Free A Visit From Sir Nicholas by Victoria Alexander Page A

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