Redeeming Lord Nash

REDEEMING LORD NASH Book 5 of The Hope Clinic TRISHA MESSMER Copyright © 2023 Trisha Messmer All rights reserved Cover design by J.X. Duran Cover image by Period Images All rights reserved by author. This story may not be transmitted, stored, or performed without written consent from the author. This includes, but not limited to, physical publications, electronic formats, audio books, and dramatic readings. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental. CONTENTS Prologue Chapter 1—Encounter on the Docks Chapter 2—Friends and Freedom Chapter 3—When Inspiration Strikes Chapter 4—Notes of Attraction Chapter 5—Complications Chapter 6—Whispers and Plans Chapter 7—Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder Chapter 8—Hidden Storms Chapter 9—Fighting Feelings Chapter 10—Blessings of Misplaced Parasols Chapter 11—Best Laid Plans Chapter 12—Dealing With Demons Chapter 13—Reunited With Old Friends Chapter 14—Ill Effects Chapter 15—When Words Mislead Chapter 16—Apologies Chapter 17—A Grudgingly Given Invitation Chapter 18—Expectations Chapter 19—Friends in High Places Chapter 20—Lessons Chapter 21—The Hard Truth Chapter 22—Shattered Hopes Chapter 23—A Ray of Light Chapter 24—True Selves Chapter 25—Facing Obstacles Chapter 26—Finding Solutions Chapter 27—Truth Revealed Chapter 28—Accused Chapter 29—Seeking Answers Chapter 30—The Evidence Chapter 31—Freedom Chapter 32—A Friendship Redeemed Chapter 33—Giving In To Love Epilogue Author Notes Acknowledgments Also by Trisha Messmer About the Author DEDICATION To Nic and to all who struggle with dyslexia. Your courage and honesty are inspirational. And to quote Nic: “Don’t let your dyslexia define you.” PROLOGUE ETON COLLEGE, ENGLAND, 1806 Nash gawked as his family’s carriage came to a halt before the imposing buildings of Eton College. Knots formed in his stomach at the mere thought of his secret being exposed among not only his teachers but his peers. How would he ever survive? A sound slap to the back of his head drew his attention away from the carriage window. “Close your mouth, Nash.” His brother, Roland, four years his senior, stared at him with the same contempt Nash expected to witness for the next five years. “It’s big,” Nash said, immediately regretting the stupidity of his statement. Roland rolled his eyes. “Will you make me ashamed I’m related to you on your very first day? Good God, Nash. Have some dignity. I simply won’t tolerate you mucking about like some simpleton.” Nash clamped his mouth shut. He bit back the words that, despite his struggles, even at thirteen, he was more intelligent than his brother. It wouldn’t do to exacerbate Roland’s perpetually foul mood on Nash’s first day at Eton. Trunks scraped against the wood of the carriage as the footmen unloaded the boys’ belongings. Although home had never held the warmest of memories, at least it was familiar and Nash knew what to expect. Besides, home meant his mother and younger sister, the only bright spots in his life. Removal of the trunks sounded the final death knell for the end of his childhood. “I understand the Duke of Ashton’s sons are arriving this year. They’re your age. I would advise you to latch yourself onto them forthwith.” “My age? Both of them?” Once again, Nash cringed at his imbecilic question. “They’re twins. Identical from what I hear.” Roland grinned. “That should prove an endless source of fun. Imagine the pranks they can pull on the beaks.” The carriage door opened, and the footman lowered the steps. Nash received another sound slap to the back of his head from Roland. “Well, go on. Get your arse out.” Nash’s knees quaked as he stepped from the carriage. Other boys alighted from similar coaches, some gaping at the buildings in the same fashion he had. Their parents had not accompanied them to the school. Their father had announced that, at seventeen, Roland was capable of overseeing Nash’s adjustment. But Nash knew the truth. His father was ashamed of him—ashamed of his secret. When Nash enrolled in the school, his father had instructed him to wait outside while he spoke to the headmaster. Listening through the door had been most enlightening. His father donated a great deal of money that day, with the understanding that—although there was no expectation that Nash would receive special privileges—his teachers would overlook certain . . . deficiencies. Without a glance back, Roland bounded off, leaving Nash alone and unsure where to go or what to do. He decided to join a group of boys who appeared to be his own age. Perhaps they would also be as nervous as he was. There was something to be said for commiserating with one’s peers. As he approached, he noticed two of the boys were remarkably similar. Both blond, fairly tall and leanly built, the only difference seemed to be the expressions on their faces. One gazed around in wonder, much as Nash had done, while the other seemed aloof and uninterested, as if he had many better things to attend to. “Hello,” Nash said, approaching them. The arrogant looking one raised a brow, peering at Nash as if he were horse manure to be scraped from his shoe. “Who are you?” “Nash Talbot. Are you the Duke of Ashton’s sons?” “Yes. I’m Harry,” the nicer boy said. “This is my brother, George.” George shot his brother a disdainful look. “How many times have I told you? We introduce ourselves by our titles. It’s the way to get respect.” He turned toward Nash. “I’m the Marquess of Exeter, and my brother is Lord Harry to you.” “Ah, so you’re the heir,” Nash said. He’d been drilled enough about the peerage to know the first-born son typically had a courtesy title. If anything, Nash sized up the situation quickly. “My brother, the Earl of Southbridge, told me about you two.” That did it. George, err, the Marquess of Exeter raised that blond brow once again. “So your father is titled? Well, that does make a difference.” “Yes. My father is the Marquess of