A Visit From Sir Nicholas (9 page)

"You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.

"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.

—
A Christmas Carol
, Charles Dickens,

Christmas

Present December 1853

"I wondered if you were ever going to return home." Frederick puffed on his cigar and studied his nephew. "It has been a very long time."

"Nonsense." Nick settled deeper into the library chair that matched his uncle's, a glass of excellent brandy in one hand, a fine cigar in the other. "Why I was here a mere four years ago." Frederick snorted. "Scarcely worth mentioning, I'd say. You were in London for no more than a handful of days. Barely long enough to attend your own investiture."

Sir Nicholas grinned. "Who would have imagined the furtherance of steam transport between England and North America would be considered service to the crown."

"Business is exceedingly important in this day and age, and Her Majesty knows it. While the significance of that visit is not diminished by its brevity, to my mind, it scarcely counts." Frederick aimed his cigar at the younger man. "Ten years is an exceptionally long time to remain away."

"Not at all. At least, not in the way in which the world judges time." Nick shrugged. "It's all relative, Uncle. As history goes, a decade is a mere blink of an eye."

"Well, in my history, it's been a bloody long time." Frederick's voice softened. "I have missed you, my boy. It is good to have you home."

"It is good to be home." Nick's tone matched his uncle's.

He sipped his brandy, the mellow warmth of the liquor matching the equally comfortable warmth of his mood. He would not have believed it when he'd left ten long years ago, but he'd missed London and this house and this man more than he had thought possible. This was the only real home he had ever known, and he'd had no idea it meant so much to him until he was no longer here.

Aside from a bit more gray on his uncle's head, nothing had really changed. The library, indeed all of Thornecroft House, was exactly as he remembered. Even the disarray in this particular room appeared untouched, although Nick suspected that in the last decade, Mrs. Smithers had surely managed regular, if surreptitious, cleanings. Still, the look, even the scents of beeswax and cigars and times long past were exactly as he'd remembered when he'd closed his eyes at the end of a day. This was the very essence of comfort and belonging and home and precisely what he had missed in those endless years alone. It was indeed exceedingly good to be back.

"You have made quite a name for yourself, Nick." The older man's eyes glowed with pride. "Why, I don't know of a single person in all of London who isn't aware of the fortune you've made or the success you've achieved."

Nick laughed. "And no doubt I can credit you for that."

"Perhaps." A gruff note sounded in Frederick's voice, and Nick bit back a smile. It was obvious that his uncle had made it a point of trumpeting Nick's financial triumphs through the years. "I see no reason to keep your success a secret, especially as you have made me a far wealthier man in the process." Frederick grinned. "And I am most appreciative."

"It's the least I could do, Uncle. After all, you gave me the funds to start with."

"Nonetheless, you've worked tirelessly, and you've earned everything you have."

"Even the notoriety?"

"There's nothing particularly distasteful about notoriety of an affirmative nature. You've become extremely successful, and the world, at least the rarefied, refined world of London society, should be aware of it. I don't mind telling you that the notion that the only honorable wealth is that which has been in a family for generations is complete and utter nonsense. We should applaud man's ingenuity rather than his ability to outlive wealthy relations. I'm damnably proud of you, Sir Nicholas, and I don't give a fig who knows it."

"Thank you, Uncle." Nick raised his glass. "I will confess," he flashed a grin, "I'm rather proud of myself."

"As well you should be." Frederick nodded and returned the salute. Nick had indeed earned his success. What he had been able to locate of his father's investments, given James's random record keeping, had proved worthless. Nick's own ventures into shipping and exporting had produced a steady profit with equally steady, but only moderate, growth. It was when he'd invested and then become a partner in a new steamship line to transport not only goods but also passengers that his fortune had truly been made.

Steam-powered ships crossed the Atlantic from England to America in a mere eleven days rather than the thirty-five or more required for a crossing by sail. The combination of speed and novelty had proved irresistible to a public eager for a faster, more convenient, and, ultimately, economical means of travel and transport from one continent to another.

"I had rather thought you might return for good three years ago," Fredrick said casually. "When Lord Langley died."

Nick raised a brow. "Now, why would I do that, Uncle?"

Frederick shrugged. "As I said, it was just a thought."

Charles's unexpected demise in a carriage accident had been both a shock and a tragedy. He'd left not only a wife but two young sons. Nick had mourned the loss of his old friend and regretted the years apart. In spite of his words to the contrary, he had indeed considered returning to London, but to what end? To console Charles's widow? Charles's friendship alone deserved more than that. Nick's loyalty to his childhood companion did not end with his death. Besides, Elizabeth was surrounded by family and friends, and he would have been nothing more than an unwelcome interloper. Nick had avoided both Charles and Elizabeth on his brief visit home, and given their parting, he could not imagine Elizabeth greeting him upon the death of her beloved husband with anything less than disdain. Indeed, he might not have returned now had it not been for a letter from her brother.

"I wasn't certain you even knew of his death."

"As his solicitor located me in America through your solicitor and as you mentioned Charles's death in your letters, I could hardly avoid knowing," Nick said wryly. "Still, correspondence goes astray."

"Jonathon wrote me as well when it happened." Nick blew a long breath. "I could scarce believe it then and even now find it difficult to accept. I had not seen Charles in years, yet I do miss him. I had always assumed he, Jonathon, and I would be friends in our dotage just as we had been in our youth. I shall miss that as well." Nick's thoughts drifted back to his younger days and the golden-haired boy with the generous nature who had befriended him. "Friends one can count on are rare in this world.

"However," Nick pulled himself firmly back to the present and fixed Frederick with a steady gaze, "at the moment, Uncle, let us not talk of the past but of the here and now. Since my arrival last night, we have spoken of nothing but me. My life and travels and adventures. Surely, the years have not stood still for you?"

"Would that they would have, but the years march on inexorably, etching themselves in the lines on my face and the gray upon my head." Frederick heaved an overly dramatic sigh. "I am growing old even as we speak. I shall soon be doddering and inept and require a nursemaid simply to feed me."

"Come now, your fate is not that dire." Nick laughed. "Why, you are the very picture of health."

"Only at the moment, my boy." Frederick's voice was grim, but a twinkle shone in his eye. "One should be prepared for the future. I already have my eye on a nursemaid who would prove most… efficient."

"Oh?" Nick drew his brows together in concern. "Is there something you haven't told me? Are you ill, Uncle?"

"Not today, but tomorrow… It is always wise to be prepared." Frederick leaned back in his chair and blew a smoke ring that hovered in the air for a moment before fading away to oblivion. "For example, this nursemaid I mentioned would need a fair amount of training. Her current position does not demand the skills I should require. Or perhaps," he smiled wickedly, "it does. I daresay, in many ways, she might be well versed in the care of older gentlemen such as myself."

Nick stared for a moment, then grinned. "She is on the stage then?" Frederick nodded. "The woman has the most magnificent pair of…" He cleared his throat. "Legs. For a nursemaid, that is."

"Of course." Nick's grin broadened. "For a nursemaid."

"Or a goddess." Frederick chuckled and flicked the ash of his cigar in the general direction of the ever-present saucer. Inevitably the ashes drifted to the floor.

Nick laughed. "It is good to know some things never change."

"You, however, are not the same man who left here a decade ago." Nick aimed his cigar at his uncle. "That, Frederick, was the whole purpose of my departure."

"I am not speaking of wealth or success." Frederick studied him for a moment. "I see a marked difference in your manner."

"Older and wiser I should hope."

"As do we all, but that's not what I mean." Frederick considered him thoughtfully. "Ten years ago, even on your last visit, you would not have sat calmly in your seat without fidgeting or leaping up to pace the room. You are far less restless than you once were. There is a distinct air of calm about you."

"I have conquered my doubts, the demons of uncertainty that have long haunted me, if you will." Nick's voice was casual, as if his words were of no consequence—and perhaps, at this point in time, they weren't.

Nick had always known it was important to him to succeed where his father had failed, but he'd never quite understood how deep that desire was until he had achieved success. It was as if with success came peace. "Indeed, one could call me satisfied with my life. Even content."

"As admirable as that is, there is more to life than the accumulation of wealth. Or at least there should be," Frederick said. "A man needs a wife and an heir to make his life truly complete."

"Yet I see you are no closer to marriage now than you were a decade ago."

"And I freely admit there is an element lacking in my life that I regret rather more often than I should like to acknowledge. However, I am not dead yet." Frederick's voice was cool. "I confess I have kept my eye on a lovely young widow of late."