A Matter of Principle (12 page)

“
I am quite satisfied with the day,” he continued. “Renting an apartment in St. Louis was a brilliant suggestion.”

“
I know that I’ll worry about you less,” Sydney said. “The six hour ride from Cheltenham to St. Charles shan’t haunt me now!” Sydney drained her glass.

Nicolas poured more from the bottle. “Well, that’s only if I am elected. In the time between, I shall be available for the myriad balls, plays and testimonial dinners Vincent has lined up for me here in St. Louis.”

Sydney smiled at the mention of the earnest young secretary Rickard found for Nicolas. In his late twenties and well-educated, Vincent Barr had recently left his politically connected family in Chicago in order to make his own way. His experience would—they hoped—be invaluable.

“
He’s efficient, this is most assuredly true. He has already given me a copy of your plans so that I may know when to be at your side, smiling and supportive!”

Nicolas leaned toward her. “No one but you,
min presang
.” He kissed her with his eyes only half open.

“
Husband, I fear this afternoon was not enough for you!” Sydney giggled and swallowed another mouthful of the sparkling wine.

“
Never!” he growled, grinning.

“
Might I take sustenance first, you insatiable lout?” she teased.

“
Careful!” he teased back, his navy eyes landing on the inhabitants of nearby tables. “Now that I am about to be a public figure, vying for the trust and confidence of the good people of Missouri, a misspoken word might spell my political doom!”

Small plates were set in front of Sydney, then Nicolas. Tiny boiled crustacean tails, stripped of their shells, swam in garlic and melted butter.

“
What is this?” she asked.

“
It’s the newest thing, called an ‘appetizer.’ It is intended to stimulate one’s desire to eat,” Nicolas explained. “Vincent told me about it.”

Sydney sniffed appreciatively before spearing one tail with a small fork and lifting it, dripping, to her mouth.

“
Mmm, this is wonderful!” She speared another tail.

Nicolas popped two into his mouth. “Very good, indeed.”

“
Was your quest at the
Enquirer
successful?”

“
Yes, but for a pretty price.” Nicolas used his napkin to wipe butter from his chin. “If I desire the newspaper in Cheltenham everyday, I shall need to pay a messenger to make the trip each morning. Otherwise, they can be sent by post, but will arrive a day or so later.”

Sydney tilted her head in consideration. “I would think it might be worth the money to have them brought.”

“
I agree. And so will my committee, I’ll wager. Ashton, especially. That vulture is ravenous for news!”

“
And eager to share it when it’s bad!” Sydney remembered the near-brawls Ashton Caldecott’s outspoken views had sparked at various Cheltenham events.

Nicolas chewed his last fresh-water shrimp, talking with his mouth full. “The editor told me they had begun covering the candidates and asked me if I had been contacted.”

“
Have you been?”

He swallowed. “No. But there was an article about me, nonetheless. He was kind enough to cobble together a stack of recent issues for me to bring home. We can see what’s been said thus far.”

“
This might prove to be quite entertaining!” Sydney grinned over the rim of her glass.

“
And your morning with Rosie?” Nicolas was slowly coming to grips with his wife’s friendship with his former whore.

Sydney finished her champagne, again, and Nicolas refilled it.

“
She’s buying the brothel.”

“
What?” Nicolas stopped in mid-pour, the lip of the bottle hovering over her glass. “How?”

“
It seems she is good with money.” Sydney smiled wickedly, one eyebrow arched. “
Also
.” She tipped the neck of the bottle down with one finger.

“
Well, I’ll be.” Nicolas shook his head and set the champagne back in its bucket. “Good for her.”

“
When will you tell Leif he’s to be your valet during this adventure?” Sydney asked. She swirled the wine and watched the bubbles rise in a drunken circle.

“
When he opens his Christmas gift, I reckon.” Nicolas purchased a razor, strop, cup and brush for the teenager. His appetizer gone, Nicolas bit into a crusty roll.

“
And you will give him shaving lessons before you let him loose, won’t you?” Sydney prodded.

Nicolas grinned. “For the sake of my own throat, I certainly shall!”

“
When is your first soiree, husband?” Sydney held out her glass for another refill.

Nicolas obliged. “New Year’s Day, here in St. Louis.”

Sydney tilted her crystal glass toward him, almost spilling. “To you, husband. May all of Missouri see how wonderfully marvelous you are!”

“
I’ll settle for the majority of St. Louis County!” Nicolas grabbed her hand and sipped from her glass. “Do you like the champagne?”

“
I like you.” Sydney smiled, enjoying the warmth that suffused her. She felt relaxed, happy, and without a care in the world.

The small appetizer plates were cleared away. Thick steaks arrived, seared on the outside and deep pink on the inside, escorted by slender stalks of asparagus and rotund baked potatoes. Sydney made a valiant attempt, but there was too much food for her. Nicolas’s plate was stripped bare.

When cups of strong coffee and berry tarts with custard took their turn on the white linen stage, Sydney leaned back and eyed Nicolas suspiciously. He spooned a large mouthful.

“
Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“
If you don’t want to eat it, you needn’t do so.” He took a second bite.

Sydney lifted one corner of her mouth. “You want my dessert, don’t you?”

“
No!” he protested. “Unless… You’re sure you’re not going to eat it?”

“
Ha!” Sydney drained her champagne, setting the empty glass firmly on the table. “So you admit it!”

“
I admit to nothing!” Nicolas switched their plates, laughing. “I am honorable, honest and…” He paused. “What was the other word Rickard told me to use?”

Sydney leaned close and gripped his manhood under the tablecloth. “Horny?”

Nicolas spit tart crumbs across the table.

Chapter Nine

December 4, 1821

St. Louis

Nicolas Hansen is a rural land-grant owner in the small township of Cheltenham, ten miles southwest of St. Louis. Of Norwegian descent, Mr. Hansen was born in Cheltenham in 1787. He was educated in the eastern states and, unlike his opponent, the Honorable Winston Beckermann, has no previous experience in the political realm.

Mr. Hansen’s first wife died as a result of childbirth, giving him a son, now eight years of age. He remarried, to a divorcée, in December, 1819. A second child, a daughter, was born to him in January of 1820.

Skitt.
Nicolas folded the December 4
^th
newspaper and laid it on the nightstand. He gripped a tumbler of brandy and downed it, setting the empty glass on the periodical where it left a damp ring.

And so it began.

He swung from the bed and relieved himself in the chamber pot. Turning down the lamp, he slid back between the hotel’s meticulously starched sheets. Sydney stirred and turned away from him with a soft, humming sigh. He curled around her, his face pressed against her dark, rose-scented hair.

Nothing that was printed was untrue. And it was all public record, what with the marriage, death, divorce and birth certificates being filed with the county recorder. And there was no way for the columnist to know about his political experiences in Christiania, unless he was directly asked.

Which he wasn’t.

That was a problem.

Did this bode ill for the future of his campaign? Was the
Enquirer’s
editor—what was his name? VanDoren?—likely to print whatever was given him? Nicolas’s gut clenched; he knew the answer.
Whatever sold papers.

His path became clear to him.

“
If I am to do this thing, I must do it honestly,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath moist in Sydney’s tresses. “God in Heaven, give me strength to face what comes.”

December 19, 1821

Cheltenham

Nicolas threw the covers from him and sat up with a start, heart pounding and filmed with sweat. Sydney was not next to him. He remembered that she was called out to a birth.

He’d had the strangest dream.

He was in the yard outside with the mermaid statue he left with Gunnar. The mermaid was lying in the grass and he straddled it. His hands caressed her wooden breasts. Somehow she opened, and he pushed inside of her, thrusting until he climaxed. It was so real.

‘
Wood’ into wood,
he thought.
How ironic
. He had not had dreams like this since he was a teen. He felt the sheets, palms skimming the smooth cotton in search of his emission. Nothing. They were dry. That was unexpected; his prick tingled like he had peaked.

The bedroom door opened. In the pale quarter-moon light, Nicolas saw Sydney’s trim figure step into the room. She set her bag on the floor and started to undress.

“
Welcome back,
min presang
,” he said quietly.

“
I’m sorry, Nicolas. Did I wake you?” she whispered.

“
No. I—simply woke up.”

Sydney left her clothes on the floor and retrieved her nightgown from the foot of the bed. She climbed under the blankets and slid close to Nicolas. Her skin was cold from her winter’s night outing. He curled around her.

“
Did it go well?” he asked, face pressed in her hair.

“
Yes. A girl. Big and strong.” Sydney sighed. “Taycie is doing so well, I believe she might soon be able to handle a birth on her own.” She placed his hand against her breast, pushed her bottom against his groin. She yawned loudly. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d take randy advantage of you, husband.”

Oddly, his body did not respond.

December 25, 1821

Not a bit of snow had fallen for weeks; the frozen earth was brown and brittle. Christmas morning’s sun nudged over the horizon, jailed by the forest’s bare trunks and black branches. Nicolas and Jeremy wrestled the frost-dampened Yule log through the front door and into the drawing room’s fireplace. Addie was already in the kitchen, teaching Anne how to make rice pudding, and the
pinnekjøtt
, the traditional Norwegian dish of salted lamb ribs which Nicolas had grown up with.

Stefan tumbled down the stairs, Leif in noisy tow.

“
Did
Julenisse
come?” he shouted.

“
Sh!” Nicolas frowned. “There are a few civilized inhabitants of this estate who choose to rise at a respectable hour! Namely your
Mamma
and Kirstie!”

“
Sorry,
Pappa
,” Stefan whispered loudly. “But this time he didn’t come while we were at church!”

He couldn’t have. At last evening’s midnight church service, all eleven members of the Hansen estate were in attendance. Filling two pews, their multi-racial presence had offended some of the attendees. But Pastor Mueller, keenly attuned to his mostly Lutheran flock—and fully aware of Nicolas’s iron convictions—managed to work a few relevant scriptures into his sermon reminding the congregants that the Sweet Baby Jesus was born to save
everyone
.

“
It was a very busy night for him, to be sure!” Nicolas struck his flint and sparked the tinder under the log. “But there are some odd items here that weren’t here before.”

He put out his hand and stopped his eager son’s advance. “We’ll open the gifts after breakfast.”

“
Why,
Pappa
?” Stefan’s gaze all but cut through the wrappings.

“
Because your
Mamma
will want to watch,” Nicolas explained.

“
Please?”

“
No.” Nicolas went back to lighting the log.

“
But—”

“
If you ask me again, I shall give all your gifts to Leif!” Nicolas threatened. He leaned over and blew on the fledgling flame he succeeded in starting.

“
Come on,” Leif said, pulling Stefan’s shirt. “I’m hungry.”

“
You’re always hungry!” Stefan countered, padding down the hall after the older boy.