A Matter of Principle (41 page)

“
Oh, no,” she replied. “I don’t believe we’d miss it one whit.”

April 27, 1822

St. Louis

A new building was being dedicated in the dock area of the city, an iron works to replace one that had burned. Beckermann had his hand in it, of course, so he was there singing his own praises. Vincent got wind of it, and made sure Nicolas was there to ‘congratulate’ his opponent.

Nicolas jumped up on the platform and grabbed Beckermann’s hand, lifted halfway in stunned surprise. Cheers and applause greeted his appearance. Beckermann paled, then his face turned an angry florid.

“
Well done, Winston!” Nicolas bellowed. His powerful bass voice carried easily over the crowd. “This building is a testimony to the unstoppable spirit of St. Louis County!”

Nicolas swung his arm wide to include the gathering. Glad to be acknowledged, they cheered again.

“
I am sure that my worthy opponent will join me in saying that nowhere can there be found a more resilient, dedicated, independent and capable population than the proud new state of Missouri in general, and the people of St. Louis in particular!” Nicolas shouted, beaming.

He still had Beckermann’s hand, preventing the man from turning to the crowd, or gesturing on his own.

Women pulled their husbands closer to get a clear view of the strapping blond god, with eyes the color of the evening sky, who addressed them with such enthusiasm.

“
As you all must know by now, I have been born and raised here,” Nicolas continued. He dropped Beckermann’s hand before the man suffered an apoplexy, and stepped to the front of the platform.

“
I have seen this land settled by men, and women, of the most amazing character! In all of my travels, to Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore and on through Europe, I never encountered anyone, be they royalty or politician, who exhibited the level of fortitude and entrepreneurship that I see in this! Very! City!”

The crowd went wild. They stomped, whistled and whooped. Nicolas let them go on a bit, waving his hands in an adorable self-deprecating manner and grinning sheepishly. Then he applauded them, driving them crazy once more.

When they began to quiet, he waved them to silence. Beckermann stepped forward to re-take their attention, and Nicolas flung his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders.

“
St. Louis, I give you Winston Beckermann, an elite businessman and wealthy dock owner, who has invested, once more, in this city’s economy!”

With that back-handed compliment, Nicolas moved to the edge of the stage. Winston cleared his throat to attempt some semblance of his speech, when Nicolas turned and waved good-bye to the crowd.

“
I’ll see you all at the fish fry!” he called cheerfully, and pointed toward stalls and tents on the docks. The aromas of wood fires and deep fryers wafted on a spring breeze. Several people began to move that way.

As Beckermann spoke, obviously thrown off his stride, more people drifted toward the food. Nicolas sat at a trestle table in the center, enjoying fried catfish from several stalls, and holding an impromptu contest. Vincent ran around, procuring more samples from vendors eager to ‘win.’

Sydney and Leif brought mugs of beer, and Sydney sat next to Nicolas. She laughed with him, wiped his chin, fed him an occasional bite, sampled some herself, and charmed the crowd with her warmth and beauty.

They were there for four hours. Nicolas ate more catfish than he thought possible, and washed it down with enough beer to toss the average man under the table. Question after question was thrown at him; some about his hopes and ideas, several about his character. Nicolas steeled himself and refused to become angry, even when baited by Sam Stafford.

“
Every man has moments—does he not?—when his innocent actions might be misinterpreted,” Nicolas replied, smiling at Sam, but pinning him with a glare. “I am certain you, yourself, have experienced such things.”

“
Well, I—”

“
I’m not a saint, Sam. That’s to be sure,” Nicolas interrupted. “But I strive to be honest at all times. What else is a man to do? What more can he offer his constituents?” Once again, Nicolas indicated the crowd around him. By that inference, he was already their representative.

Rumbles of support emanated from the men nearby. Sam stopped talking.

Nicolas was jubilant.

“
Today was exactly what I needed!” he effused, pacing around the apartment later, unable to hold still. “
Å min Gud!
What a glorious day!”

Nicolas was feeling the euphoria of the beer, the triumph over Beckermann, the support of the crowd, and the most beautiful and desirable woman a man could ever hope to call his wife.

“
That was magnificent!” Vincent pumped his hand in the air.

“
I thought Beckermann was going to explode!” Leif laughed, and pantomimed his head bursting, complete with canon sounds.

Nicolas bowed at the waist. “Thank you! Thank you, one and all! I could not have come this far without every one of you!”

Vincent, Sydney and Leif clapped for him.

“
And now,” Nicolas straightened. “If you gentlemen will excuse me?” He stepped to Sydney and lifted her off her feet, cradling her in his arms and causing her to yelp in surprise and throw her arms around his neck. “I shall take my wife to bed!”

“
Nicolas!” Sydney scolded, laughing.

“
As if they don’t understand such things,
min presang
!” he replied. He silenced any more protestations with a deep kiss, and pushed their bedroom door decidedly shut with his hip.

April 28, 1822

St. Louis

Nicolas wondered who fed him sawdust during the night; and why someone was now attempting to burn his eyelids. He rolled onto his side and felt his stomach trailing behind. His eyes popped open and he slid from the bed. He reached the chamber pot just in time.

Remnants of greasy fried fish were washed from his body on waves of yeasty fluid. The spasms continued long after his stomach was empty, sending surges of blood to his already aching head.

“
Å min Gud…
” he moaned, rolling to his side on the rug.

“
Good morning,” Sydney whispered. She laid a cool, damp cloth over his eyes.

“
What did I do to deserve this?” he mumbled.

“
You showed all of St. Louis what a down-to-earth man you are. You impressed them with your charms, and you made yourself one of them,” Sydney answered softly. “Only better.”

Nicolas felt the fabric of her shift and then the heat of her breasts against his back. Her lips brushed his cheek, in spite of his rough morning stubble.

“
And then you took your wife to bed, and loved her better than any mortal man has the right to,” she continued.

He smiled wanly. “I do remember that, madam. And quite well, make no mistake!” His hand groped for hers and he pulled her arm around him. “Lay here with me a bit?”

“
On the floor?” she teased, and bit his shoulder.

“
You had no qualms about the floor night before last, as I recall.”

“
Hmm.” Sydney hummed and curled around him. Her softness and warmth soothed his roiling insides and he dozed.

He felt much improved later, after both a light lunch of bread and a little cheese, and riding in the fresh air atop their carriage. The ride home to Cheltenham always lifted his spirits. And it had been a very successful trip, after all.

Vincent held the reins. Nicolas wanted him to learn to drive the team, and Vincent agreed. Mostly, Nicolas suspected, so he would not have to go on another horseback tour.

“
I still cannot say enough about yesterday,” Vincent effused. “The way you handled the crowd was brilliant! Simply brilliant!”

“
Thank you.”

“
Did you see the look on Beckermann’s face when you stepped up?”

“
I did.”

“
I tell you what, you won votes! Yes, sir, you did!” Vincent bounced on the seat. “You might have sealed the election with that one appearance!”

Nicolas raised one brow. “So I might live the next month in peace at home?”

Vincent laughed. “Well, I would not go quite that far! People have short memories and they might think you’ve died!”

“
I felt like it this morn, I can tell you,” Nicolas said. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his belly.

“
Perhaps… less beer next time?” Vincent suggested, grinning at his employer.

“
Less catfish.” Nicolas winked at him. “The beer was fine!”

April 29, 1822

Cheltenham

Nicolas opened the front door. Rickard stood on his front porch in the fading light; he looked horrible. “Rick? Come in man, what’s amiss?”

Sydney descended the stairs. “Rickard?”

His dull hazel eyes lifted to hers. “I need you, Sydney.”

“
What is happening?” Sydney hurried down the last few steps and took his elbow. “Come in and tell us.”

Nicolas pressed a glass of brandy into his friend’s hand as he sank onto the settle. Rickard gulped it, and let his hand fall to his lap. Sydney took the empty glass before he dropped it. She was alarmed by his coloring; he was nearly gray.

“
Rick?”

“
She’s losing it.”

“
Who?” Sydney pressed.

“
Lily.” He seemed incapable of compiling sentences. Even one word required effort.

“
Lily is losing the baby?” Sydney guessed.

He nodded.

“
How long has she been having pains?”

“
Yesterday.”

Sydney glanced in alarm at Nicolas. His eyes widened. “What time yesterday?” she asked evenly.

“
Midday. Late morning, I believe.”

Sydney glanced at the tall clock. It was nearing seven; over thirty hours. “Is anyone with her?”

“
Berta O’Shea,” Rickard moaned. “I begged her to call you instead. But she would not hear of it.”

Leif appeared in the doorway. “Anne says supper is ready.”

“
Leif, will you tell Anne I need to go to a birth?”

“
Should I get Taycie?” he asked, brightening at the possibility.

“
No, it’s Lily. I shall go there.”

“
Oh.” He slumped in disappointment. “Shall I tell Jack to saddle Sessa?”

“
No, I’ll drive her,” Nicolas spoke up. “Ask him to harness the team.”

“
What about supper?”

“
Ask her to pack us some food. I’ll eat on the way.” Leif disappeared and Sydney turned to Rickard. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head, no.

“
How did you get here?”

“
Horseback.”

“
Then you stay and eat. Join us afterwards.” Sydney stood.

Rickard grabbed her hand. “She’ll fight you, Sydney. So will Berta.”

Sydney smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. “I expect so.”

He gripped her hand harder. “I have lost one sister under that woman’s hand. I’ll not lose another!”

Sydney knelt in front of him. “I will do all that I can, Rickard. I promise. I have no desire to see Lily come to harm, no matter how she has behaved.”

Rickard swiped at his eyes. “God bless you, Sydney.”

Chapter Thirty One

April 29, 1822

Cheltenham

Bronnie met Sydney at the front door. Taycie was right behind her.

“
Thank you for coming.” Bronnie embraced her.

“
I would have come sooner, if I had known,” Sydney said.

“
She wouldn’t let us summon you, Sydney!” Bronnie led her toward the stairs. “Rickard finally put his foot down. He shouted at Lily that he was going to get you and he didn’t care what she said!”

“
When did her pains begin?”

“
Late yesterday morning. And her water broke last night, perhaps around midnight.”

“
How far along is she?” Sydney knew Bronnie would know better than Rickard.

“
She says less than six months.” Bronnie gave Sydney a look. “She claims Nicolas is the father, remember, and she only came here in October.”

Nicolas burst through the front door. He looked at the women on the stairs. “What shall I do?”

“
Wait here for Rickard,” Sydney suggested.

“
Where is Sir Ezra?”

“
Here.” The older man strolled out of the dining room holding a cup and saucer. “Good evening, Mister Hansen, Mistress Hansen.”

“
Sir Ezra.” Nicolas dipped his chin.

Ezra waved one hand toward the dining room. “Would you care for coffee?”

“
Go ahead, Nicolas,” Sydney interjected. “I’m going up.”

Nicolas nodded. Sydney and Taycie followed Bronnie up the stairs.