A Woman of Choice

by Kris Tualla

  Then Nicolas noticed Sydney.

  “The spring pool,” Rickard answered.

  “Rick, go home.” Nicolas did not take his unfocused eyes off Sydney.

  Sydney glanced at Rickard, frightened by the very large, very inebriated man trying to stare at her.

  “Don’ look a’ him!” he bellowed.

  “Nicolas!” Sydney barked as she stood. Then a more calm, “Stop shouting.”

  Nicolas slowly wagged his head side to side. His expression was disgusted and excited, slack and tense, cold and hot. She had no idea what he was thinking, and no desire to find out.

  “Rick go home. Sydney you go t’ my room.”

  Her face burst into flames. Not that! Not in front of Rickard! She was afraid what he might do if she defied him, and just as afraid of what he might do if she didn’t. Rickard’s presence was the deciding piece. She’d play it out now, and explain it to him after.

  Sydney leaned forward and gripped Nicolas’s prickly cheeks between her palms. He stank of stale alcohol and sweat.

  “Will you go up and wait for me? After Rickard leaves, I’ll come to you.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Nicolas downed the last drops from the flask. It fell to the porch with a loud clank. Rickard grabbed his elbow and the men disappeared into the house. Sydney sank in her chair with a sad sigh.

  When Rickard returned, he sat next to Sydney and heaved his own sad sigh.

  “Is it always like this?” she asked.

  “Yes.” They sat in silence for a while. The moon rose over the eastern horizon in a sky as dark blue as Nicolas’s eyes.

  “I’m not consorting with him,” Sydney blurted. “After what just happened, I want to make that clear. I said what I did so he’d go to bed. Alone.”

  “Understood.”

  “Did he? Go to bed, I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe he’ll sleep the rest of the night?”

  Rickard shrugged.

  “You’re staying tonight?”

  Rickard nodded.

  “I feel safer with you here,” Sydney admitted.

  Rickard reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “It’s been a long day, Sydney.”

  “I wish I could have known Lara. She must have been someone quite special for you and Nicolas to think so highly of her.”

  Rickard stroked her hand, staring at nothing. “She was.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Sydney slept later than usual, but even so there was no sign of Rickard as she descended the stairs to breakfast. When she reached the bottom, she glanced into the study and saw Nicolas sprawled on the floor, still half naked and snoring impressively. She shook her head, and wondered when—and how— he ended up there.

  “Good morning, Addie,” Sydney poured her usual cup of coffee. “Where is everyone?”

  “John took Stefan fishing. Seems that present you gave him was a big hit!” Addie smiled. “But as for those two others, there’s no life in them yet.”

  When breakfast was put away, Sydney helped Addie and Maribeth prepare a batch of tomatoes for canning. The back of the manor faced west, so the kitchen stayed cool in the mornings, a blessing on a sweltering day like this one was shaping up to be.

  It was past noon when Nicolas’s heavy, unsteady steps preceded his appearance at the kitchen. He gagged and stumbled to the back door where his body repaid him violently for yesterday’s punishment. He moaned and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Skitt,” he mumbled. He wove his way to the hall without another word. Sydney heard the door to his study slam shut.

  After the canning, Sydney felt as cooked as the tomatoes, but her irritation with Nicolas had her too stirred up to try a nap. She had it in mind to go to the spring pool and cool off. She circled the house to let Addie know where she was going.

  A hot breeze blew through the dappled clearing making the leafy shadows dance. Sydney laid her canvas breeches and work shirt over a bush, then walked into the water in her shift. The cool liquid surrounded and soothed her.

  Sydney turned on her back, leisurely waving her arms to keep herself afloat. Eyes closed, she forgot Nicolas and his display of grief for now. She existed in the moment, aware of nothing more than the silk of the water and the confetti of sunlight flickering over her eyelids.

  And then the child stirred.

  Afraid to move, afraid she imagined it, afraid it might not happen again, Sydney pressed one hand over her swelling womb and waited. The baby shifted once more and she felt it against the palm of her hand. Hot tears leaked under her eyelids.

  “Stay with me, little one,” she whispered. “Please stay with me until it’s time.”

  As if to answer her, the babe moved yet again. Sydney smiled. She knew nothing else that happened to her in this lifetime could be as significant as this first time Nicolas’s child made its presence known.

  Sydney stayed in the pool for nearly an hour, unwilling to end the magical moments she shared with the babe inside her. But even on that hot day, she began to chill in the cool water. She swam to the shallows and waded to the edge of the pool.

  Her wet cotton chemise was nearly transparent and it clung to her like a second skin. She squeezed water from her thick, heavy hair. She ran her hands over her fecund body—heavy breasts and rounding belly—then turned toward her clothing.

  With a feral growl Rickard stepped into the clearing.

  She whirled to face him and crossed frightened arms in front of her bosom. He came toward her with an angry, distance-chewing stride. His features twisted into fury. Her eyes slammed wide and fear set her every nerve on fire.

  She splashed from the water and grabbed her clothes from the bush but could only clutch them in front of her before Rickard reached her. He grasped her roughly by the arm and pulled her to him.

  “Whose?” he hissed.

  Sydney winced. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Whose?” His voice was louder, his grip unchanged.

  “Ni—Nicolas.” Her cheeks flamed.

  Rickard threw her arm away from him; she stumbled but regained her footing. She hurriedly pulled the shirt and breeches over the soaked shift. Rickard paced back and forth in the clearing. His anger flared and threatened to consume them both.

  “You told me last night you weren’t consorting with him! Have you played me false all along?” Rickard shouted at her.

  “No! No, Rickard, it’s not like that at all!”

  “All this time I’ve been so careful not to push you, not to—but you have been warming his bed in the meantime!”

  Sydney grabbed Rickard’s arm, aware of the danger but needing him to understand. “No! I didn’t want it to happen! You must believe me!”

  The stricken look on her face gave him pause. His eyes burned into hers. “Did Nick force himself on you?”

  Sydney let go of his arm and fell back. “Not precisely…” She swallowed thickly. “It was the night of the May Day Ball. I imbibed too heavily. So did he. And it hasn’t happened since. I swear to you, Rickard!”

  She looked him square in the eye. He must believe her.

  Rickard considered the woman in front of him. “Why did you say I might court you?”

  Sydney’s chin quivered; she scrubbed her hand against it. Now was most assuredly not the time to fall apart. “I divorced a husband of eleven years who was unfaithful to me in the most unimaginable way. I have no promise from Nicolas. I’m alone.”

  “Nick knows?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he hasn’t offered to marry you?” Rickard’s tone described his disbelief.

  Sydney shook her head. “He’s afraid to.”

  Rickard snorted. He stared hard at her for an eternity. He staggered his fingers through his auburn waves, laying them in molten rows. His eyes held every color she had ever seen there, then they dulled and darkened.

  “Do you love him? Is that who you meant?”

  Truth. It was time. Sydney nodded.

 
His chin jerked up a mite. “What about me?”

  She touched his arm again. “I do admire you so much, Rickard. And I value your friendship very highly.”

  Rickard sagged and heaved a deep sigh. “Not quite the same thing, then, is it?”

  After a moment, he gripped her hand. He turned to leave and tugged her along as she stumbled behind him, trying to keep pace with his long, angry stride.

  “Let’s go have a word with Mister Hansen.”

   

  The front door to the Hansen manor flew open and Rickard strode inside. Nicolas sat at the massive desk in his study with the curtains drawn, his head resting on folded arms. The bang of the door hurt.

  Rickard did not slow his approach.

  “Stand up!” he demanded.

  Nicolas raised his aching head and squinted up at Rick. “What?” he croaked.

  “I said stand up!”

  “Why? What’s gotten into—”

  Rickard grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked. “Stand up, damn it!”

  Stunned, Nicolas stood. His head pounded and his stomach did somersaults. Backed by his considerable size and obvious anger, Rickard rammed his fist into Nicolas’s midsection. Nicolas folded in half and dropped to the floor, unable to breathe.

  “Hva i helvete er De gjøre?” He was shocked out of English.

  “Get up.”

  Nicolas shook his head to clear it, but that only made it worse. He grabbed the seat of his chair and pulled himself into it. He peered at Rickard through pain and confusion. If he was in any better condition, he would have struck back, friend or no.

  “Do you mind telling me why?” he wheezed.

  Rickard bent over so his face was close to Nick’s. “Hear me well, brother. You’ve started something and I intend to see you finish it.”

  “What?”

  Rickard looked back at Sydney. Nicolas hadn’t noticed she was there. But by the look on her face, he knew that Rickard knew. His stomach turned over again and he thought he would heave. He broke a cold sweat.

  “Did you tell him?” Nicolas rasped, trying to figure out her motive.

  “She did after I saw her.”

  Nicolas shifted his aching eyes back to Rickard. “Saw her?”

  “She was swimming in the spring when I went to say good-bye. It was obvious.”

  Nicolas tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. He rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands. “What do you want, Rick?”

  “I’m giving you an ultimatum.”

  Nicolas narrowed his gaze. “And that would be?”

  “If you don’t marry her, I will.”

  “Hva i helvete!” he spat.

  “And—I’ll raise your bastard child as my own.” Rickard’s voice was hard as steel; it cut through Nicolas’s skull like a blade. He waved his finger in Nicolas’s face. “But you and I? We’ll no longer be friends.”

  Rickard’s eyes never left Nick’s, but Nicolas’s flickered to Sydney’s and back. She was white as rice and gripped the doorjamb for support. It was a small comfort to see this was a surprise to her as well.

  “And when do you expect me to do this?” Nicolas stalled as he tried to comprehend what just happened.

  “Well, b-before the babe is born, to be certain!” Rickard sputtered.

  “How dare you!”

  Both men looked to Sydney, astonished.

  “How dare you two discuss my future as though I were not in the room?” Red splotches highlighted Sydney’s pale cheeks. Her eyes were dark, turbulent, dangerous. She let go of the doorjamb and stepped forward. “I’m standing right here!”

  “You’re carrying a child, Sydney. You and the child must be provided for,” Rickard pointed out the obvious in a condescending tone.

  “And the child is mine,” Nicolas protested. “So I’ll decide.”

  “No! After all I’ve been through, I’m not about to have my future decided for me. I’ll have something to say about it!” Sydney glared at the two men, her fists clenched at her side.

  “Sydney…”

  “Hush!” she barked. Both men fell silent. Her gaze passed between them.

  “Gentlemen, I’ve conceived a child twice before in my life, but wasn’t able to carry either babe past the fifth month.” One pale hand gripped her belly. “It’s very possible that I may see this one buried as well.”

  Nicolas flinched. Hope and guilt alternately smacked his chest without mercy.

  “So you have another month and a half before you must choose which one of you might be forced into a marriage of pity and obligation.”

  Sydney pinned each of them with a defiant stare. “That’s assuming, of course, that I’d choose to accept either one of you!”

  She slammed the front door hard, rattling the manor. Rickard turned to Nick who dropped his exploding head back on the desk.

   

  Sydney headed for the place she always found comfort: the horses.

  She opened Sessa’s stall, slipped inside, and latched the door behind her. She sank into a corner and curled around her baby. Sessa stepped to her, confused by her human sitting in her stall, and nuzzled her clothes for the telltale smell of an apple.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve come empty-handed.” Sydney stroked the filly’s nose.

  Sydney considered the options before her. Even if she was able to carry this babe all the way to her confinement, there was a very real possibility that Nicolas might not marry her. He was reluctant to even talk about the child. It was as though if he ignored it, then it would not exist. That bit of fantasy would be hard to maintain in the coming months.

  Her new option was Rickard. If she accepted him, she would live comfortably with a man who would probably be a very good husband and father. Assuming, of course, that he was able to get past the fact that his ex-best friend was the child’s true sire.

  But that also meant she would live a mile and a half from Nicolas, raise the child he didn’t want, and never see him again. Just the thought of that possibility brought tears to her eyes and made it hard for her to breathe.

  Her second option was to return to her beloved parents’ home in Kentucky. They would welcome her back, of that she had no doubt. There she would birth and raise her bastard child and make her way as best she could. She would have to give an explanation of why her marriage to Devin ended, but she could claim the child was Devin’s and thereby erase the stigma of illegitimacy.

  Unless the babe favored Nicolas.

  There would be no way to explain how she, with her dark brown hair and green eyes, and Devin with his sandy brown hair and brown eyes, produced a tall, blond offspring with startling blue eyes. Her indiscretion would be laid bare for all to see. Sydney couldn’t subject her child to that humiliation.

  So that led to a third option: go somewhere new and create a respectable background story and live out the rest of her life as a complete and utter lie.

  “Dear God,” Sydney sobbed. “Have You forgotten me? How have I come to this point? And where shall I go from here?”

  Sessa snuffled her hair, and Sydney pressed the filly's nose to her own.

  September 8, 1819

  At Addie’s summons, Nicolas came down the hall toward the front door. When he saw Lily, his approach slowed. Addie passed by him without a word; but her seething disapproval deafened him. Nicolas concocted a smile for the girl and led her into the drawing room.

  “Hello, Lily. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I wanted to see you.” Lily batted her lashes as she closed the gap between them. “I worry about you, you know that.”

  “There’s no need to worry about me.”

  Lily placed her hand on Nicolas’s chest, tilting her face up to his, inviting a kiss.

  Nicolas declined the invitation. “Was there aught else?”

  Lily, always nimble when dealing with men, changed her direction. “Rickard told me some rather disturbing news. I wanted to talk to you directly about it and not rely on rumors.�
� She stepped back and opened her fan, using it to insinuate her distress.

  Nicolas remained stoically silent; he assumed to what news she referred and he wasn’t in any mood to discuss it with her.

  “Is it true, Nicolas, that it turns out our own Sydney was pregnant when you found her?” Lily neatly dropped the accusation into the question.

  “No, Lily, that’s not true.”

  “Oh! I’m so relieved! Can you imagine? Rushing to get a divorce and then finding out you’re expecting his child!” Lily fanned herself furiously as if overcome by the thought.

  “Lily.”

  “Yes?” She gave him her best innocent look. He’d seen it often enough to recognize it.

  “Sydney is with child. But she was not with child when I found her.”

  Lily’s brows drew together in a comely frown. “How can you be certain?”

  Nicolas felt his cheeks heating, but honesty was required. “Addie told me she had her course less than two weeks after I rescued her.”

  Lily scoffed, “So just over a week after you discovered her—nearly beaten to death—she bled? Well! What else would you expect?”

  Lily walked around the room, obviously intending to give Nicolas more angles to admire. “Did a doctor examine her? Is Addie certain where the blood was coming from?” The questions were blunt; Lily wasn’t damping her weapons.

  Before he could answer, she stopped and faced him with a look of incredulous disbelief. “You don’t believe that story, do you?”

  Nicolas rubbed his hands over his eyes. His headache finally subsided last night, but his eyes still itched. “In truth, I do. I trust Addie to know what she’s talking about.”

  Lily tapped her perfectly shod foot on the carpet. She changed tactics once again. “Are you telling me that she tricked you into fornicating with her?”

  Nicolas laughed. “Men would line up for that possibility! No, there was no trickery, Lily. It was fully my idea.”

  “A skilled woman always makes the man believe it was his idea,” she scoffed. “So how long has that whore been spreading her thighs for you?”