A Matter of Principle (18 page)

He drained the glass of wine and signaled for another.

“
Might I join you?”

Oscar looked up at source of the voice. Black hair, tied back. Green eyes. Clear, olive skin. “Yes.” The man sat on the chair next to Oscar. He accepted a glass of wine from the tray brought by Oscar’s signal.

“
Aren’t you employed by Winston Beckermann? The other candidate?” Oscar asked.

“
I am.” He stuck out his free hand. “Sam Stafford.”

“
Oscar Brant.”

“
My utmost pleasure, sir.”

For some reason, Oscar believed him. “Are you here to commit espionage?” Oscar asked, teasing. Sam laughed.

“
Do you know that man?” he asked Oscar, indicating Vincent.

“
No,” Oscar’s gaze followed Sam’s. “I was merely observing his skill with the ladies.”

“
Is it his appearance, do you think?” Sam swirled his wine glass and held it to the light.

Oscar shook his head. “He is attractive enough. But women tend to like their men, I don’t know, more full-bodied, I think.”

Sam’s gaze slid to Oscar. “He appears a pleasant person.”

“
He smiles and looks into their eyes.” Oscar turned to Sam’s eyes and smiled. “How old do you believe him to be?”

Sam shrugged and inhaled the rich bouquet of the deep red wine. “Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

Oscar nodded. “Older than I am, then. Perchance it comes with age. Or experience.”

“
Did you come here alone tonight?” Sam asked.

Oscar’s heart skipped. “Yes.”

“
Hm.” Sam sipped his wine thoughtfully, and shifted his attention to Oscar. “An acceptable vintage. Not full-bodied, but very pleasant indeed. I shall enjoy it. And I expect a nice finish.”



“
Are you well,
min presang
?” Nicolas could feel Sydney wobble in his grasp.

“
Lily,” was all she could manage. His arm hardened.

“
What mischief is she perpetrating now?”

Sydney glanced at the crowded ballroom and shook her head. She didn’t want to speak the words aloud and thereby make them real. She didn’t want to consider that possibility. Besides, Lily could easily be lying about her condition. It fit her character.

When the musical piece ended, Nicolas signaled Vincent to follow. Holding Sydney close, Nicolas pushed their way slowly toward the entrance. He slapped a back here, shook a hand there, and promised to arrange a meeting with another while Vincent noted it in a book.

Outside, Leif pulled the carriage forward and slid over so that Nicolas could drive. His breath was frosted by lamplight and he shivered visibly. The winter night was clear and very cold.

Nicolas handed Sydney inside. He helped her wrap her fur-lined cape around her legs and then closed the door. Vincent rested his hand on Nicolas’s arm, stopping him from climbing up to the driver’s seat.

“
Would you mind, sir, if I was to remain here a while?” she heard him ask.

Nicolas considered the secretary. “Might you learn anything by doing so?”

“
I believe that I might.”

Nicolas nodded. “Stay as long as you like, then. See me in the morning.”

Vincent bowed. “Thank you, sir.”

Nicolas closed the door. Alone in the carriage, Sydney laid back in the seat and closed her eyes. Lily’s declamation of her expected confinement took Sydney by such surprise, that she forgot to ask the younger woman how far along she was.

Then there were the insinuations about Nicolas. But Sydney knew that Nicolas would never, ever, succumb to Lily’s seduction.

Knowingly.

Was what she said true? Might a man be drugged to forget what he’d done?

And had she heard this rumor only a few weeks ago, she would have scoffed and informed Lily that Nicolas could no longer father children, thanks to Lily’s own vengeful actions.

But not now.

Not until she knew for sure.



Lily let out her breath as her maid removed her corset. Vertical red welts from the bones striped her body from breasts to pelvis. She rubbed her skin while she examined her shape in the mirror. The baby was growing too fast; she would lose her waist soon at this pace.

Earlier this evening, Ezra noticed.

While Lily had her own room, Sir Ezra demanded that he have access to her at any time he desired. She was forbidden to lock her door against him. Though unable to complete the marital act, he still enjoyed watching his young wife in various stages of dishabille.

“
You are growing fat, my love,” he had said, lounging across her bed as she dressed for the evening.

The Negress had tugged on Lily’s corset strings, pausing to wipe a rivulet of sweat from her brow with her forearm. Lily shot Ezzy an angry look over her two-handed grip on the bedpost.

“
It seems you may get your wish yet,
husband
,” she grunted, exhaling as far as she could.

“
Oh?” Ezra’s eye’s brightened. “Have you news?”

“
My course has not come.”

The maid waited, holding the strings taut. Sir Ezra sat up. “How long?”

Lily shrugged. “A month. Or perhaps two. I don’t recall.”

Ezra slid from the bed and stood in front of Lily. His eyes fell to her swollen breasts and his hand pushed between her thighs to cup her. “Will I be pleased with the child?”

Lily swallowed. She didn’t know, in truth, which of her lovers had gotten her. “Yes. Of course. I am not a fool.”

“
I hope not.” Ezra squeezed until she gasped and whimpered. “There is much at stake.”

Lily nodded, forcing a smile.

Ezra kissed her brusquely on the mouth then removed his hand. “Take good care of yourself, my love.” He left her room without a backward glance.



Rodger slipped into his darkened apartment and hung his greatcoat by the door. He turned up the wick on the oil lamp that Lesley always left burning for him. He set the red wig on Lesley’s desk so the valet could restyle it, and pried the mustache from his upper lip.

The night had turned out very well.

First, he had garnered the information about Hansen’s royalty and ties to Norway. He could easily portray this as ‘royalist sympathies.’ In a country a mere fifty years past its break from kingly oppression, this would be information of high interest indeed.

Secondly, he met Sam. Sam, who noticed how ‘Oscar’ stared at Vincent, and then made advances. Sam, who worked for Beckermann. Sam, who whispered secrets as seduction.

Sam, who would not remember much about his tryst with the red-headed ‘Oscar Brant’ once the white powder and copious glasses of wine wore off.

“
Pity.” Rodger said softly and sat down at his own desk. He added the name ‘Oscar Brant’ to a list titled
Names I Have Used
. With a sigh of regret, he whispered, “He was rather good.”

Then he pulled out a sheet of paper and began to pen Herbert Q. Percival’s column for tomorrow’s
Enquirer
.

Chapter Fourteen

January 16, 1822

St. Louis

W. Beckermann Hiding Assets

Warehouse owner and Legislative Candidate from St. Louis County, the Honorable Winston Beckermann, Esq. has his name painted on pretty signs above his warehouse doors. One would assume that all of his assets would be similarly noted.

This is not the case.

If it were, then fully one third of the docks in the Port of St. Louis would display such signage. As would the Miss Belle Steam Paddleboat Line, with three vessels sailing and two more under construction at Farthingale’s Shipyard.

Which should more accurately be titled, Beckermann’s Shipyard.

As should the commodities trading firm of Quentin & Quentin. And the First Farmer’s Bank of St. Louis. And that notoriously ribald establishment, The Distinguished Gentlemen’s Tavern and Club.

Such a busy entrepreneur as Mr. Beckermann does require his diversions, it seems.

It begs the question: what else is Mr. Beckermann hiding from his proposed constituents?

Nicolas blew a long breath from rounded lips. “At least I’m not the first story this day!”

He leaned over to observe Sydney from around the bed’s posts. “I should count my blessings, eh?”

Sydney sat at her dressing table, slipping her shoes on. “Is there anything regarding you?” She sat up straight. “Anything concerning the Ball or your speech last night?”

Nicolas unfolded the paper. “Here, at the bottom of the front page. By none other than our dear Mr. Percival.
Skitt
.”

“
Will you read it to me?” Sydney folded her hands in her lap.

Nicolas cleared his throat.

N. Hansen: Elected Politician or Kingly Aspirations?

By Herbert Q. Percival

At last night’s lavish Ball, held in the aptly named Regent’s Inn, I discovered a startling piece of information: Nicolas Hansen, periodically of Cheltenham and candidate for Legislator, is a prince. He is of royal blood, a close descendent of King Christian the Sixth of Norway.

The handsome—and aren’t all princes expected to be?—Mr. Hansen returned to Missouri in August last after a fourteen month journey to his kingdom. He went there in search of a throne.

Allow me to be clear: Nicolas Hansen went to Norway to investigate the possibility of reclaiming the Norse throne from Sweden. And ascending it himself.

Perhaps His Highness should be reminded that, a mere generation past, Americans fought and died to free the United States from royal tyranny. I, for one, am not interested in a regeneration of rulers with royalist sympathies.

It was stated previously in this publication that Mr. Hansen had no political experience. It seems that was incorrect. Prince Nicolas has more experience than any free American will care to stand for!

“
Who the
helvete
is talking to this Percival character?” Nicolas thundered.

Sydney shrugged, helpless. “If we knew what he looked like, it would be of some assistance.”

Leif stuck his head in the doorway. “Sir? Do you want me to find him?”

Nicolas fixed his intent gaze on the teen. Leif squirmed, looking as though he regretted his offer.

“
Yes.” Nicolas nodded. “I believe that I do.”

A broad smile of relief and excitement split Leif’s narrow face. “When shall I start?”

“
How
shall you start, is the question.” Nicolas tapped his chin with the re-folded newspaper. “We have one more commitment here in St. Louis before we go home. I believe you shall accompany us to the event.”

Leif straightened and ran his hand over his chin. Though he shaved daily, not much grew there as yet. Still, it was good practice. “Yes, Sir! And what shall I do?”

“
Stand behind me at all times. When I see a man I suspect, I will step backwards and bump you. Then I shall turn around and appear to chastise you, very loudly, in Norse.”

“
Chass-tize?” he frowned at the unfamiliar English word.

“
Disiplin.
”

“
Oh!”

“
I shall indicate the person I wish you to keep watch over, so there is no question. All in Norse, of course.”

“
Very good planning, Sir!” Leif beamed.

“
Once you have watched him for a while, you will report to me everyone he has spoken to.”

“
I will get a paper and pencil. I will write things I see and hear so I don’t forget anything,” Leif added.

“
And you may speak to me at anytime in Norse, should you have something private to say.” Nicolas winked at Sydney. “We shall trap him yet, eh?”

January 18, 1822

Cheltenham

Sydney waited in her drawing room, sipping tea and chewing distractedly on scones she didn’t taste. While eating often kept her erratic nausea at bay, she was now simply passing time until Leif brought either Rickard, or his promise to visit soon.

Movement outside pulled her attention to the window. Leif rode into the snowy yard on Rusten, followed by Rickard on a bay stallion. Sydney jumped to her feet and hurried to open the front door. She shivered in the gray midday chill, waiting for Rickard to dismount and climb the porch steps before she spoke.