Read An Improper Holiday Online
Authors: K.A. Mitchell
An Improper Holiday (12 page)
Faced with such a look, he spoke in fits and starts, at last stammering out, “The plan has failed. We
won’t be getting married.”
Her eyes immediately filled with tears, but their softness disappeared behind an iron will as strong as her brother’s. “You promised.”
“I know, but how could that serve us now?”
“You told me, you swore while I sobbed my heart out on Emily’s wedding day that you would make
certain I never had to undergo such a fate. That you’d do everything in your power to help me.” If she had not been on skates, Nicky was certain she would have stomped her foot.
“And you in turn would get me word of Ian. I have not forgotten. But, sweet, can’t you see how
impossible this would be now? Do you truly want a household where your brother will not set foot?”
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“Right now I don’t care if the both of you go straight to hell where you belong.” She shoved at him,
and he maintained his balance on the thin blades with wind-milling arms. She had surprising strength for a tiny creature muffled in fur scarf and bright red mantle.
There was a reason he had put off telling Charlotte. She was free with all the passion her brother held in check.
“Do you know what I believe, you foul perjurer? You think you’ll find another man with a biddable
sister for your
arrangement
.” She made the word sound as licentious as an advertisement for a brothel.
“You know that’s not true. I just think perhaps with cooler heads we can find some other way to
ensure your happiness. One that doesn’t involve Ian becoming my brother-in-law.”
She wiped her glove across her face. “There is none. Do you have any idea what these last years have
been like? The waiting? You give up in a week when you told me that nothing would stop you from having Ian.”
“Nothing but Ian it seems.”
“You’re just a—a—”
“Pig-swiving?” he suggested. Perchance he’d have more luck appealing to Charlotte’s better humor
than Ian’s.
“Wastrel.”
She turned away, but not before he saw the tears flood her eyes again, sparkling spurs to his
conscience. In that moment, he wanted to lavish on her all the comfort her brother rejected, soothe and pet her as he would one of his horses.
“Very well. I will honor my promise. We will marry and Emily shall come to live as your
companion.”
She tilted up her chin again. Would that appealing look work as well on Ian’s face? Nicky would have
given his own right arm to see such an expression used to implore his forgiveness, though he expected he had a better chance of sprouting wings.
“Truly?” she asked.
“Yes.” He glided closer, near where she drifted into the shade of a thick stand of evergreen.
The sound of a pistol echoed across the ice. Charlotte’s head shot up looking for the source, but Nicky knew it came from under their feet. After such a bitter cold week who would think the ice could crack?
He glanced down. “Charlotte, come toward me. Slowly.”
Fear dried her tears. “Nicky?”
“Just start to skate. Come on, sweet.”
She looked down at the cracks around her feet, but she was Ian’s sister and brave and smart. She took
a few careful gliding steps.
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“That’s it.” There was another booming crack, rolling long and hard as thunder. Nicky dove for the
bright red cloak before it vanished under the ice.
~ * ~
Ian had thought to skip the skating party, but with Mrs. Collingswood staying behind, someone had to
look after Charlotte, so he fitted the skates to his boots. Skating without the counterweight of his arm proved far more difficult than relearning to ride or walk, so there was naught to do but stand about
awkwardly and try not to think of anything at all. Sometimes it almost worked.
Lord Anthony and Sir Timothy Neville had insisted on a best two out of three, racing away at the
signal to start, which Lewes had supplied with exaggerated ennui.
As Lewes’ gaze remained fixed on the swing of their morning coats as they dashed away, he startled
Ian with sudden speech. “Do you know why you despise me so, Stanton?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not to me. But it seems to matter a great deal to you.”
Ian wondered which of the two options would be most humiliating: to listen to Lewes impugn his
character or to skate away, single arm flailing about for balance. There was a third choice. He could offer enough of a public insult to institute a duel, let Lewes kill him, and put an end to a miserable existence.
He took the most cowardly way out and stood there. “Nothing you could say would be of any possible
interest to me.”
“You loathe my existence because you envy it.”
So be it. He would let Lewes kill him. “Why would I envy a poxy whore?”
Lewes simply laughed. “Because I enjoy nothing but pleasure as I choose to take it. And you hate
having such an example when you are terrified to have the smallest bit of joy for yourself. I pity you.”
“Do not waste it on me. I am certain there are others who would—”
At the first boom, Ian’s senses took him straight back to Badajoz. Blood, smoke, screams. Screams.
He searched the ice frantically for Charlotte’s bright red cloak. He found it just as the second crack reverberated across the sky. This time the scream was here, not in his mind, and the flash of red
disappeared, as did a darker patch beside it.
He started for them immediately, faster than he’d thought his balance could manage.
Lewes skated beside him. “Off to drown yourself as well?”
Lewes spoke no more than the truth. Ian could not hold Charlotte and swim, and no amount of
wishing in the world would make it otherwise.
“Hoi!” Lewes called back to the figures in the distance. “Bring a broom, a stick, whatever you can
find.” His voice dropped back to normal speech. “Yes indeed, some fine specimens of English pluck there.
Half of them have already scrambled to the bank.”
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Ian didn’t care. Everything he held dear in the world was somewhere under this ice, and he was going
to get it back or die trying.
Squinting against the sun’s glare, he saw an arm wave.
“There.”
He dashed off. The ice shuddered once more, no loud crack this time, a rumbling groan. Ian calculated
the distance to the dark patch on the ice and launched himself in a dive, sliding across on his belly, muttering a swift prayer that his momentum wouldn’t carry him in.
There were two of them in the black water. Alive, but struggling in heavy wet clothes. Nicky held
Charlotte, their faces dead white, their breath shallow and quick.
At first Ian thought Nicky refused the hand Ian thrust forward, but then realized Nicky was handing
off Charlotte. Her icy hand slipped from Ian’s fingers and he gripped her hood instead, hauling with every fiber in his body. His breath, his pulse, every minutiae of sound enveloped in the frosty clouds of air as he labored to pull his sister free of the water’s grip.
Movement at last. Or perhaps just the ice breaking apart beneath him. Then there were hands gripping
his legs, tight as shackles.
“Pull, Stanton. Pull, you blasted ox.” Lewes’ final word was a barely heard grunt.
Ian gathered everything inside him for another effort and Charlotte was out, sliding back with them.
He was dimly aware of Lewes wrapping her in his coat, but all Ian could see was Nicky, still
struggling like a fly in treacle. Each time he put his hand on the ice to push himself out, it broke away.
Ian crawled toward him, shoving his stump against the ice for traction as he held out his hand. The ice heaved beneath him and again Lewes grabbed at his legs, hauling him back.
Nicky was closer now, but so were the cracks in the ice.
“It’s breaking apart. We’ll have to wait for the broom.” Of course Lewes would turn caitiff now.
“We can’t wait.” Ian glanced about. “Charlotte. Your scarf. What is it made of?”
Shivering and almost blue, Charlotte seemed to not understand. Ian crossed over and grabbed it.
“My tippet? It’s mink.” Her fingers fumbled as she tried to help him unwind the scarf that was more
than twice her height in length. “Please save him. He would not have gone in but for me.”
Ian made no complaint as Lewes reached in and pulled the scarf free.
“Put that coat back on and crawl out of the way. Don’t stand until you hit the bank. Lewes, get her
safe.” Ian didn’t even look back to see if his orders were followed, as he wrapped the sodden fur in a coil.
Pinning one end under his stump, he sent the rest spinning toward Nicky.
“Caught it,” Nicky called back but his voice was weak with strain. Any longer and he’d freeze to
death, even if they saved him from drowning.
Again Lewes took Ian’s legs as they tried to haul Nicky out of the icy water. Ian kicked away the grip.
“I have to get closer. We’ll never pull him out from here.”
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“If you cut my face with your skates, Stanton, I’ll let the both of you drown.”
There was perhaps a yard of stretched mink between them now. Nicky’s head and shoulders became
visible for an instant and then sank back. And again.
Ian had ever thought the color of desperation was red. Blood spilling from his fingers as he fought to staunch a wound. Blood pouring from the shattered end of his arm. But now he knew it was white. Cold
and empty and eternal. He was not leaving Nicky here in this frozen void.
Ian pulled until it felt like the sleeve on his coat was all that held his arm in the socket.
Nicky’s torso flopped over the edge of the hole. He kept his grip on the scarf, but made no further
move to save himself. And the ice still groaned beneath them.
Lewes gave a sharp tug to Ian’s legs. “Come on, you useless sodding cripple. Or do I have to do this
for you too?”
Ian reached down and found a strength he never knew he had. Even his phantom arm lent its invisible
power as Ian risked rising to his knees to haul them backward with all that he was. All that he would ever be. Because if he failed this, he was joining Nicky in that icy blankness.
Ian fell back onto Lewes and Nicky came with him. Aching with every beat of his pulse, Ian reached
down, and between them, they dragged Nicky to safety.
At last people seemed to have been jolted into activity, running toward them, brooms and coats in
hand.
“I still hate you,” Ian said.
“Thank God for that.” Lewes’ answer was as fervent as a prayer.
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Chapter Nine
The local doctor had been enjoying a cup of cheer with Lord Carleigh, so there was no need to send
for him. There was no medicine for a chill but warmth. Outwardly with blankets and hot stones tucked in about them, and inwardly, with brandy and broth.
When Ian left Charlotte an hour past sunset, she was sitting up against the pillows, sipping a cup of
chocolate. Mrs. Collingswood had not left Charlotte’s side since she was brought into the house. Indeed, Ian wondered if the lady might not take a chill by association so closely did she affix herself to his sister.
Assured that Charlotte showed no signs of catarrh or fever, not even a sniffle, Ian went again to check on the other patient, but the word was the same, his lordship was resting.
Nicky had roused briefly as they hauled him onto a farm sledge to bring him home, blinking about
and coughing out some water along with the single question, “Charlotte?”
“Safe, thanks to you,” Ian assured him, and Nicky sank back under the pile of coats and blankets. Ian
and Lewes rode with him on the sledge. Lewes cultivated an image of insouciance, but Ian could tell it was a façade from the frequent glances directed at Nicky’s too-pale face.
Ian also suspected Nicky was aware of what was happening around him, but too exhausted to do
anything about it. Ian remembered that state all too well, one’s body so abused it fell out of charity with one’s spirit, issued the cut direct, and sank inward past conscious control. A familiarity with the state did not ease concern to see it on one so dear, however.
Heedless of Lewes’ presence, Ian slipped his hand beneath the pile of coats and found Nicky’s,
squeezing warmth into the cold limp fingers. “Come, Nicky. Who will remind me what an unmitigated ass
I am if you don’t?”
“I shall be happy to perform the office at any time,” Lewes said, but the words failed to cut.
The corners of Nicky’s mouth twitched and the two watchers let out pent breath in perfect unison. Ian
was certain it was the last time they would ever be in such agreement.
Now Ian hovered outside Nicky’s room, unsure if he should knock. Lord Carleigh and Lady Anna
were within. Neither had been anywhere else since Nicky had been carried upstairs, despite his reassuring though weak-voiced protests that he could walk.
Simmons came out carrying a tray.
“Still asleep, sir. But I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you were to go in.”
An Improper Holiday
Warmth crept into Ian’s cheeks. Since Lewes told him of Simmons’ affair with an actor, Ian had tried
to banish the idea to a frozen wasteland in his mind, especially since such experience probably left
Simmons all too aware of why Nicky visited Ian each night. Standing here now with Simmons, Ian felt the nature of his and Nicky’s relationship couldn’t be more plain.
Ian swallowed. “Thank you, Simmons.”
“He’ll pull through, sir. Lord Amherst has always enjoyed the best of health.”