A Visit From Sir Nicholas (Effington Family Book 9)

by Victoria Alexander

  “Ah, my lady, you are now the hostage of the Pirate King.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “Enjoy it.”

  “I most certainly will not enjoy it! Release me at once. Your blasted sword is poking into me.”

  Before she knew it he had bent her backwards in his arms and she was forced to cling to him or fall. She stared up at him and he leaned closer. “It’s not my sword.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath. “Nicholas! Release me this very moment or I shall —”

  “You shall what?” His voice was low and meant for her ears alone.

  She lowered her voice to match his. “I shall grab that sword and twist it out of its scabbard until tears fill your eyes and you scream for mercy.”

  He winced. “Yow. That doesn’t sound at all…” He paused, then shrugged. “Of course, it could be fun.”

  “Nicholas!”

  “Don’t worry, Mother, we’ll save you,” Christopher’s voice sounded from above.

  “We’re coming, Mummy,” Adam called.

  Nicholas pulled her upright but kept a firm arm around her. She stared at the top of the stairs. Before she could utter a word of protest, two small, red-clad bodies slid into sight, riding the banister backwards at an alarming speed.

  Her heart lodged in her throat. “Get off that banister this very moment!”

  She started toward the stairs, but Nicholas jerked her back and spoke low into her ear. “I assure you, you’ve nothing to worry about. They’re quite expert at it. Besides, they’re not going nearly as fast as it looks.”

  “But they’re children!”

  “At the moment they are the Queen’s men and they have come to rescue you. Do not ruin it for them. Now, prepare to be rescued,” he tightened his grip, “and smile.”

  It was an exceedingly long banister and appeared exceptionally high even if, in a rational part of her mind, she knew it was neither. Besides, the boys weren’t traveling nearly as fast as she had originally thought. Christopher came first, sliding with a surprising amount of grace, to thump against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Only then did she notice the pillow tied to the post. Apparently the banister had become a well-used route. Christopher leapt off the railing a split second before his brother careened down the banister after him, whooping all the way. Adam smacked against the newel post and, despite the padding, Elizabeth winced at the sound.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, forced a brilliant smile to her face, and spoke low to Nicholas out of the corner of her mouth. “When this is over, you shall need someone to slide to your rescue.”

  Nicholas choked back a laugh.

  Adam scrambled off the banister and adjusted his uniform. He wore a very old, red officer’s coat, a good hundred years or so in age and style, that reached nearly to his ankles. The sleeves had been rolled up, and a wide, gold silk sash was tied around his waist in an effort to adapt the huge coat to the six-year-old. Christopher’s apparel matched his younger brother’s, and while he was not as overwhelmed by his coat as was Adam, both boys looked very much like caricatures of British officers from the last century. They were at once absurd and very, very dear. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

  “In the name of Her Majesty, I command you to release her ladyship immediately,” Christopher demanded with all the authority of the crown behind him.

  “Unhand her at once you black-hearted devil,” Adam said stoutly, then flashed a quick, wide-eyed look at his mother as he realized black-hearted devil might not be acceptable language. Elizabeth raised a brow but held her tongue, and her youngest son grinned with relief.

  “Never!” Nicholas shifted her to his side and drew his sword. Immediately, the boys pulled out swords of their own and brandished them wildly in the air.

  Elizabeth gasped but kept her voice low. “Swords? You gave them swords? How could you give them swords?”

  “My dear Elizabeth, I would never give them real swords.” Nicholas cast her a disgusted look. “Their swords are little more than rolled paper twisted and painted.”

  “Still —”

  “Edwards did an excellent job, although they wouldn’t fool anyone within two feet and are relatively harmless.”

  “They could poke their eyes out,” she murmured.

  “Release her, I say.” Christopher’s eyes narrowed. “Or I shall be forced to take action.”

  “And I shall be forced to help him.” Adam waved his sword in the threatening manner only a small boy could make endearing. Elizabeth bit back a grin.

  “Never,” Nicholas shouted once again. “She’s mine.” He pulled her closer and spoke low into her ear. “If I were a real pirate I would kiss you long and hard right now, but as I am certain such an action would shock the Queen’s men I shall forgo that.” He released her, shoved her behind his back, and addressed the boys. “I warn you, I am an expert with the blade.”

  “Perhaps.” Christopher brandished his sword. “But none are as well trained as —”

  “The Queen’s men!” Adam finished.

  With a yell, Christopher and Adam launched themselves at Nicholas. The ensuing sword fight had all the drama of a badly but enthusiastically acted play, the mild thud of rolled paper hitting rolled paper a safe substitute for the ring of steel blade against steel blade. In spite of being out-manned, Nicholas held his own while still allowing the children to have the upper hand, such as it were.

  In spite of the anger that had brought her here, the sight of the boys and this man, arguably simply a bigger boy, clashing paper swords and shouting and having a great deal of fun warmed her heart. She couldn’t remember Charles playing with his sons like this. Of course, Christopher had been only five when his father had died. Still, she couldn’t imagine Charles ever donning an absurd costume and pretending to be a Pirate King. They were his children, but he never would have considered staging a sword fight in the front foyer for their pleasure. It’s not that he’d been a bad father; it simply wasn’t done. He, like most men of his position, viewed children, sons most particularly, as something one was required to produce in life.

  The fact that Nicholas was willing to go to such effort and, indeed, actually seemed to enjoy playing with the boys spoke volumes about the kind of man he was.

  While the spirits of the combatants were willing, the swords were of substantially weaker character. Within minutes, Christopher’s was bent, Adam’s was dangling limply from its handle, and Nicholas’s was unraveling. Obviously, Edwards’s swords were not crafted for serious battle.

  Nicholas collapsed backward on the floor and at once was surrounded by the boys, aiming what remained of their weapons in a manner that would have been most menacing if indeed their weapons had retained more than a shred of their former glory.

  “Do you surrender?” Christopher demanded.

  “Surrender at once, you son of a sea dog.” Adam glanced at his mother and grinned.

  “Son of a sea dog,” Miss Otis murmured, a hint of a sigh in her voice, no doubt in anticipation of dealing with the triumphant Queen’s men for the rest of the day.

  “Aye, aye, I surrender.” Nicholas heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “But you have not seen the last of me, mateys.”

  “But he has seen enough of you for one day,” Elizabeth said firmly to her children. “I suspect Sir Nicholas —”

  “His Majesty, if you please.” Nicholas got to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “The Pirate King.”

  The boys grinned.

  He did look exceedingly like a small boy’s idea of a Pirate King — or perhaps their mother’s fantasy. Elizabeth pushed the thought aside. Still, he was remarkably attractive in his absurd costume.

  “His Majesty no doubt has a great deal of,” she sighed in surrender, “pirate business to attend to. Miss Otis will see you home. I have a few matters still to discuss with Sir Nicholas.”

  “But Mummy.” Adam’s brows drew together. “We haven’t found the treasure yet.”

  “He did steal it f
rom the Queen, Mother.” Christopher cast a suspicious look around the foyer. “It’s here somewhere, and it’s our sworn, sacred duty to get it back for her. It would make an excellent gift for Christmas.”

  “Although she might rather have a train than treasure.” Adam looked pointedly at Nicholas. “She probably already has a great deal of treasure.”

  “Another day, lads. The treasure will be here waiting for your next visit. Now, do as your mother says.” Nicholas’s voice was firm but not unpleasant. The perfect tone for dealing with young boys. Elizabeth wondered how on earth this man of business had learned to deal with children.

  “Go along with Miss Otis,” Elizabeth said. “I’m certain she has any number of things to tell you about real pirates and how they were despicable and bloodthirsty and not to be emulated.”

  “Indeed.” Miss Otis nodded. “They were a vile lot, they were. Pillaging and plundering and slitting throats without so much as a by-your-leave.”

  “Really?” Adam’s eyes widened. “But Uncle Jonathon said there were Effingtons who were pirates.”

  “Privateers,” Christopher said in that superior way older brothers have when dealing with younger siblings. “They were good pirates. For the crown and all that.”

  “Next time we shall be privateers,” Nicholas said solemnly.

  “With new swords?” Adam held his up sorrowfully. “Mine broke.”

  Nicholas glanced at Edwards.

  “I shall see what can be done, sir,” Edwards said in his monotone voice. He was at once totally correct and the most unusual servant she’d ever met. She couldn’t imagine Hammond ever making swords for her sons.

  “Excellent, Mr. Edwards.” Adam beamed.

  “Thank you for an enjoyable afternoon, Sir Nicholas,” Christopher said in his most formal manner.

  “The pleasure was mine, your lordship.” Nicholas’s tone matched the boy’s.

  “Mine too,” Adam said quickly. He leaned toward his mother and lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “He’s great fun, Mummy. Yesterday we got to dress like Indians with paint on our faces and feathers in our hair. It was grand.”

  “I’m sure it was.” Elizabeth smiled wryly. “And did he teach you to slide down the banisters too?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mother.” Christopher snorted. “That’s not something one can learn in just an afternoon. Uncle Jonathon says it’s a skill, like riding a horse. He taught us how last summer when we were at Grandfather’s house in the country.”

  A vision of the great stairway at Effington Hall popped into her head and her stomach twisted. “I really must have a long chat with my brother.”

  “Come along, children.” Miss Otis herded the Queen’s men toward the door already opened by Edwards.

  Adam’s hushed voice trailed behind him. “It’s probably a very good thing that we didn’t tell her how Uncle Jonathon showed us the proper way to —”

  Edwards closed the door firmly behind them.

  “A very long chat.” She shook her head, then turned her attention to Nicholas. “Look at what you’ve done to Miss Otis. You’ve ruined a perfectly good governess.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “She was terrified.” Elizabeth ignored the inconvenient fact that Miss Otis might have been a tiny bit unhinged at the beginning of their encounter with the pirates but had certainly been nowhere near terrified. “She might well tender her resignation after this. She was hired to care for children, not fend off pirates.”

  “Often one and the same, I should think. But you’re being absurd and you know it. I believe Miss Otis quite enjoyed it all, and beyond that, I didn’t touch her, nor did any of my men go near the,” he smirked in a wicked manner, “lusty wench.”

  “Stop it! Stop it right this very minute!” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot.

  “Stop what?” His eyes widened innocently.

  “Speaking like a pirate.”

  “I’m not speaking like a pirate.” He strolled into the parlor, leaving her no choice but to follow. He shed his coat and draped it over the up-stretched hand of a marble garden nymph. “I’m speaking like a Pirate King.”

  “An annoying Pirate King,” she snapped.

  “But a Pirate King nonetheless.” Nicholas sauntered to the ever-present decanter of liquor and poured a glass. “I would offer you a brandy, but I would hate to do anything to ease your annoyance with me.”

  “My justifiable annoyance.”

  “Probably.” He took a sip of his brandy. “I like your children.”

  The comment caught her unawares. “You sound surprised.”

  He chuckled. “I am. Oh, I expected them to be well mannered and well behaved, which they are, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “But I never suspected I would actually like them. Enjoy their presence, their company. I’ve had little experience with children. This combination of children and Christmastime is extraordinarily potent. I find myself almost as excited as they are as the day approaches. And Adam was right, you know.”

  “Oh?”

  Nicholas grinned. “We have had a grand time.”

  “Obviously.” She smiled in spite of herself. “I do appreciate how kind you’ve been to them. Aside from my brother, who is unique in his own way, not many men would be so inclined.”

  “I am not like many men,” he said loftily, then shrugged. “I know it is not fashionable to pay such attention to children or join them in play, but I recall my father playing various silly games with me in my childhood. I have no illusions about him, he had a great number of failings. But perhaps because he was not a practical man, and was, in truth, something of a perpetual boy himself, he treated me always as though I was an equal, someone of importance, of value to him. He and I had,” he smiled, “grand times together. Those memories linger with me still.”

  “I see,” Elizabeth said softly. Even a decade ago, Nicholas had not shared something this intimate with her. “Then I owe you my thanks for giving them a day they will not soon forget.”

  “They are good boys and very bright.” He swirled the brandy in his glass and met her gaze directly. “They should have been mine.”

  Her heart caught and a dozen responses came to mind. About the choices he had made and the path he had chosen and the life he had lost. She pushed them aside and adopted a cool tone. “Well, they’re not.”

  “They will be when you marry me. I quite like the idea of starting a marriage with two sons already in hand.” He studied her thoughtfully. “Still, I should like a rather large family, though. Another son or two, I think, and several daughters as well. Six, or perhaps eight, children in all.”

  She stared in disbelief. “You’re mad.”

  “How many does the queen have?”

  “Eight, but as I am not a queen —”

  “You will be once you marry the Pirate King.”

  “The Pirate King may find himself set adrift in the midst of an ocean before he has time to produce any offspring, let alone six or eight. As much as I do appreciate your attention to my sons —”

  “I think it’s important for your family to like the man who intends to join their ranks. I especially think it’s important for your sons to like the man who plans to be their new father.”

  She ignored him. “The whereabouts of my children was but one of the reasons for my visit here today.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You have cut off my accounts at virtually every merchant I do business with. Do you care to explain why?”

  “Not particularly.” He shrugged. “However, just as a courtesy, mind you, I will say that I felt it was my duty as the legal administrator of your finances to save you from your own nature.”

  She raised a brow. “My frivolous nature?”

  “Not at all. You and I both know the spree of indiscriminate spending you have engaged in in recent days is nothing more than a ploy to prove to me you are not the kind of woman I wish to marry. The woman I think you are, indeed,
the woman I know you are now and have always been.”

  “Ten years ago you called me frivolous.”

  “I believe we’ve already established that I was something of a fool ten years ago.”

  “Still, one never tires of hearing it.” She smiled brightly. “Now, about my accounts, I should like everything reestablished at once.”

  He shook his head. “I think not.”

  “Cutting off one’s accounts at Christmastime is very much something Scrooge would do, you know.”

  “Probably.”

  “You have a great deal in common.”

  “Only in that he was an astute businessman.” He swirled the brandy in his glass. “And we are both haunted by the ghosts of Christmas past.”

  She let the comment pass. She absolutely refused to allow him to distract her from her purpose, nor would she allow her anger to show. He enjoyed it far too much.

  “As Christmas is nearly here, I have a great many unavoidable expenditures ahead.”

  “You should have thought of that.”

  “I am far and away too frivolous to think of such things.” She sauntered over to him, plucked the brandy glass from his fingers, took a sip, and gazed into his eyes. “Nonetheless, my obligations remain.”

  A slight smile played across his lips. “Do they?”

  “It has become something of a tradition among the women in my family to hold a tea as Christmas draws near. Tomorrow, I am to host the event. My mother, the duchess, will be there, as will my sister, all my aunts, and a fair number of cousins. All together I am expecting nearly thirty ladies to attend.”

  “It should be most enjoyable,” he said mildly.

  “It always is. However, my cook, while well able to handle the normal demands of my household…” She paused and gazed up at him. “Did you like the tarts?”

  “They were excellent.”