A Visit From Sir Nicholas (41 page)

"No." In truth, she'd seen no less than a dozen female guests who could conceivably have come from the library, but she'd been too intent on her own purpose to pay heed to any one of them beyond a murmured exchange of greeting and a practiced smile.

"I see." Jonathon's expression fell, and Elizabeth studied him curiously. There was something about the look in his eyes that indicated this might well be more than simply another Christmas Eve encounter. This would bear further examination at a later point. At the moment, she had her own
tryst
to arrange.

"Have you seen Nicholas?"

"Nicholas?" Jonathon said absently, still staring down the passageway.

"Yes," she snapped. She had no time at the moment to waste on one of Jonathon's amorous intrigues.

"Nicholas Collingsworth? Sir Nicholas? Your dear old friend?"

"Yes, of course." Jonathon cast one last, longing look, then slipped something hidden in his hand into his waistcoat pocket. At any other time, that gesture would have piqued Elizabeth's curiosity, but not at the moment. He heaved a sigh and turned toward his sister.

"Well? Have you seen him?"

"Briefly. In this very room actually, not more than half an hour ago." Her brother narrowed his gaze. "I gather you and he had words."

"You could say that." She shook her head. "We haven't spoken since, and I had hoped, no, I intend to speak with him tonight."

Jonathon considered her for a thoughtful moment. "He's leaving, you know."

"What?" Panic raised her voice. "What do you mean leaving? Leaving London?" He nodded. "He was inquiring about train schedules."

"Train schedules? To where? When?"

"I don't recall."

"Think, Jonathon! Where is he going and when?"

"Damn it all, Lizzie, I am thinking." Jonathon drew his brows together. "I had other things on my mind, you know."

"It wasn't Southampton, was it?" Her heart stilled. "He has ships docked at Southampton. He's not going back to America, is he?"

"I don't remember." Jonathon shrugged helplessly. "It's a possibility, I suppose. Southampton has the right sound to it."

For a moment, fear rooted her to the floor, then resolve rushed through her. "Absolutely not. I won't allow it."

"
You
won't allow it?" Jonathon raised a brow. "How do
you
intend to stop it?"

"I have no idea, but I will. And if I can't." She set her jaw in determination. "I shall go with him or I shall follow him. I shall take the boys and we shall all go after him."

A grin broke over her brother's face. "Will you indeed?"

"Yes, I will." She started toward the door. "And do try to do something about that I-knew-it-all-along smirk of yours. It's not the least bit becoming."

"The satisfaction isn't in its appearance." Jonathon's grin widened, if possible. "But its significance."

"I don't doubt that."

"Wait, Lizzie." He grabbed her arm. "You stay here, I'll find him for you. I failed you ten years ago. I should have stopped Nicholas then. For you." He smiled and met her gaze. "Allow me the privilege of doing so now."

"Jonathon." She swallowed hard. "There are moments when you, well, you can really be quite a wonderful brother."

"I am a saint," he said in a most unsaintly manner. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. "I shall locate Nicholas and drag him back to you."

She frowned. "If you have to drag him—"

He sighed. "I daresay it's ten years too late for pride, Lizzie."

"Oh, it's not a question of pride. At least not mine. I simply don't want him hurt." She grinned. "Not overly, that is."

"I shall do my best." He waved a salute and started out the door. "By the way," he called over his shoulder. "That package on the desk is for you. From Nicholas."

She glanced at the desk and her smile faded. Slowly, she crossed the room, her gaze fixed on the small, fabric-wrapped package. In size and shape it looked like a book.

Her breath caught.

She stared at it for an endless moment. Or a lifetime. Or simply a decade.
Lizzie turned to the paper on the desk, thought for a moment, then penned a few lines. She sat
back and studied them. Personal, but not too personal. Affectionate, but not overly so. One could
read her words in any number of ways depending on the reader's own feelings. Yes, it would do.
She reached for the gift, noting and ignoring the tremble in her hand. The catch in her throat.
She'd been lucky to find one still available. The bookseller said they could well be sold out entirely
before Christmas. She opened the small volume, drew a deep breath, then carefully wrote the
decided-upon lines on the flyleaf and waited for the ink to dry.

Elizabeth pulled off the ribbon, knowing even before she drew off the fabric what would be revealed.
It was the perfect Christmas gift for a man she might or might not love. A man who might or
might not love her. The perfect gift for an old family friend about to embark on endless travels or
someone who might well be very much more than a friend.

It was not exactly as she remembered. The gilt was nearly worn from the cover. The corners were rubbed and bumped. In appearance, it looked a book that had been well read, even loved. A book that had not merely been opened once a year for a Christmas story but paged through often throughout the years with affection and remembrance and love.

Elizabeth opened the book gently and stared at the sentiment she had written so long ago.
May this token keep memories of home and the spirit of Christmas always in your heart.
Yours fondly,

Elizabeth

And beneath her words, other lines had been added.

You're always in my heart.

Forever
,

Nicholas

The writing on the page blurred. The back of her throat ached, and tears fogged her eyes.

"I did not intend for you to open that yet," Nicholas's quiet voice sounded from the doorway.

"Why?" She sniffed hard and looked up at him. "Did you prefer that I wait until after you had gone?"

"No," he said slowly.

"Well, I won't permit it." At once the fear that had lodged in her heart the moment she'd seen the book was dashed aside by determination fueled by anger. "Not this time. Not again."

"You won't?" He stepped into the room cautiously and closed the door behind him.

"Absolutely not." She waved the book at him. "I am a far cry from the girl who wrote this."

"Are you?" He moved closer.

"Indeed, I am. I have no doubts as to my abilities or my competency or, for that matter, what I want!"

"And what do you want?" A slight hint of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. She stared in disbelief. "You think this is amusing?"

He nodded in a somber manner that didn't fool her for a moment. "Possibly."

"How could you?" She glared. "I am trying to tell you that I shall not allow you to vanish from my life once more. And if you insist on leaving England, on fleeing,
again
, I shall go with you. Or failing that, I shall follow you. All the way to America, if need be."

"Really?" He raised a brow and stepped nearer, close enough to touch. Or to grab tight. Or to throttle.

"To America?"

"Yes." She stared up at him and held her breath. "Is that where you're going then? To America?" He studied her curiously. "Why do you think I'm going anywhere, let alone to America?" She searched his dark eyes and couldn't read a thing save that annoying glimmer of amusement. Surely, if he were really leaving her… "Jonathon told me."

"He did?"

She nodded. "He told me you were inquiring about train schedules."

"Trains don't run to America."

"I know that." She grit her teeth. "But they do run to Southampton and some of your ships depart to America from there and—" Elizabeth drew her brows together. "You're not going to Southampton?"

"I rather expect I shall make regular trips to Southampton in the future, but I have no immediate plans to do so."

"Then where are you going?"

"Birmingham."

"Birmingham?" She stared in confusion. "There are no ships in Birmingham."

"Which works out nicely, as there are no ship docks."

"Then you're not leaving England? You're not going to America?"

"Not any time soon, no."

"Jonathon led me to believe…" She narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore appealing images of her brother running for his very life.

Nicholas chuckled. "Jonathon is a very good friend, and I shall have to thank him."

"If he lives that long," she muttered. "I can't believe he said, or rather he led me to think… it scarcely matters at the moment, I suppose."

"He told me you were here and you wished to speak to me." Nicholas's dark gaze met hers. "Fortuitous, as I wished to speak with you as well."

"Indeed, I do. I—" She drew a deep breath. "You were right."

"I was wrong," he blurted at precisely the same moment.

Her eyes widened and she brushed aside her own comment. "You were?"

"Indeed, I was." He nodded. "I have given this a great deal of thought. The past cannot be changed. Charles is dead, and there is no conceivable way to answer the questions you have about his actions and his emotions."

"There isn't?" she said slowly.

"No." His manner was firm.

She studied him closely. "I suspect his mistress could probably tell me a great deal. Possibly lay any curiosity I might have to rest."

"Perhaps, but as you said, she did not sign her name to her letters. Therefore you have no way to find her. Besides," he paused to choose his words, "I think there is every possibility, regardless of what you might think now, or indeed what I thought, that what you may discover could hurt you deeply. I scarcely think the peace you might derive is worth whatever pain you might suffer." She stared at him for a long, astonished moment. He knew full well that Teddy had been the woman in Charles's life, yet he wasn't going to tell her. In spite of his theory that said knowledge would ease her mind and possibly even smooth the difficulties between the two of them, he was going to keep this from her because he feared it might hurt her.

Ten years ago he had made a decision at the price of his own happiness because he'd thought it was best for her. Now, he was doing exactly the same thing for precisely the same reason and with a similar cost attached. In the back of her mind, Elizabeth noted that she should be furious that he had once again made a decision that would dramatically affect her life, yet oddly she wasn't the least bit angry. Instead a lovely sense of joy washed through her and a bit of awe as well that he could love her so much as to be willing to do whatever was necessary to keep her from being hurt.

"I see." She nodded thoughtfully. "Still, you said you would not pay for another man's sins."

"Oh, I have no intention of doing so, yet I do realize, given our own past, that I may have to continue to earn your trust over time. I shall endeavor to do so."

"Will you?" Her solemn smile belied the sheer happiness that bubbled up inside her.

"Indeed I will. However," his voice was firm, "I will not abandon old friends, nor will I promise never to cast an appreciative eye at another woman."

"As long as your eye is all you cast." She reached out and trailed her fingers lightly along the lapel of his coat.

He caught her hand. "I can agree to that."

"You should be aware, though," she drew a deep breath, "I suspect I will be jealous of every appreciative look you cast and all such looks cast in your direction. I shall try not to be a shrew about it, but I am fairly confident that it has nothing whatsoever to do with Charles and everything to do with how I feel about you."

"And how do you feel about me?" He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. She shivered with delight and anticipation. "I thought I made my feelings perfectly clear the other night."

"Tell me again." He fairly growled the words and pulled her tight into his arms. She raised her chin and looked squarely into his eyes, as intense and smoldering now as they had been when she'd first gazed into them. First wondered what it would be like to be in his arms. In his life. For the rest of her days. "You are now, and have always been, my love. My grand passion."

"And you…" He leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers. "… are my madness."

"Grand?"

"Exceedingly grand," he murmured, and his lips met hers in a kiss that held the grandest of promises for this Christmas and all the Christmases to come.

Without warning he drew back and stared down at her. "I have reconsidered." She drew her brows together. "Reconsidered what?"

"In regards to our partnership, marriage, that is, after a great deal of thought—" She grinned. "Due consideration?"

"Exactly." He nodded. "I am willing to offer you forty percent, but I can go no higher."

"Oh, but I think you can." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I shall take no less than forty-nine."

"Forty-nine? Which leaves me only fifty-one percent? Exceedingly bad business practice, Elizabeth." He shook his head, then shrugged. "Agreed." He grinned. "And to seal this agreement—" His lips claimed hers once more, and Elizabeth noted this was much better than a mere handshake or a written contract. Love for this man surged through her, and she knew it was in equal measure on both sides. And wondered as well if it was truly necessary to return to the ball, or could they—

Abruptly she drew back and stared at him. "Why are you going to Birmingham?" He laughed. "Mr. Dickens is to do his first ever public reading of
A Christmas Carol
in Birmingham in a few days. I have arranged admissions, and I thought you, and Christopher and Adam, of course, would enjoy it."

"Nicholas." She swallowed hard. "That's wonderful of you."

"I am a saint," he said modestly.

"St. Nicholas?" She raised a brow. "Father Christmas?"

"There's a distinct resemblance," he said in a lofty manner, then sobered. "Elizabeth, you first gave me Mr. Dickens's story of second chances on Christmas Eve. It seems only fitting that I give you his words as he truly meant them to be read."