The Princess and the Peer(5)

So here he sat, being asked which he preferred to take first, coffee or a bath, by a man who didn’t look as if he’d ever set foot off dry land. He wouldn’t be surprised if Puddlemere had never even seen the sea, since the man had been born and raised in London.

“Coffee,” he told him gruffly. Looking down, he opened the paper.

Two steaming black cupfuls later, he rose for his bath and shave.

He was toweling his head dry, barefoot and attired in buckskin breeches and a half-buttoned white linen shirt, when a knock came at the door.

Puddlemere, who Nick was well aware tolerated his penchant for dressing and grooming himself with stoic forbearance, crossed to answer the summons.

Less than a minute later, the servant was back, his shoulders stiff. “My lord, I have just been informed that an individual is on the doorstep asking to speak with you. He was informed that it is far too early in the day to call, but he insists that you be made aware of his presence nevertheless.”

Nick tossed the damp towel onto a silk-upholstered chair and reached for his set of silver-backed hairbrushes, ignoring Puddlemere’s wince at what he no doubt considered a desecration of the furniture.

The valet crossed and picked up the towel, folding it neatly in half.

“An individual, hmm?” Nick repeated as he dragged the soft boar bristles through his dark locks. “What sort of individual? Did he give a name?”

“Yes. A Mr. Goldfinch, or so he said.”

“Finchie, here?” Nick grinned. “Yes, of course, show him up without delay.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the valet said, turning to leave once again.

With his dark, wavy hair as neat as it was likely to get, Nick returned the brushes to his dressing table, then finished buttoning his shirt. He slipped into his waistcoat before dropping down onto the chair with its tiny damp spots to roll on his stockings. He was just thrusting his feet into a pair of boots when the door opened again.

“Mr. Goldfinch, my lord,” Puddlemere announced with quiet dignity.

But that was all the dignity the room was to receive as Nick let out a roar of welcome and crossed to shake the hoary hands of his old boatswain mate. “Finchie, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, I don’t know what is!”

“As are you, Cap’n—my lord, I means—ye being an earl now an’ all.”

Nick dismissed the correction. “We’ve known each other far too many years for such formality. Captain will do just fine. Or Nick, if you’d prefer, now that I’m landlocked.”

“I couldn’t calls ye Nick, Cap’n.” Goldfinch shook his wizened head. “Can’t likely see meself calling ye my lord, neither, though,” he admitted, a wry grin sliding over his wide mouth as he gave a sheepish shrug. “It sure is damn good ter see ye, Cap’n, even if we’re not aboard ship.”

“And not likely to be again,” Nick said, his smile fading, “at least not in my case.” Looking across at Puddlemere, who had moved away to straighten up the room, he caught the other man’s gaze. “More coffee and another cup for my friend.”

Turning away as the servant left the room, he motioned toward a chair, offering the old sailor a seat. “So, how are you? What are you doing with yourself?”

“This an’ that, now that the navy’s pensioned me off,” Goldfinch said as he settled himself onto a chair. “Lookin’ fer a new ship, but there’s not many to be had.”

“No,” Nick agreed, aware of the plight of so many sailors and soldiers returning home after the war, looking in vain for employment. “You have the right of it. These are difficult times for many, particularly fighting men.”

Goldfinch nodded. “It’s why I’ve come, Cap’n. Oh, not for me. It’s fer Cooper. He’s in a bad way. Holed up in one o’ them bawdy houses down in Covent Garden, three sheets to the wind and refusing to listen to anyone. I’m worried he’ll end up in Newgate if he’s not careful. Thought perhaps ye could help.”

“What can I do?” Nick asked, thinking of his old crewman. “Cooper always did have a hard head for drink and other people’s opinions. He’ll likely tell me to bugger off.”

“Not you, Cap’n. He always listened to you.” Leaning forward, clenched hands hanging between his spread thighs, Goldfinch sighed. “Please, Cap’n, my lord, won’t ye give it a try?”

Nick studied the other man for a long moment, thinking of their years aboard ship together, of Cooper and so many others, men who had become more of a family to him than his own relations. Yes, of course, he would help.