A Matter of Principle (31 page)

Nicolas nodded. “I believe that I did.”

“
So even if he managed to come up with a figure, he would halve it.”

“
True.”

“
Do you know how much his land here is worth?”

“
Well, the panic of 1819 is past, so land values are coming back up. I would guess that in Pennsylvania where they were once a hundred and fifty dollars per acre in 1818, by now they are back up to a hundred dollars an acre. Since we are a bit more remote, the cost would be lower. But since we became a state, the value would rise,” Nicolas speculated.

Sydney did some mental figuring on her own. “If you priced the land at seventy-five an acre, half of his estate would be close to nineteen thousand dollars.”

“
Rickard doesn’t have that.”

Sydney paused. “Do you?”

Nicolas nodded. “We’ve spent a bit. But I still have income besides, remember.”

The two were silent for a pace.

“
Is there any way for Lily to know?” Sydney ventured. “About the gold?”

Nicolas began to pace around the room, tugging at his clothes, undressing. “If she knows I sold my land, she may be guessing. But land in Norway does not sell for the same amount of money as here.”

“
Why not?”

“
To begin with, you cannot farm the steep side of a mountain, no matter how powerful the view.” Nicolas disappeared under his shirt then reappeared outside of it. “Mountains, however, make for secure borders. That was a consideration for my Viking ancestors, to be certain!”

“
If she is thinking a hundred and fifty an acre for ten thousand acres…”

“
That makes me one of the wealthiest men in the country!” Nicolas laughed. “I was lucky to get the six dollars an acre I did get. It was worth three when we arrived.”

“
You did handle that well,” Sydney complimented.

Nicolas knocked his bare heels together and bowed at the waist. “Thank you, madam.”

“
But the question remains: will you offer Rickard a loan? Or perhaps, buy his land from him and lease it back?” Sydney posited. “Or stay out of the business altogether and let him deal with Lily as best he might?”

Nicolas shook his head. “I do not know the answer to that,
min presang
. I shall have to wait and see.”

Chapter Twenty Three

March 26, 1822

St. Louis

Sydney woke up and looked at the clock. It was past eight. The sun did not shine into their west-facing apartment in the mornings allowing them to rest a while longer. Because the events they had to attend so often lasted until late at night, that was a blessing. But Nicolas complained, nonetheless, about the hours they kept.

“
I am growing fat and lazy!” he said to her. “I need to go home and work.”

“
Sheep shearing time is near. Will you go home for that?” she asked.

A wistful expression had spread over his countenance. “I never thought that I would miss that
forbannet
smelly, messy, sweaty task! But I long for my muscles to ache with a day’s work well completed. Not my head to ache from a night’s forced indulgence!”

“
Then let’s plan it!” she suggested. “Send word to Rickard that you will be there.”

He did so. And after tonight’s Tulip Ball, they would go home for a solid week.

And be there for Lily’s deadline.

Do not dwell on that now
, she chided herself.
Much can occur in five days!

Nicolas sighed deeply and stretched, his long limbs extending beyond the mattress in all directions. He collapsed into a curved heap once again.

“
I shall be glad to sleep in my own bed,” he grumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

Sydney ran her hand over the landscape of his body. Still firmly sculpted, he had grown softer. That was not all unfortunate; it made for a more comfortable pillow when she lay against him. She slid her fingers through the blond curls of his chest, raising gooseflesh on his arms. And raising other things as well.

“
Are you in a particular mood this morning, Mistress Hansen?”

Sydney smiled and rubbed his chin. Golden hairs sprouted like stalks of straw not yet harvested. They made a scratchy sound that did not resound any farther than the limits of their blanketed nest.

She was in a good mood, she realized with a start. And she was not nauseated. Not in the least.

How long?
She counted quickly. If her last ‘course’ was really only a showing of blood, she would be entering her fourth month soon. But if she conceived after that, she was approaching three months.

Nicolas’s fingers walked up her thigh, under the nightgown that was twisted around her hips.

“
I promised Leif pancakes for breakfast,” she whispered, even as she moved her legs for him.

“
We’ll take him out for waffles,” Nicolas suggested, finding his target.

Sydney gasped. A thrill rippled through her belly.

“
Yes… waffles,” she breathed. She sat up and pulled the nightgown over her head. It floated to the floor. “He’ll like that.”

Nicolas pushed the blankets out of the way and pulled her on top of him. Sydney found herself responding more completely than she had in months. She was ravenous; she could not get enough of him. She pressed, squeezed, twisted; pulling his hands and mouth to her. She demanded more and she gave more. When she peaked, she clapped one hand over her mouth to keep from crying out so loud that Leif and Vincent would hear her.

They collapsed together, panting; sweating in the chilled morning and sighing moans of fulfillment.

Nicolas stared at her, jaw slack. “
Å min Gud!
Where did this vixen appear from? Are you a witch after all?”

“
I don’t know. Perhaps.” She raised her head and swept her dark hair back with her forearm. “If I am, do you wish me to leave?” she teased.

“
Never!” Nicolas shook his head against his pillow. “Never.
Å min Gud…
”

Someone knocked on their chamber door. They made wide eyes at each other and grinned with their shared secret.

Nicolas cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“
I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but do we have plans for breakfast?” Vincent’s voice passed, muted, through the panel.

“
Waffles. We shall go out for waffles,” Nicolas called out. Sydney heard Leif’s whoop of glee. “Give us a quarter of an hour.”

“
Yes, sir!”

Twenty minutes later all were suitably dressed, and they donned their coats and cloaks. Leif opened the apartment door, his eagerness betrayed by a gurgling stomach.

“
Are we ready?” Nicolas asked.

As if in answer, the door across the hall opened and a young man stepped out. Without a word, he tripped down the stairs and burst through the leaded glass front door.

Leif stepped away from the apartment door and pushed it quietly shut. “That was him!” he whispered.

“
Who?” Nicolas paused, brow creased in consideration. “The man
Stafford
met with?”

“
Yes!” Leif glanced from Sydney to Vincent and back to Nicolas. “You do remember what I told you about that night?”

“
I do.” Nicolas rested his hand on Sydney’s back. “Let’s go on to breakfast. I need to ponder on this some.”

Leif opened their door at the same time Sam
Stafford
opened the other. Sam startled, his eyes rounded. “Hansen?”

“
Good morning, Mister
Stafford
.”

“
Wh—what are you doing here?” His eyes followed the departed man’s path.

“
We have taken these rooms to use while our presence in St. Louis is required,” Nicolas answered.

“
Oh?” Sam was not recovering from the surprise very well.

“
Our previous residence burned.”

Sam startled again. “Did it?”

“
Yes. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.” Nicolas narrowed his eyes. “Particularly surprised.”

Sam seemed to suddenly grasp Nicolas’s meaning. He straightened and puffed his chest out. “What are you suggesting, sir?”

“
Nothing that concerns you, I see.”

“
I should think not!” he blustered.

“
We were just on our way, so I’ll bid you good day.” Nicolas herded his group down the stairs.

“
Good day to you, sir.”

At the door, Nicolas turned back to address Sam. “Oh, and tell that young man—I apologize, I don’t recall his name—that we hope to see you both this evening at the Tulip Ball.”

Sam paled. He nodded.

Nicolas smiled and let the glass door slam shut behind him.



Dressed in an ice blue gown and wearing her garnet pendant, Sydney stood with Nicolas that evening, in her usual spot to his left. Leif stood just behind him on his right. As guest after guest came to greet the candidate, he introduced her and handed them to her to be charmed while he moved on to the next supplicant.

At least, that is how they appeared to her. Humbly and earnestly, they asked Nicolas how he felt about their special causes, then suggested what he might do to help, were he elected. Fawning at times, they obviously saw Nicolas as a man of power; one who might fulfill their dreams. Well, that was his goal, was it not?

Rickard and Bronnie would be here tonight. Rickard had come to St. Louis to talk, once again, to the lawyer, Nelson Ivarsen. Nicolas told Sydney that he also visited a few bankers. He was looking for any way out of the corner Lily had him painted into.

Tonight should be a respite for them
, Sydney thought as she grasped yet another hand and smiled warmly at the newest pair of strangers. Soon she heard Rickard’s voice.

He laughed and clasped Nicolas’s shoulder. “You are certainly popular this evening, brother! Look at the line I was forced to wait in!”

“
And to think, by this time tomorrow we shall reek of sheep’s musk!” Nicolas shook his friend’s hand. “I am glad you could come this evening.”

“
As am I. Bronnie deserves to see me smile, for a change.” Rickard slipped his hand around his wife’s waist. “You look beautiful this evening, Sydney.”

“
I love that dress,” Bronnie added. “It does wonderful things to the color of your eyes.”

“
Thank you, both. I am mostly pleased to see a familiar face!” Sydney said. “Please sit at our table later!”

“
Of course,” Bronnie agreed. “There is nowhere I’d rather be!”

When supper was served, the four friends discussed everything except Rickard’s success with Nelson Ivarsen. There was no point in asking, Sydney realized. If Rickard had good news, he would have mentioned it. And if he did not mention it, then they should but enjoy the evening and approach the matter another day.

Sydney needed to use the privy. The rich food tonight seemed to move through her quickly, and she was experiencing rather sharp gas pains. Embarrassed, she waited through the cramps for an unobtrusive moment to whisper her intent to Nicolas. He nodded and informed her it was out the left-hand door and to the left. When she stood, Bronnie gasped.

“
Sydney!” she cried, pointing at her chair. Sydney’s chair was soaked in blood.

Sydney twisted to see the back of her dress; the ice blue satin was streaked in bright red. She looked at Nicolas in shock. Blood ran down her legs and formed a growing pool at her feet.

“
Get a doctor!” Nicolas shouted to Vincent. “Quickly!”

“
No!” Sydney grabbed for his arm. “Get Annabelle Graham.”

Nicolas looked confused. “Who?”

“
Rosie’s midwife.” Sydney paused, frightened by the dangerous shift those words effected in her husband’s countenance. “She delivered Kirstie, remember?”

Nicolas deflated as though he had suffered a cannonball to his belly. Pale, and moving stiffly as an automaton, he instructed Vincent to find Rosie and Annabelle, and Leif to bring the carriage.

Rickard stepped forward and lifted Sydney in his arms. Without waiting for instructions, he carried her through the nearest door and away from the curiously horrified stares in the crowded ballroom. Bronnie followed close behind. Nicolas stumbled after them.

“
Which way?” Rickard asked.

Nicolas pushed past him and led the group to a side door. Leif was pulling the carriage up to the steps. Nicolas opened the door, and Rickard lifted Sydney inside. She lay down on the seat, and Nicolas climbed in after her.

Bronnie stuck her head in. “Shall we come to the apartment?”

Sydney glanced at Nicolas, white and still. “Yes, Bronnie. Please come. Rickard, too.”