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Authors: K.A. Mitchell
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Nicky just this morning.
He considered dragging them by their ears back to the nursery, but he was feeling a considerable
amount of charity toward all mankind this morning, though it resulted more from how he had spent the
night than from the joyful Christmas season. Besides, he was owed a respite from listening to everyone decry that it was by far the coldest winter England had ever seen, following hard on a bleak summer. If he heard one more suggestion of impending doom for all humankind, he was likely to lose his head.
Dickie, older by several hours, immediately offered up a denial. “Nurse said as long as we stayed on
the upper floors—”
Robbie gave him a sharp elbow. “Shut it. Annie told us we may.”
Their sister Anna had mothered them as best she could when Mother failed to recover from birthing
them. Nicky supposed he felt an awkward affection for them, but they had been born when he was at
school, and his first memory of them was a jumble of burial, christening, condolences and mourning. He remembered little of it except that it had been the first time he’d ever seen his father cry.
He knew less of his brothers than he did most of the guests at the party. With himself at school and
then in Town, Nicky scarcely saw his brothers, would see even less of them now that they were going away to school.
Robbie’s question came out in an awed whisper. “Is it true Weatherby just lost two thousand at
hazard?”
“Probably.” Without any outdoor pursuits, stakes were edging higher. If this weather did not let up,
half the guests would be in dun territory.
“I wonder if his wife knows,” Dickie said.
“I wonder what he’d pay to be sure she doesn’t,” Robbie added.
At first his brothers’ enterprising natures were a source of pride tempered with concern over exactly
what their tutor had been covering, but a sudden shock of alarm sent Nicky’s bonhomie cowering. “How on earth did you hear that? Not from Anna, I’ll wager.”
“There’s that spot on—ow!” Dickie’s answer was again foreshortened, this time by a hard stomp on
his instep.
But Nicky was able to finish the sentence. There was a disused medieval privy in the tower, and
depending on how close one stood to the wall, it was possible to hear conversations from the north end of the gallery and the hall. Sweet Christ. If they’d been out early Christmas morning they might have heard him and Ian in the gallery.
The gallery wouldn’t be used until New Year’s Eve, and Nicky would remember to hold any future
tête-à-têtes elsewhere. In the meantime, perhaps he could discourage the budding blackmailers. Disused or 40
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An Improper Holiday
not, it took a certain willingness to disregard the lingering odor of its prior incarnation to make use of it as a listening post.
“Ahhh.” Nicky wrinkled his nose. “That’s what I smell. Best change or Nurse will think you still need
swaddling.”
They ran off, though Nicky suspected they would find their way back—or happen on another method
of subterfuge. If he weren’t trying to secure his future happiness, he would have applauded their ingenuity.
But when he thought of what was at stake, all he could manage was to swallow back a cold lump of dread.
~ * ~
Nicky had good reason to be wary of his brothers’ skills at reconnoitre when Ian herded Nicky into
the gallery from the Gold Salon. In deference to Ian’s temper, Nicky had avoided Julian’s company all day, and while that might have kept the peace, Nicky’s head ached from a day of feminine chatter and the attar of too many different massacred flowers.
He wished Ian’s sudden desire to converse intimately was born of passion, but it was born instead of
his sister’s perverse sense of humor. Charlotte had been at her worst, simpering as she asked Nicky to fetch her a cup of rack punch, and then to engage in minute adjustments of the fire screen to suit her comfort.
Each of her
He considered dragging them by their ears back to the nursery, but he was feeling a considerable
amount of charity toward all mankind this morning, though it resulted more from how he had spent the
night than from the joyful Christmas season. Besides, he was owed a respite from listening to everyone decry that it was by far the coldest winter England had ever seen, following hard on a bleak summer. If he heard one more suggestion of impending doom for all humankind, he was likely to lose his head.
Dickie, older by several hours, immediately offered up a denial. “Nurse said as long as we stayed on
the upper floors—”
Robbie gave him a sharp elbow. “Shut it. Annie told us we may.”
Their sister Anna had mothered them as best she could when Mother failed to recover from birthing
them. Nicky supposed he felt an awkward affection for them, but they had been born when he was at
school, and his first memory of them was a jumble of burial, christening, condolences and mourning. He remembered little of it except that it had been the first time he’d ever seen his father cry.
He knew less of his brothers than he did most of the guests at the party. With himself at school and
then in Town, Nicky scarcely saw his brothers, would see even less of them now that they were going away to school.
Robbie’s question came out in an awed whisper. “Is it true Weatherby just lost two thousand at
hazard?”
“Probably.” Without any outdoor pursuits, stakes were edging higher. If this weather did not let up,
half the guests would be in dun territory.
“I wonder if his wife knows,” Dickie said.
“I wonder what he’d pay to be sure she doesn’t,” Robbie added.
At first his brothers’ enterprising natures were a source of pride tempered with concern over exactly
what their tutor had been covering, but a sudden shock of alarm sent Nicky’s bonhomie cowering. “How on earth did you hear that? Not from Anna, I’ll wager.”
“There’s that spot on—ow!” Dickie’s answer was again foreshortened, this time by a hard stomp on
his instep.
But Nicky was able to finish the sentence. There was a disused medieval privy in the tower, and
depending on how close one stood to the wall, it was possible to hear conversations from the north end of the gallery and the hall. Sweet Christ. If they’d been out early Christmas morning they might have heard him and Ian in the gallery.
The gallery wouldn’t be used until New Year’s Eve, and Nicky would remember to hold any future
tête-à-têtes elsewhere. In the meantime, perhaps he could discourage the budding blackmailers. Disused or 40
www.samhainpublishing.com
An Improper Holiday
not, it took a certain willingness to disregard the lingering odor of its prior incarnation to make use of it as a listening post.
“Ahhh.” Nicky wrinkled his nose. “That’s what I smell. Best change or Nurse will think you still need
swaddling.”
They ran off, though Nicky suspected they would find their way back—or happen on another method
of subterfuge. If he weren’t trying to secure his future happiness, he would have applauded their ingenuity.
But when he thought of what was at stake, all he could manage was to swallow back a cold lump of dread.
~ * ~
Nicky had good reason to be wary of his brothers’ skills at reconnoitre when Ian herded Nicky into
the gallery from the Gold Salon. In deference to Ian’s temper, Nicky had avoided Julian’s company all day, and while that might have kept the peace, Nicky’s head ached from a day of feminine chatter and the attar of too many different massacred flowers.
He wished Ian’s sudden desire to converse intimately was born of passion, but it was born instead of
his sister’s perverse sense of humor. Charlotte had been at her worst, simpering as she asked Nicky to fetch her a cup of rack punch, and then to engage in minute adjustments of the fire screen to suit her comfort.
Each of her
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