Chapter Twenty

"All things considered, it could be worse." Nick kept telling himself that as he sat holed up in Lord Calloway's study, nursing a glass of brandy as if it could solve his problems. Unfortunately, his optimism went only as far as his voice could carry it, and there was no one else around to keep it from falling flat on the ground.

After that disaster of a dinner party tonight—not that Nick had stayed long enough to enjoy the meal—he had locked himself up here in Calloway's town house to wait out the social storm. He could hardly imagine what people were saying about him now that Miss Mackenzie had thoroughly insulted him. Hiding would do nothing to help his situation, but he had come to the conclusion that he was tired of pretending he had any control over what people thought of him.

He never had.

For the last three years, he had been deluding himself into thinking all the lies he'd spread were enough to cover up the truth, but now he knew better. Miss Mackenzie had proven there were people in the world intelligent enough to see through the scheme and find the real man behind the mask—the coward who was so afraid of losing what little he had that he had put it all at risk.

It seemed all of London had finally wised up.

"Nick Forester, you've got a long way to climb," he told himself, wincing as the strained sound of his voice filled the silent room.

He had tried filling the evening's silence by playing the pianoforte in the music room, but his fingers kept fumbling across the notes as he struggled to find a song that fit his mood. Everything had been too bright and cheery, and the instrument itself had reminded him of the way Miss Mackenzie had sung with him the week before. Blast it all, she had tainted one of the few things he could call his own, and Nick cursed the empty house around him.

It was too quiet with Calloway out in the country, and it wasn't as if the servants would sit and have a conversation with him. Miss Mackenzie had spoken truth when she'd said he was utterly alone.

A week ago he had been able to call upon any number of friends and acquaintances and take advantage of their hospitality. It was the only reason his funds had lasted as long as they had. But thanks to whatever Miss Mackenzie had said about him and how many people were now questioning everything about him, Nick feared putting his old relationships to the test. How many people would turn up their noses at the sight of him? He hadn't yet hit the bottom, as far as he was aware, but one misstep would send him crashing to the ground.

Unless he gave in and found himself an occupation that would leave his future children—assuming he ever got that far—with little opportunity, the inheritance from Mr. Mackenzie was all he had left. Taking the path of a laborer would affect Mrs. Murray as well, and though she constantly told him he did not need to pay her housekeeping wages now that she lived on her own in a little cottage, he still felt responsible for her well-being.

"Don't make me do this, Emma," he said before draining his glass. As frustrating as she had been since their meeting in Tutbury, the woman didn't deserve to be thrust into this unnecessary battle. If she would stop fighting and accept that she was already better off than him, Nick would be able to stop thinking of her as the enemy.

Truth be told, he'd hardly stopped thinking about her at all. It was as if Mrs. Chatwell's words about Miss Mackenzie being made for him had gotten stuck in his head, and when he'd seen her at the Lord Wilmore's tonight, smiling and laughing with the people who no longer saw Nick as one of the greatest men in London, something had shifted inside him, leaving him feeling unsteady. Even after all she had done to cut him down, she had somehow lodged herself in his mind as someone to admire.

No one had ever challenged him the way she did. She was clever and fearless, and she knew exactly what she wanted. It didn't matter what anyone thought of her; she went forth boldly in a way Nick envied.

He hoped the world didn't change her the way it had changed him.

Gripping his glass, Nick glowered at the row of ledgers that lined Calloway's bookshelves as if they had insulted him. He couldn't even properly hate the woman for ruining everything! Yes, he had hoped to begin dismantling the lies that surrounded him, but Miss Mackenzie had instead pulled the rug out from under him at the edge of a cliff, and she had no right to wonder why he'd ended up battered and bruised. And yet she had still looked at him with remorse when she'd apologized for an insult that had been entirely accurate. The regret in her eyes made her an infuriatingly good person, and he could hardly blame her for saying what she had when he had pushed her to it.

And now, though he hadn't been brave enough to venture elsewhere after leaving Wilmore's before dinner had even started, Nick knew all of London was questioning everything about him even more than they had that morning. The problem was they would be questioning the truth as well as the lies, and that left Nick with nothing to stand on. No way to get back on his feet and keep fighting.

Lud, he was tired. If anyone could fix such a mess of a life, he could, but at this point he wasn't sure he even wanted to. Maybe it would be better to start over, move to America, work long enough to buy himself a farm and pretend that that was the life he had always wanted. Perhaps Mrs. Murray would come with him, as he would not be able to look after her if she remained behind. His guilt over having to dismiss her in the first place would not be smothered easily. Not after she had cared for him before he'd come of age.

Unless he found himself an especially wealthy woman with a heart of gold, Nick was out of options.

He sighed. What was the point of trying to beat Miss Mackenzie at her grandfather's twisted game when there likely weren't any women left, of any status, who would even consider Nick's suit if he kept trying? He had already lost.

Lifting his empty glass into the air, Nick toasted Miss Mackenzie and then gathered up his discarded jacket and cravat. He needed to stop wallowing, go to bed, and get some sleep. Maybe in the morning he would be more inclined to make an actual plan for his future, one that didn't require him to abandon Mrs. Murray or give up his last connections to his family. Leaving England would mean leaving behind his parents' graves, and their names carved in stone were all he had left of them.

Calloway's London butler, Hastings, greeted him in the entryway with a nod of his head. "On your way, sir?"

Nick squinted at him. Calloway's servants were entirely professional, but Hastings always seemed to have a certain look about him whenever Nick showed up unannounced. It wasn't annoyance, but neither was it pleasure. Somewhere in between.

"Did Calloway ever tell you about the day he and I met?" Nick asked as he struggled into his jacket.

The butler cleared his throat. "Shall I call for the carriage, sir?"

Nick sighed, though a smile found its way to his mouth. "You truly are good at your job, man. I shall enlighten you. We were at school, and a fellow student challenged me to a race across the lake. We built boats and set off across the water. My boat capsized in the middle, however, and I refused to abandon my boat. A good captain should go down with his ship, so they say."

Hastings seemed to be fighting a smile, though he stood silent.

Nick narrowed his eyes, though he'd made it only halfway into his jacket. This conversation seemed more fun than making the cold trek back to his rented room, especially after how much brandy he'd consumed. "Calloway decided I should not die a noble death and jumped in to save me, though he hadn't yet learned to swim and nearly drowned before I pulled him to safety."

Clearing his throat again, Hastings reached out and helped Nick push his arm into his other sleeve. He adjusted the jacket, straightening the collar with little change in his expression. "Lord Calloway has been swimming since he was in leading strings. And I believe they were paper boats you launched across the pond. Sir."

Nick grinned. "So he did tell you! Did he also tell you that I am the one who cannot swim and that I was reaching across the water to save my boat when I fell in?"

The butler smiled, ducking his head. "He might have mentioned it."

Nick wasn't sure why that conversation made him feel better, but it did. Maybe it was admitting the exaggeration of the truth, but he felt lighter. More like himself again. Or, at least, the way he had been before Lady Lavinia had pushed him to weave his twisted web of lies. He liked to think he had been a man of honor once, though he wasn't certain he could claim that now.

"You're a good man, Hastings," he said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Don't tell Calloway how much I drank."

Just as he took one wavering step toward the door—lud, he'd drunk more than he thought—the butler cleared his throat. "Lord Calloway insists that a room be made up for you all year round, should you have need of it. And I do not doubt Cook would appreciate making supper for more than the staff, seeing as Lord Calloway is spending more time at the Park now that he is married. Sir."

Tears pricked at Nick's eyes as his throat went tight, though he wasn't about to let a butler see him get emotional. Nick had always considered Calloway one of his dearest friends, but he had also always been too proud to admit he could barely care for himself, let alone anyone else. Calloway had more than enough money to bestow a little charity, and Nick could humble himself now that he didn't have a load of nonsense to hold up.

Perhaps, if he reminded himself of the man Calloway and Harstone had befriended—the one who was not too proud to accept help—he could get back to the good man he had once been. It wouldn't help him win any ladies' hands before December, but maybe he could still have a chance at happiness eventually.

"You know, perhaps it would be wise for me to spend the night," he said, feigning thoughtfulness. "I am a bit foxed, after all."

"Wouldn't want something to happen to you on the journey home," Hastings agreed with a small smile. "And should you choose to stay longer than tonight, sir, you need only say so."

As he sank heavily into a plush bed a few minutes later, Nick couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to Miss Mackenzie yet again. Though he had little chance of finding himself a wife in the next month, perhaps he could still succeed in finding Miss Mackenzie a husband so she might take pity on him and surrender. It was his last hope, and yet he fell asleep with his stomach twisting in discomfort. The idea of Miss Mackenzie falling for someone was the last thing he wanted.