A Visit From Sir Nicholas (Effington Family Book 9)

by Victoria Alexander

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  Chapter 5

  Elizabeth, Lady Langley, slammed open the door of the Effington house library and noted with satisfaction how it smacked against the wall and the way the sound reverberated through the room and, with luck, the entire house.

  “How could you, Jonathon?” She stalked into the library, waving the papers in her hands and resisting the urge to fling them at her brother. Jonathon Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley, sat behind the desk, his eyes wide at her sudden appearance.

  “For three years you haven’t so much as hinted at this! I’m your sister after all, and I should think that alone would provoke a certain amount of loyalty on your part! How could you not have told me?”

  Jonathon laid his pen down on the paper in front of him, no doubt his latest literary effort, cast it a longing look, and rose to his feet in his best someday-I-will-be-the-Duke-of-Roxborough manner. In spite of his demeanor, a mix of inevitability, resignation, and a distinct touch of trepidation showed in his eyes. Good. He should be uneasy. Very uneasy. He’d be wise to be afraid as well.

  “I did tell you,” he said in an altogether too collected manner for a traitor. “You obviously have the papers I sent you right in your hand. Therefore you cannot complain that I did not tell you.”

  “Oh, I most certainly can,” she snapped. It was just like Jonathon to try to smooth things over by taking her words literally. He knew full well exactly what she was asking. “Then allow me to rephrase my question. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  “Ah yes, well, that is an entirely different question.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” She glared at her brother.

  “Indeed…” Jonathon studied her cautiously, as if he was concerned she might launch herself over the desk at any minute and fasten her hands around his neck. “I must say you are even angrier than I anticipated.”

  “Am I?” She flung the papers down on the desk. “Did you imagine for a moment that I wouldn’t be livid?”

  “I had hoped…” He shrugged in the helpless way even the most competent of men adopts when faced with a righteously indignant woman. And Elizabeth was far beyond indignant. “With any luck at all…possibly…”

  “Jonathon! That’s quite enough. You have avoided this for years, and I shall not allow you to avoid it one second more.” She moved toward him in as menacing a manner as she could muster. Not a difficult task as, at this particular moment, strangling him with her bare hands was indeed tempting. She would, in truth, never do such a thing. Probably. “I deserve an answer, and by all that’s holy I bloody well intend to get one.”

  “Such language, Lizzie.” Jonathon shook his head disapprovingly. “What would father think?”

  “As father is not here at the moment and as I am a woman of nine-and-twenty, a widow, mother, and Viscountess Langley, father’s opinion as to the words I choose to use doesn’t matter in the least!”

  Elizabeth brushed aside the lie and peeled off her gloves. The opinion of her father, Thomas Effington, the Duke of Roxborough, was always of importance to her regardless of her age or situation in life. She loved her father — and her mother too, of course — but she’d always rather liked them as well. Neither parent had ever believed she was incompetent simply because she was pretty and enjoyed the fun life had to offer, although apparently her late husband had. She dropped the gloves onto a chair and untied the ribbons of her hat.

  “I suspect if father knew precisely what prompted my language he would have a few choice words of his own.” She pulled off her hat and paused. “Or does he know about this?”

  “He hasn’t an inkling, as far as I know.” Jonathon shook his head firmly. “Charles didn’t want to have to argue with anyone about the merits of his actions, although I will tell you I lodged a firm protest.”

  “Not firm enough obviously.” She tossed her hat in the general direction of her gloves. “So who does know?”

  “An insignificant number of people, really,” Jonathon said brightly, as if the fact that few living souls knew that her deceased husband had not trusted her with her own fate made it more palatable. “I didn’t feel it was anyone’s business but yours and his.”

  “Oh, and I do so thank you for that small consideration.”

  She discarded her cloak, draping it over the back of the chair. She’d been far too angry upon her arrival to concern herself with her outer garments. Indeed, it was only at the insistence of her butler and housekeeper that she’d bothered to don a cloak at all, but the early December morning was gray and cold and bearable only because the brisk air brought the promise of Christmas to come.

  Jonathon ignored her. “Charles’s solicitor knows —”

  “My solicitor.” Elizabeth’s tone was grim. She would sack the man as soon as possible. And do it with a great deal of relish.

  “I believe Charles also discussed it with Lord Thornecroft before he put the provision in his will and, upon his death, I felt compelled,” Jonathon looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here, “to write to Nicholas and inform him myself.”

  She gasped and moved toward him. “You did not see your way clear to tell me, your own sister, about actions that would impact my well-being and that of my children, yet you informed Nicholas Collingsworth? A man you have not seen for ten full years?”

  “It was only seven at the time.”

  “Nonetheless —”

  Jonathon squared his shoulders. “It was my responsibility to tell Nicholas.”

  She wanted to smack him or scream or both. “And where was your responsibility to me?”

  “I fulfilled my responsibility to you.” Jonathon’s voice was firm. “I watched over your finances until I was confident you could do so yourself. Frankly, there was a great deal of doubt on that score as to whether you could indeed handle estate business and the boys’ inheritance and Charles’s investments.”

  Strangling was too good for him. She leveled him a lethal glare.

  “Not on my part, though,” he said quickly. “Precisely why I told Charles from the very beginning that it was not necessary. I always knew there was far more to you than the frivolous, flighty creature you presented to the rest of the world.”

  “And for that you have my undying gratitude.” Sarcasm dripped off her words. She would not be mollified by a mere compliment from her brother. He could be as charming as he wished and it would not change the facts of the matter. “However, you —”

  “I didn’t tell you because, blast it all, Lizzie, I didn’t know how.” Jonathon ran his hand through his hair. “Charles included this clause in his will a year or so before his death, right around the time Nicholas was knighted. Although I know they didn’t meet, I suspect the knighthood is what gave Charles the idea in the first place. I probably didn’t argue with him about it as much as I should have because I never expected him to die before you had both reached ripe old ages. It would be moot by then.

  “It didn’t seem appropriate to tell you right after Charles died, and then, as you took over more and more of the management of your affairs, it simply seemed pointless to bring it up. But I swear to you, it has weighed heavily on my conscience.”

  She snorted in disbelief.

  “It has,” he said firmly. “I have managed to live with it, but it’s been difficult.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “The guilt, you know.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Perhaps guilt is not entirely accurate.” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “Perhaps, as Nicholas did not seem likely to return to England, and you had proven more than competent to handle matters, it seemed little more than an unnecessary detail. Revealing it would do nothing but upset you, so I simply disregarded it. I might have even, well,” he grimaced, “forgotten about it entirely.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. Elizabeth knew full well her anger was directed as much at her late husband as it was at Jonathon — if not more. Pity Jonathon had to take the brunt of it. Still, he woul
dn’t be in this position now if he hadn’t held his tongue for so long.

  “I suppose I can accept that.” She drew a deep breath and forced a measure of calm. “Now that you have revealed some of the truth,” she picked up the papers and waved them at him, “I need, I deserve, a more detailed explanation than I have received thus far. Honestly, Jonathon, do you really think a copy of a portion of my husband’s will, a clause I had no idea existed, and a cursory note from you would suffice?”

  “I thought I explained it all rather well,” Jonathon murmured.

  “Then you were mistaken.” She narrowed her gaze. “Somewhat cowardly of you to inform me of my husband’s lack of faith in me in a letter rather than in person, don’t you think?”

  “Good God, yes.” Jonathon nodded vehemently. “In fact, calling it cowardly is putting a good face on it. I confess, I have never thought of myself as a coward, yet when it came to telling you of Charles’s last wishes, obviously I am. I daresay I’d rather face pistols at dawn than face you. At least about this. You’ve always had something of a temper, you know, and you are prone to throw things, even if you have been more reasonable and even-tempered in recent years. Besides, I had rather hoped by the time you had made your way here after reading my letter, you would be substantially calmer and rational. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “Apparently.”

  “However, although I did underestimate your ire, I was still fairly confident your initial reaction would not be pleasant, and in that, obviously” — Jonathon cast her the all too engaging and charmingly boyish grin that had been the downfall of any number of unsuspecting women — “I was right.”

  “Indeed you were.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to return his smile.

  This wasn’t really Jonathon’s doing, and it wasn’t entirely fair to vent on him alone the fury and unrelenting sense of betrayal that had burned within her since she’d read his note a scant hour or so ago. That he had not seen fit to inform her of Charles’s wishes was not nearly as maddening as the discovery of Charles’s wishes in the first place. And the fact that Charles had chosen Nicholas Collingsworth of all people to oversee her finances only compounded her anger.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”

  “Well?”

  She huffed. “The explanation?”

  “Of course. It’s really quite simple.” He shrugged. “Charles was impressed by Nicholas’s financial success and the knighthood of course, and decided he would be the best man to oversee the financial future of his family. However, he was also well aware that Nicholas might not return to England permanently, therefore he requested I manage your affairs until such time as Nicholas did return home, if ever. Or the boys reached their majority and received their inheritance. Or,” Jonathon paused, “you remarried. If said marriage was to someone approved of by myself and Father, the management of his fortune, your fortune really, would be turned over to your new husband.”

  Elizabeth had gathered as much from her brother’s note, but not until she heard it from his own lips did the import of Charles’s action truly strike her. She sank into the nearest chair.

  “So have I ever really been in control of my finances?” she said slowly. “My life?”

  “You most certainly have.” Jonathon pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “Essentially, in Nicholas’s absence, Charles put everything in my hands. You recall how after the shock of his death had passed, you began taking over more and more?”

  She nodded. “But I was under the impression you were simply handling things out of familial concern because I was unable to do so at that particular time, and not because Charles had designated you some sort of legal overseer.”

  “As much as Charles was my dear friend, he never quite understood that there was far more to you than anyone ever suspected.” Jonathon grinned with brotherly affection. “I, however, knew better.”

  “That’s something, at any rate,” she muttered. “Why wasn’t I told this when Charles died?”

  “It didn’t seem particularly wise.” Jonathon chose his words with care. “Grief is a dreadful thing, Lizzie, particularly as there is little anyone else can do to help. Charles’s untimely death was a shock to everyone, but, if you recall, you were not at all your usual self for several months.”

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

  Elizabeth had not forgotten those dark days after Charles’s demise. Days filled with unyielding loss and an odd sense of regret and startling revelations. About the man she had married but more about herself.

  She was exceedingly proud of the fact that she had survived at all and prouder yet that she had grown and become strong and confident. Still, she’d only really done what she’d had to do for her sons and herself. It dawned on her now that if Jonathon had revealed how Charles had intended to safeguard his family’s fortune after his demise, she might never have become the woman she had, but would have continued to depend on the men in her life to take care of her every need.

  “Lord, Jonathon.” She shook her head. “I was such a fool. I paid no attention whatsoever to matters of finance when Charles was alive.”

  “In that, you are not unlike most women.”

  “I am not most women.” She met her brother’s gaze directly. “I didn’t truly realize that before Charles’s death. I have always understood that I am a descendent of generations of independent, headstrong Effington women, but I never realized the legacy of those ladies until I was forced to draw upon the strength inherent in my own nature. I remember when I was young, vowing that someday I would call on the reserves of intelligence and competence I knew lay within me and live life precisely as I saw fit. I never did when Charles was alive because there was no need for me to do so. Even so,” she smiled wryly, “it’s extremely upsetting to realize my husband did not know me well enough to trust me.”

  “Charles was a fool,” Jonathon said in a voice far harder than necessary.

  Her gaze shot to her brother’s.

  “Not to have recognized your intelligence and competence, I mean,” Jonathon said quickly. “I, however, coming from the same Effington stock and therefore sharing those gifts of intelligence and competence, not to mention charm,” he flashed a quick grin, “can see what a lesser mortal cannot.”

  She laughed. “I suppose it scarcely matters now. All is said and done, and now that I know —” A thought struck her, and she drew her brows together. “Jonathon —”

  “I’d say a brandy is called for at this point.” Jonathon jumped to his feet and fairly sprinted toward the cabinet that held Father’s supply of fine brandy, and other spirits.

  She raised a brow. “It’s rather early in the day for brandy isn’t it?”

  “It’s later than you imagine,” he muttered and pulled open the cabinet doors.

  “Even so, I don’t understand what you think we should be celebrating.”

  “Sibling affection.” His back was to her, and his voice was muffled. “The binding ties of blood. Loyalty.”

  “All that and it’s barely midday.” A teasing note sounded in her voice, but she studied him curiously. “Whatever are you up to now, dear brother?”

  “Affection. Blood ties. Loyalty.” He returned to his chair, two glasses in one hand and a decanter in the other. “The idea that one should never kill the messenger.” He poured a glass and thrust it at her. “Forgiveness.”

  “Very well, you have my forgiveness.” She accepted the glass reluctantly. “But I really don’t think —”

  “Do go on, Lizzie, you like brandy. You always have.” Jonathon poured a glass for himself and tossed back a long swallow.

  “As do you, apparently.” She took a cautious sip of the liquor. While it was far and away too early in the day for such libations, the brandy warmed her nicely. “This is rather lovely on a dreary day like today.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Jonathon smiled pleasantly, but there was a distinct glimmer of apprehension in his eyes. “Perhaps you’d like more?�
�

  “This is quite enough, thank you.” She laughed. “Honestly, Jonathon, one would think you were trying to get your own sister soused.”

  He laughed, a sort of odd, squeaking, uncomfortable sound. “What an amusing thought.”

  “Brandy always produces such a pleasant feeling of warmth and well-being within me. It’s really rather difficult to be angry about anything, no matter how distressing, if one has had enough brandy.” She took a small sip. “You should have tried this before you sent me your note.”

  He smiled weakly.

  “I should probably apologize to you as well. None of this is really your fault.” She settled back in her chair and cupped her hands around her glass. “Oh, certainly you should have told me the truth long before now, but I can see where you have believed everything you’ve done has been in my best interests.”

  “Keep that in mind,” he said under his breath.

  “I shouldn’t have been as angry as I was. On reflection, I am most appreciative of your efforts on my behalf.”

  He downed the rest of his brandy and poured another glass. “More?”

  “I’ve barely touched what I have.” She studied him for a long moment. He was most definitely nervous. “What on earth —” The question he had forestalled her asking earlier returned. “There is more, isn’t there?”

  “Nearly half a decanter.”

  “Not more brandy.” It wasn’t like Jonathon to be quite this evasive. It was extremely suspicious. “More that you haven’t told me.”

  Jonathon shrugged. “More is such a vague term.”

  “More is quite specific.”

  “You won’t like it.” He shook his head in a mournful manner, and she might well have felt sorry for him if it had not been for the weight growing inevitably in the pit of her stomach.