by Bobbi Smith
The ordeal with Slater on the Sea Demon had changed him, though, and Nick wondered just how he was going to keep it from showing. If he suddenly turned into a political crusader on the slave smuggling issue he'd have a lot of explaining to do, and that was the one thing he couldn't afford to have happen. He couldn't reveal the outrageous incident on the Sea Demon to anyone for fear of the questions that would be asked about why he was there in the first place. He was sworn to preserve Slater's secret.
Nick glanced toward the house, silently girding himself for the confrontation to come. In the next few minutes he was going to come face to face with his very angry father, and he knew just what to expect in the way of reprimand. It would not be pretty, but he would not refute his father's accusations that he'd been out living wildly, drinking and gambling, when he should have been home taking care of business. As much as it hurt him, he would let his father go on thinking the worst, for it was easier to allow him believe what he wanted than to try to convince him otherwise without telling the whole truth.
"Mister Nick! You're home!" Ardus, a slave boy who thought the world of Nick, raced down the drive to meet him as he drew nearer.
"Hi, Ardus." Nick was equally fond of the boy, and, since he was in no particular hurry to travel the last hundred yards to the house, he slowed his horse to dismount so he could walk the rest of the way with the youth.
"Mr. Charles, he's been..." Ardus started to tell him how his father had been watching and waiting for him, but when he got a close look at his face, he exclaimed without thought, "Lordy, Mr. Nick! What happened to you?"
Nick had known there would be questions, and he gave the boy a wry grin. "I met a few men who weren't too fond of me."
"Looks like they downright hated you."
"Yeah, but you should have seen them after the fight," he joked, wanting to make light of the situation.
`I'll bet you beat 'em all, Mr. Nick. I'll bet they're in a lot worse shape than you are," Ardus said, his eyes shining as he gazed up at the man he idolized.
"I hope so, Ardus. I truly hope so."
"You know, your daddy's been lookin' for you."
"I'll just bet he has," Nick drawled, knowing exactly what was going to happen when he showed up looking like this after such a long and unexplained absence.
"Where you been?" Ardus asked boldly in the innocent way of children.
"Downriver."
It was a vague answer, but the boy took it to mean he'd been in New Orleans and asked nothing more. When they reached the front steps, Nick handed him the reins and tossed him a coin.
"Thanks, Mr. Nick!"
Nick affectionately tousled Ardus's hair as he strode past him and climbed the steps to the gallery. Weddington had seen him coming and was already there, opening the door for him.
"Hello, Weddington," Nick said as he entered the wide, cool foyer with its curving staircase, polished hardwood floor, and lofty ceiling.
"Mr. Nick, it's good to see you!" he greeted him happily, hoping things would be better now that he was back. The old master just hadn't been the same while Nick was away.
"It's good to be back," he declared with heartfelt emotion. He loved his home, the grace and peace of it, and he had honestly missed his father. "Is my father here or is he still out riding the fields?"
"He didn't ride today, sir," Weddington offered in such a way as to hint at what had been happening lately.
"He didn't?" Nick was astounded. His father was a man of rigid routine. For as long as Nick could remember he'd ridden the fields with the overseer every weekday from mid-morning until late afternoon.
"No, sir. In fact, while you've been away, there have been quite a few days when he didn't go out."
"Is something wrong?" He frowned at the thought as he searched the butler's expression for some clue to what was going on.
"I wouldn't know, sir, but he's in the study right now," he replied, keeping his features carefully composed so none of his very real worry was revealed.
Surprised and disturbed by the news, Nick moved quickly down the hall to the study. He knocked sharply once, then opened the door. Steeling himself to play the role of prodigal son, he entered his father's haven to find him sitting at his desk.
Charles's heart had leapt with joy when he'd heard Nick enter the house. He had not rushed forth to greet him, though, forcing himself to stay where he was and wait for his errant son to come to him. He made sure that the happiness and relief he was feeling did not reflect in his expression, and as he glanced up at his tall, handsome son, he kept his face set in a stern mask of disapproval.
"So, you finally remembered where you live..." he began, but upon seeing Nick's battered features, he exclaimed, "What the hell did you get yourself into this time?!"
Nick rubbed his bruised chin. "I had an encounter with several gentlemen who, for some reason, didn't take a liking to me."
Though deep inside Charles was thankful that he hadn't been more seriously injured, he didn't allow that emotion to show either. Instead, realizing that Nick might have been killed for whatever his foolishness had been, his resolve to force him to settle down only hardened. "I suppose you're rather proud of yourself?"
Nick's movements were deceptively casual as he dropped into a chair in front of the desk. "No, actually... I'm not, but I fully intend to redeem myself, someday," he replied, pushing away thoughts of the losing battle on the Sea Demon.
"Someday... someday..." Charles growled in agitation. It seemed to him that Nick's easygoing actions and glib excuses proved he had no intention of ever getting serious about anything. "Your someday may have just arrived, Dominic."
At the use of his given name Nick grew instantly attentive, for it always meant his father was furious with him. He suddenly feared that something very bad had happened while he was gone. "What is it? Was there trouble while I was away?"
"Actually, it was really very quiet around here in your absence." Charles' anger turned his tone to ice. "I think the trouble,' as you put it, is just about to begin."
"I don't understand."
"I didn't think you did, son, and that's why I've taken the steps I have."
"Steps? What steps?" Nick was growing increasingly wary. He'd thought his father would rail at him for a while like he usually did, not be so cold. It put him off-balance. He didn't know what to expect next.
Charles Kane extracted a copy of his last will and testament from his top desk drawer and slid it across the desk toward his son. Nick saw the heading and glanced up at his father, his expression puzzled. Charles met his regard but said nothing. Instead, he waited patiently for him to pick it up and read it.
As Nick read the testament a sense of utter disbeife gripped him. For the first time in his life he knew what it meant to be completely dumbfounded. He went pale, his hands shook slightly, and no coherent thought would form. Only the word marriage thundered through his mind, drowning out everything else. He looked up at his father, bewildered.
"Is this some kind of joke? If so, it's not very amusing," was all he could manage.
"It wasn't meant to be amusing, Dominic," his father said sternly.
"You're trying to force me to get married. Why?"
"I need to know that I can trust you."
Nick bristled at that remark. "When have I ever given you reason to doubt me?"
His father snorted in derision. "This is not the first time you've left without a word on one of these little escapades of yours, leaving me to wonder where you were going and when, if ever, you'd be back. This has to stop, and it's got to stop now."
Nick knew a near violent urge to betray Slater and tell his father everything, but he'd given his friend his word. He had to remain silent. "Father, I promise you. I will never leave like that again."
Charles shook his head. "I don't have the time to waste to see if you can live up to that promise. I want you to marry now and accept your responsibilities here at Riverwood."
"I have accepted my responsibilit
ies. You know how much I love Riverwood."
"Well, if you're serious, if you really do love Riverwood as you say, then you'd better find yourself a suitable bride by September."
Nick was confused and more than a little upset by his urgency. "But why?! Why force me to marry when I don't want to? Why the sudden rush to marry by September?"
"Because, Nick," Charles said in a low, very somber voice as his dark, sad eyes sought his son's. "Dr. Williams says I may only have that long to live."
Nick would never forget that moment for the rest of his life. He had come to his feet, but he had no remembrance of doing it. He found himself standing there, his whole body tense, a stricken look upon his face, staring at his father across the wide desktop.
"What?" he demanded, not believing what he'd just heard.
"I said, I only have a few months left to live, and I want to make sure that Riverwood will continue being run as it has been run in the past."
"Wait..." Nick's thoughts were still stumbling over each other as he tried to grasp what he was being told. "What do you mean, you only have a few months to live?"
"Dr. Williams, along with a battery of other specialists, have checked me over and..."
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"
"Because at first I thought it would pass. Things got worse, though, and..."
"What got worse?"
"My heart," he answered tightly, keeping a firm hold on his emotions, not wanting to show any weakness before his son. He had always been a pillar of strength, and he would not forfeit that dignity now. He would not give in to the feelings that threatened to tear him apart. He would wait until he was alone and he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted before he gave in to the overwhelming sadness. "Anyway, Michael tells me that I have less than a year."
"I don't believe this..." Nick stated slowly, shaking his head in confusion.
"Believe it, and believe, too, that I've made certain this will is legal and binding. I will see you properly married by the fifteenth of September or Riverwood will go to the church-lock, stock, and barrel."
"I see..." Nick stood there staring at his father, his misery profound. He didn't understand how this could be happening. A few minutes ago all he'd been worried about was facing his wrath, and now here he was, facing a tragedy of immense proportions. His father was dying...
Tension filled the room as they regarded each other without speaking. Nick longed to rush to his father, to throw his arms around him and hug him tightly. He wanted to scream out at how unfair this was. He wanted to cry his sorrow in the comforting safety of his father's arms as he had when his mother had died. But Nick knew he could do none of those things. He was a man now. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be coolly logical and controlled. He wondered, as he faced his father, why he didn't feel any of those things.
"You understand the importance of what I've just told you?" Charles asked as he held himself stiffly erect. With an immense effort of will he kept his features devoid of any emotion. He wanted to do nothing more than take his son in his arms and clasp him to his breast. He wanted to hold him close and tell him how much he loved him. He wanted to explain to him that the marriage ploy was for his own good and that he was sure he would be happy once he'd found the right woman to settle down with. He did none of these things, though. Instead, he held on to what little manly pride he had left. He didn't want anyone else to know of the fears that woke him from a sound sleep in the middle of the night and left him shaking with terror. He had been strong all of his life and he would continue to be strong.
"It would seem that unless I find the woman of my dreams within a mere one hundred eighty two days and convince her to marry me, I'll be forced to consider another means of making my livelihood."
"You're a rich, good-looking young man. You shouldn't have any trouble finding a woman."
"A woman, sure. The woman I'm not so sure. Tell me, Father, would you have married just any woman?"
"No. Your mother was special."
"And I'll be satisfied with no less."
"Then I suggest you get busy and start looking, son. Since you took so long getting back here from wherever you were, you've already forfeited almost two weeks of your time."
Again their eyes met, and it seemed that the distance between them had grown.
Forcing down the words he wanted to say, Nick nodded miserably. He turned and left the room, feeling more devastated than he had at any time since his mother's death all those years ago. A sense of profound despair filled him as he again found himself facing a battle that he knew couldn't be won. His father was dying. There would be no preventing it.
Charles watched Nick go and said nothing. Inwardly, he was glad that he'd had the ultimatum to throw at him today, for it was the only thing that had kept him from losing control of his emotions. By concentrating on the will, he'd avoided facing the real issue. When Nick had left the study and the door was safely closed behind him, Charles's rigid rein on his feelings faltered. His stern expression crumpled and his vision blurred as burning tears filled his eyes.
Of all the things he'd done in his life, fathering Nick was by far Charles's proudest accomplishment. It hurt him to have to force his son to act against his will, but he prayed that one day he would understand what had motivated him. True happiness comes only from loving unconditionally and being loved that way in return. Any other life was just an existence. He needed to know that Nick would be happy before it was his time. Leaning forward, Charles braced his elbows on the desktop and buried his face in his hands. Only then did he let the scalding tears fall.
Nick strode from the study, past the waiting, expectant butler and out the front door. His expression was bleak, his mouth tight, his eyes dark with inner pain.
"Mr. Nick?" Weddington called as he hurried after him, wanting to know what had happened to cause such a terrible look on his face.
"I'll speak with you later," came his gruff reply, and then he was gone down the gallery steps and out of sight.
The butler glanced toward the study door and then back in the direction Nick had disappeared. Never in all the years he'd worked for the Kanes had he ever seen the young master so upset. He wondered what awful thing had happened to disturb him so greatly, but knew he'd just have to wait to find out.
Nick didn't have to think about where he was going, he just started walking. The trek to the cemetery was a long one, but he didn't care. He needed the time alone, the time to sort things out.
His stride was long, purposeful, and powerful as he covered the distance to the hilltop that overlooked the Mississippi a mile from the main house. It was here, safe from the spring floods, that his mother was buried. He stopped before the crypt to read the inscription. Andrea Dupont Kane.. .born 1804, died 1834.
Usually when he came to visit the gravesite, Nick was in a mellow mood. He generally just wanted to remember his mother, to recall how gentle and kind she'd been. Today, however, he was filled with anger and deeply troubled.
Fury and desolation raged within Nick. His father was not the kind of man who exaggerated anything, so when he said there was nothing that could be done about his condition, Nick knew he had to believe him. Believing what he said and accepting what he said were two very different things, though, and Nick found himself trying to deny the reality of it, to hide emotionally from the bitter truth.
"This can't be happening..." he said out loud. "This just cant be happening... not again!"
Memories of the time when he'd lost his mother surged to the surface. Suddenly he was a child again, heartbroken and afraid, lost without the tender loving care of the mother he'd so adored. Once more he felt the pain, the agony, the loneliness, and he couldn't fight back the tears that filled his eyes.
"Mother, this isn't fair. I lost you and now I'm going to lose Father, too..." he choked, no longer trying to hide the desolation. "I won't let it happen! I won't!"
Even as Nick said the words, though, he was thinking back o
ver the encounter and realizing for the first time just how tired his father had looked, how very old. Behind his commanding presence had been a very sick man. He was losing him already, and there would be no stopping it.
Nick turned away from the crypt to gaze out across the wide river. The resounding question why kept echoing through his thoughts, but as with his mother's death, he knew there were no answers to life's final riddle. There was only the acceptance of that which one could not change.
Nick longed to go to his father, to tell him he loved him, and to spend every last waking minute with him until the end, but he knew that wasn't what his father wanted. If his father had felt strongly enough about the situation to put that clause in his will, then Nick knew he had to abide by it if he wanted to make his last days happy. One way or the other, sometime during the next five and a half months he was going to have to find himself a suitable bride. It wasn't going to be easy, but Nick knew he would do it. He loved his father so much that he would do whatever was necessary to assure him that all he'd so carefully built and loved so dearly would remain intact.
London, England
Some weeks later
In the offices of Radcliffe + Associates
Luther Radcliffe's blue-eyed regard was impassive as he faced the fair-haired young man standing in panicked outrage before him in his London office.
"You can't be serious!" Philip St. James cried aghast as he searched Luther's face for some sign that it was all a terrible joke. But there was no trace of humor in the handsome, dark-haired businessman's expression.
"I'm afraid it's true," Luther said levelly.
"Everything's lost? It's all gone?" he repeated in stunned disbelief.
"Everything. I'm sorry."
