A Matter of Principle

by Kris Tualla

  “Let’s start with John and Addie.” Sydney wiggled one finger toward the paper. “They’re easy.”

  Nicolas wrote the names as he asked, “What are their dreams and passions?”

  “Exactly. At this point, they have each other and the apartment you built onto the house so they are close to the family. With the income you provided, that’s all they need in their retirement.”

  Nicolas nodded and scribbled under their names. “Good. Now Jeremy and Anne?”

  “They have each other as well,” Sydney began.

  Nicolas leaned back and tapped his knuckle on his chin. “I’ve offered him the same sort of life that John and Addie had. Do you think that will suffice?”

  “They’ll want a safe home for their children someday.”

  Nicolas shrugged. “That will be harder to accomplish, even if they do favor their white father over their half-Indian mother.”

  Sydney thought a moment. “Perhaps you could sell him some forest land for a cabin.”

  “That’s a good suggestion,” Nicolas said as he wrote. “Or I might make it part of his compensation.”

  “You’re a very generous king.”

  He winked at Sydney over his shoulder and added, “With a very wise queen! Who’s next?”

  “Leif.” Sydney smiled. “All he wants is your love and guidance.”

  “He has that. And he’ll get an education. I’ll put down that I’ll send him to the university. For now, he continues to live in the room upstairs and be treated like family.”

  “His dreams are definitely fulfilled,” Sydney whispered.

  Nicolas turned to face her. “Jack and Sarah.”

  “Jack and Sarah,” Sydney repeated. “What does a slave want?”

  “To be free. But if I free them, they run the risk of being caught and enslaved again. And probably separated, like the last time.” Nicolas drummed his fingers on the desk.

  “What does Jaqriel know how to do?” she asked.

  “From what I’ve seen, he can do about anything he attempts!”

  Sydney stood and walked to the fireplace. She picked up the poker and jabbed at the glowing orange logs. They objected with a shower of sparks which escaped up the flue.

  “What are you pondering Sydney?”

  She turned, her face somber. “Take back the two hundred acres that Rickard leases from you.”

  “That’s an interesting idea.” Nicolas leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Though Lily’s appearance complicates things.”

  “I love Rickard. You know that, Nicolas. But the land is yours.”

  “True,” Nicolas conceded. “Yet I don’t feel I could, in good conscience, exacerbate his current situation.”

  Sydney continued to poke the logs, sending more glittering copper gnats up the chimney. “Might you reverse the lease? Have Rickard loan slaves to Jack and receive a percentage of the profits in return?”

  Nicolas considered through narrowed eyes. “Yes. Yes, that might work. Here’s what I’ll put down: that I take the two hundred acres back from Rickard and turn its management over to Jack. He’ll earn a living as if he were free.”

  “That’s more than he ever dreamed of, I would expect.”

  Nicolas smiled. “That only leaves Stefan and Kirstie…”

  “And at ages eight and not yet two, we needn’t worry about them yet!” Sydney interjected.

  “…and you and I.”

  Sydney rested her hand on Nicolas’s arm. “We’ll address our dreams another day. After you have had a chance to see to all of these changes.”

  “And our passions?” A slow smile spread over Nicolas’s face.

  Unmistakable warmth suffused Sydney’s chest and parts much lower. “I believe the night’s not yet over.”

  Nicolas’s glance jumped to the hearth. “We made use of this dying fire once before.”

  “I could never forget.”

  Nicolas closed the study door while Sydney spread her quilt on the rug. He stepped behind her and pulled her nightgown off in one quick motion. She turned in his arms and pulled his face to hers. His mouth opened and she disappeared into his brandy-flavored kiss.

  October 30, 1821

  “What’s this?” Nicolas lifted the folded newspaper from his supper plate.

  “Your dream,” Sydney answered.

  “How is this paper my dream?”

  Sydney pointed to the headline. “Read that.”

  “Missouri State Legislators to be Elected?” Nicolas considered his wife with narrowed eyes. “How is that about me?”

  Sydney stood next to him and leaned against his arm. “You said you wanted to change the world. Well, husband? Here’s your chance.”

  Nicolas dropped the paper on the table. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “And why not?”

  “I know nothing about politics!” Nicolas pulled out his chair and dropped heavily into it. He didn’t look at her.

  Sydney leaned over him. “And what did the last year in Christiania teach you, if not politics?”

  He did face her now, incredulous.

  “It’s not the same, Sydney! Being considered for a crown, that one happens to be hereditarily qualified for, is not in any manner the same as convincing people that you can lead them.” Nicolas unfolded his napkin and smoothed it forcefully over his lap.

  Sydney straightened and walked to her chair.

  “What frightens you, Nicolas?” she asked as she sank regally into her seat.

  “Sydney, I’m not afraid,” he scoffed.

  “Not of the public speaking?”

  “No.”

  “Nor the prospect of creating laws that would govern this land?”

  Nicolas waved one hand while pouring wine with the other. “I did that in Christiania.”

  “Then perhaps, it’s the thought of running and losing?” Sydney arched one brow.

  Nicolas laughed. “No, Sydney. My self-conceit is not that precarious!”

  Sydney reached for her husband’s hand. “Ghosts?”

  Nicolas’s navy eyes pinned hers for a silent minute.

  “Perchance,” he conceded.

  “Well I believe you should consider it!” Sydney smacked his hand and leaned back.

  “Hm.” Nicolas took a roll from the basket and concentrated on buttering it.

  Sydney pressed her lips together. Seeing that subject was firmly buried, she asked, “Did you speak with Jeremy?”

  Nicolas brightened. “I did. He was very excited about the prospect of his own cabin.”

  “And did you come to terms?”

  “He’s going to decide where he wants to build and we’ll take matters from there.”

  Sydney smiled. “How did it feel, Your Highness?”

  Nicolas leaned toward her and lifted her palm to his lips. The tip of his tongue left a wet spot in its center. “Good,” he whispered. “Very, very good.”

  Sydney’s breath caught. Nicolas’s gaze moved to her lips. She leaned into him and their mouths met. His tongue teased hers. Then Sydney leaned away and regarded him curiously. Her heart pushed against her ribs, trying to reach him.

  Nicolas turned back to his meal. “Is that the sole item of interest in the newspapers I brought you?”

  “Uh, yes. I mean, no.” Sydney shook her head.

  Nicolas lifted one corner of his mouth. “After two years of wedded bliss, I still have an effect on you, eh?”

  Yes, you Nordic ass. Sydney took a steadying gulp of wine.

  “Perchance,” she admitted.

  Nicolas chuckled.

  “There were some amusing articles by a man named Herbert Q. Percival, Esquire concerning St. Louis society,” Sydney continued. “Do you know of him?”

  “I’ve heard the name.” Nicolas nodded. “What sort of things did he write?”

  “Who is involved with what business deals, who is breaking with whom, social connections and marriage contracts. Those sorts of thing, mostly. But the man has a wicked sense of humor.�
��

  “Sounds like harmless gossip,” Nicolas commented. “Have you finished with the papers?”

  “I’ll finish tonight. Why do you ask?” Sydney wiped her mouth on her napkin.

  Nicolas shifted in his seat, his demeanor changed.

  “I want to take them to Rickard. I plan to talk to him tomorrow about the two hundred acres.”

  “Oh.” Sydney paused. “How do you think he’ll respond?”

  Nicolas shrugged. “That may depend on what mischief Lily has been up to.”

  October 31, 1821

  The day was cold and soggy. Nicolas rode Fyrste through the forest toward the Atherton estate, gray clouds and black branches matching the landscape of the huge stallion’s coat. It was too early for snow, though Nicolas’s breath condensed around his face and dampened the collar of his greatcoat.

  Rickard was walking from the barn toward the house when he spied Nicolas in the yard. He waved and Nicolas called out a greeting.

  “How’s the new colt doing?” he asked when Rickard drew close enough. He dismounted and handed Fyrste’s reins to a groom.

  “He’s thriving, thanks to you and Sydney.” Rickard reached out and shook Nicolas’s hand. “Care to take some horsemeat sausages back with you?”

  “Thanks, Rick, I shall. And these are for you.” Nicolas handed him the bundle of newspapers. “News from the world beyond!”

  Rickard led the way into his study and dropped the papers on his desk.

  “How about a brandy to warm up with?” Nicolas suggested and shrugged off his greatcoat.

  “Of course!” A shadow passed over Rickard’s face, but he poured two glasses.

  Nicolas shut the study door and sat by the fire. He took one of the glasses, lifted it in toast, and downed a healthy gulp. Rickard did the same, then cocked his head and considered his friend.

  “Come out with it, Nick.”

  “You know me well, brother,” Nicolas conceded. “Have a seat, eh?”

  Once they were settled, Nicolas explained his position to Rickard. He told him about his unease concerning the Norwegian “ghosts” and their Missouri counterparts, and how he planned to take care of all the people under his care, including the reclamation of the two hundred acres. Rickard nodded slowly as he listened, his expression darkening.

  When Nicolas finished, Rickard refilled their glasses without a word. He stood at the window, sipping his brandy, staring at the gloomy day. His voice splintered the silence.

  “How much do you know of why Lily is here?”

  Nicolas kept his voice low. “I know she wants half of your estate. She told me that.”

  “Did she?” Rickard turned to face him. “What did you say?”

  “I said she’d ruin you. Was I far off?”

  Rickard finished his drink. “No.”

  “Have you a plan?”

  “No.”

  Nicolas stood. “Have you any ideas?”

  “I expected to talk to your lawyer, Nelson Ivarsen. After all, he saved your hide quite handily, didn’t he?”

  Nicolas rested one hand on Rickard’s shoulder. “That he did.” After another minute of silence, Nicolas added, “But what I’ve proposed still brings you an income. You are sensible of that, aren’t you?”

  “I am, Nick. But that land is yours, after all. You’ve every right to it.” Rickard slumped into the chair facing his desk.

  “How might I help you, brother?” Nicolas pulled another chair close.

  Richard swung his hazel eyes to Nick’s. “For now, I’ve refused Lily. She has nothing in writing stating my mother’s wishes, and I fully believe she is lying. Until she produces a legal will, I shall stand firm.”

  “I believe that to be wise, Rick.”

  Rickard glanced at the closed door. “In the meantime, anything you or Sydney might do to distract her, or Bronnie, would be helpful.”

  “The hell-fire sister and the determined wife?” Nicolas chuckled in spite of Rickard’s glum countenance.

  “God help me!” Rickard slapped his knee. There was no sign of amusement on his face. “I’m done in!”

  Chapter Six

  Nicolas turned Fyrste north toward home. He was barely past the Atherton yard when he heard a woman’s voice ahead, mewling in distress. He urged the stallion toward the sound, and caught sight of a flutter of yellow.

  “Who’s there?” he called, dismounting.

  “Nick? Is that you?” Lily’s thin voice wavered through the wet trees. “Thank God!”

  “Lily?” Nicolas followed the voice until he reached the woman, sprawled on the damp ground in a striking gray silk riding habit and long yellow scarf. “Your clothes blend in with the day, madam. Were you thrown?” He reached down a hand.

  “No, I was intending to ride, but then I just kept walking.” She smoothed her skirt, ignoring his gesture. “I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle.”

  Nicolas groaned. “Let me take a look, then.”

  He knelt on the carpet of dead leaves, their chilly moisture seeping through the knees of his nankeens, and lifted the edge of her skirt. He took her slim ankle in his hands and bent it a little.

  “Ouch!” Lily reached toward her leg, her gloved palm alighting on Nicolas’s forearm. “That hurts.”

  “It isn’t swollen. How long have you been lying here?” Nicolas sat back on his heels.

  “I—I’m not sure. I was in such a state when I left the manor.” Lily’s lashes fluttered and her other palm rested against her cheek.

  “Well, I suppose we should get you back.” He moved to stand.

  Lily’s grip on his forearm tightened. “Nicolas, I am in such a precarious situation. Please help me!”

  He tipped his head toward Fyrste. “I’ll take you back, Lily. I’ll not leave you here.”

  Two small gasps preceded her tears. “That’s not what I was referring to.”

  Nicolas knew in his gut that he should stand up. He should walk to the stallion. He should ride away. But Lily’s sorrowful resemblance to her sister Lara, his dead wife, softened his heart; though all the while a molten rock burned in his belly. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “What is it Lily?”

  “I need money,” she wailed.

  “You told Sydney that your husband was wealthy. Did you lie?” Nicolas demanded. A wet chill trickled down the back of his neck.

  “No! No, Nick he is. And very generous. It’s only that…” She paused and pulled off her gloves. She wiped her flooding eyes with manicured fingertips. “I have some debts.”

  “What sort of debts?”

  Lily lowered her gaze. “When I left Cheltenham in such a rush, I didn’t have my affairs in order. And I couldn’t ask my mother for money, she was already ill when I arrived. So, I borrowed.”

  “How much?” Nicolas didn’t care that the question was rude.

  “Little bits at a time, I don’t know. And then I placed a couple of wagers in an attempt to win enough to satisfy them.”

  Nicolas shook his head and grunted in frustration.

  “I know it was wrong, Nick! But I was desperate!” She gripped him again. “Please don’t think poorly of me!”

  Nicolas raised one brow. “Desperate enough to marry a man more than twice your age?”

  Lily pulled back as those words burned through her façade.

  “What did he promise you, Lily?” Nicolas probed.

  She stared hard at him. “It’s what I promised him,” she whispered.

  “You struck a bargain?”

  She nodded. “He needs an heir.”

  “So you promised to play the dutiful wife and give him a son? In exchange for what?” Nicolas waved a finger in her face before she could speak. “Let me venture: the life you wish to lead?”

  “It’s somewhat that way.” She blushed.

  Nicolas sneered, “Somewhat? What part did I miss?”

  Lily lifted her chin and fixed her turquoise eyes on his. “He isn’t able.”

  “Able?” he repeate
d stupidly. Did that mean what he thought?

  “Don’t play the fool, Nick, it doesn’t suit you,” Lily snapped.

  He would not have counted it possible, but she had shocked him. “Oh, my Lord, Lily. You’ve made a devil’s bargain, haven’t you? You are to give him a son, through any means, and he’ll support you in the life you want!”

  Lily’s eyelids drooped seductively. “You always were the most intelligent man I ever knew.” She turned toward him, and pulled the yellow silk scarf from her neck. Her breasts rounded over the tight bodice of her riding habit. Her reddened lips parted.

  His eyes traced the path of her invitation without his being aware. He was still trying to grasp the ramifications of the unnerving situation.

  “Give me a baby, Nick.”

  “What!” The word exploded, originating deep in his chest. “No!”

  “Please? Please, Nicolas?” She crawled closer, her warm hand high on his thigh. “Plant your seed in me, I beg you. There is no one else whose babe I wish to carry!” She cupped him firmly.

  Nicolas knocked her hand away and stumbled to his feet. He brushed angrily at the forest’s detrital bits clinging to his danp breeches.

  “Even if I had a mind to be party to this horrible game—which I do not!—I’ve taken vows. I will not break them!” he thundered.

  “Not even for Rickard?” she taunted.

  “How is this Rickard’s predicament?” As soon as he said the words, he knew the answer. “For the love of God, Lily, don’t tie this to Rickard!”

  “I would drop my claim…”

  “Your claim is invalid! And besides that, the estate would founder! How can you think to ruin your brother this way? Your last living kin!”

  “You are my kin, Nicolas. You married my sister.”

  Nicolas ground the words out. “You understand my meaning, Lily.”

  “Do you understand mine?” She grabbed Nicolas’s fist and pulled to stand. “Give me a baby and I’ll leave Rickard alone.”

  “I cannot do that, Lily.”

  “Cannot? Or will not?”

  “Both!” he shouted and yanked his arm from her grasp. “Have you learned nothing from your past manipulations and their consequences?”