled to a stop in front of a tall, wide house. Nick tried not to look impressed when he alighted the carriage and stood on the pavement.
Two rose bushes flanked either side of the entrance, and had the butler not opened the door before they reached the threshold, Nick would’ve paused to sniff their aroma.
Nick stood tall, trying to give a semblance of dignity in his unfortunate state.
To his credit, the butler did not look shocked or in the least bit shaken by Nick’s appearance. He merely informed the colonel that the guest room was ready, as was a bath—a glorious, blessed bath. He wondered if he’d get a meal out of the deal soon. A bath was already more than he’d dared to dream.
In a lower voice, which only made Nick more determined to listen, the butler added, “Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley arrived while you were away.”
The colonel’s jaw clenched, and Nick imagined that the army man was swearing in his head. He certainly looked like that was whathe was doing.
He did not give Nick time to ponder more on the subject. He spirited him up carpeted steps and down a wide hall so long, there were chairs placed partway down the length, which Nick supposed were for guests to rest on their quest to their room.
The colonel opened a door, and the first thing Nick saw was a large, four-poster bed piled with blankets and pillows. He didn’t need to lay on it to know it’d feel as soft as clouds. It was a beautiful sight … but not as beautiful as the copper tub filled to the brim with steaming water. It was enough to make a man weep.
He started unbuttoning his shirt when a stiff man wielding a towel over his arm like a shield joined them. The colonel introduced him as Mr. Darcy’s valet, Hopkins.
Hopkins’ jaw dropped, but he closed it quickly enough. “He is the spitting image, sir, just as you said. I apologize for doubting you.” He bowed to the colonel.
Nick guffawed. He’d expected criticism, not comparisons to this mysterious Darcy. “When I shave this beard off and ye get a better look, ye’ll change yer mind.”
Snapping the towel off his arm, Hopkins said, “I shall shave you, sir.” His tone was offended.
Holding up his hands, for Nick really meant no offense, he said, “Nobody touches a blade to my neck besides me.”
The valet looked to the colonel.
The colonel nodded. “Hopkins shall see to your hair. Is that acceptable?”
Nick reluctantly agreed, and the colonel departed to speak to his father, who’d attend to Nick once he was more presentable. Nick didn’t blame the man. He was sure the inside of the carriage had smelled rather ripe by the time they arrived.
Hopkins reached forward to help Nick undress.
Nick smacked his hand away. “Make yerself scarce for five minutes, will ye?” he said, seeing to his own buttons.
With a dignified bow and a forbearing sigh, Hopkins said, “I shall brush your coat, sir.”
“I’ve no coat to brush.”
“I brought several changes of clothes from Mr. Darcy’s closet.”
Waving him off because the water beckoned, Nick stepped out of his tattered breeches and into the tub. With a groan, he lowered himself, letting the water soothe his aches. Shouting, he said, “Hopkins! Make that ten minutes!”
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 throatlike melted butter. He reached for another. He hadn’t tasted this kind of cooking since—.
Nick stopped his treacherous thoughts. Jean-Christophe had beenhisfind. 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.”
