DISCLAIMER: Nicola and the Viscount is owned by Meg Cabot. Story? Not mine. Characters? No such luck, either.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Nicola was late.

Nathaniel's initial reaction upon learning that Nicola had yet to be home was that of slight disappointment. It was as if Nicola had somehow sensed that Nathaniel's mind was far from her as he had fun with his siblings for the last few hours, and so she returned to his thoughts with a vengeance, reminding him that it was she with whom Nathaniel had wanted to go riding with.

Disappointment turned into impatience as Eleanor reminded Nathaniel that Nicola was, in fact, helping Stella in choosing what to wear. That was obviously no easy task as the judgement of two women was required.

Impatience later shifted to bewliderment. Yes, Nathaniel finally understood — through the combined efforts of Eleanor and Lady Sheridan — that deciding on final clothes for an evening took time. However, he had yet to comprehend why it was taking Nicola tremendously long.

Bewilderment soon became suspicion. Nathaniel had often marveled at how women could turn anything into a social activity, and he was slowly leaning toward the belief that Stella and Nicola simply could not be talking solely about clothes. Could it be that Stella was exercising her matchmaking skills right at that very moment?

Suspicion was replaced by annoyance when luncheon arrived. It was not at all like Nicola not to keep her word. And if, by any chance, Stella had invited her to stay for the meal, it was only polite for Nicola to notify her hosts of her absence.

Annoyance ebbed away to accommodate worry by the time luncheon ended. This wasn't like her. Not like her at all. After much thought and considering the consequences, Nathaniel convinced Eleanor to write a note to Stella asking her if everything was all right. Eleanor had readily agreed to sending a note; what she had to be convinced of was for her not to write how worried Nathaniel actually was. Whereas Nathaniel had thought it unnecessary, Eleanor believed it would bring Nicola home faster.

Worry grew into something almost akin to fear when Sir Hugh arrived for afternoon tea, and still Nicola had yet to return.

“Nathaniel, do come and have tea with us,” Eleanor implored. “I'm sure Nicky will be back soon.”

Nathaniel tore his gaze from the window to raise an eyebrow at his sister. “You said that hours ago.”

“'Soon' is sooner now than it was hours ago, though, isn't it?” Sir Hugh, sipping his tea.

Nathaniel completely ignored his friend's comment, choosing instead to look out the window again. He had long given up trying to keep himself calm; staring at nothing outside the house made it easier for him to look it even if he wasn't.

“If she isn't at the Ashton's, then we'd have word,” Eleanor reasoned in another attempt for a conversation. “Isn't that right, Hugh?”

“Quite right.”

“But if she is at the Ashton's,” Nathaniel countered, “then wouldn't we have word as well?”

“Ah, that's quite right also.”

Eleanor shot Sir Hugh a look, her hazel eyes narrowing at him ever so slightly. Sir Hugh simply smiled at her in response before turning to Nathaniel.

“Since you can't seem to sit still, Sheridan–“ At this Nathaniel wanted to say, 'I am sitting still!' “–what say you if we go to the Ashtons ourselves to check if Miss Sparks is indeed alive and well?”

A pause.

“Parker, that is the best thing you've said this afternoon.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Coming, Eleanor?”

“I think I best stay here,” Eleanor answered, “in case Nicky arrives before you do.”

Nathaniel nodded, already making his way to the doors. He grabbed the handles, prepared to throw them open and speedily exit the house when, at the most perfect moment, the doors flew open by themselves, most inconveniently hitting Nathaniel's forehead and making him yelp and stagger backwards.

“Oh!” exclaimed a familiar voice, still sounding very much like a lady despite her surprise. “Oh my goodness! Are you all right?”

“Not to worry; he'll live. His head's hard enough to survive that, methinks.”

Nathaniel glared up at his friend through his fingers nursing his stinging forehead. Sir Hugh, as he always did, only smiled and helped him to his feet. Nathaniel inwardly sighed. Why was it that recently his forehead seemed to attract furniture in the most painful ways?

“Miss Ashton,” he said, smiling through a wince.

“Mr. Sheridan,” Stella replied apologetically, greeting him properly with a curtsey. “Miss Sheridan, Mr. Parker.”

“Please have a seat, Miss Ashton,” Eleanor graciously offered.

Stella quickly accepted, and, before anybody can break into curteous small talk she said, “I'm sorry for barging in like this, but I feel that a matter at hand requires some urgency.” She paused to hold up a piece of paper, which the two Sheridans recognized at once to be Eleanor's note. “Did I understand correctly that Miss Sparks left this morning saying that she was to help me select a dress, in reply to my request?”

“Yes, that's what she said,” Eleanor answered. “Did she not come?”

“I never sent for her in the first place, Miss Sheridan,” Stella told them, making Nathaniel blink in confusion.

“You didn't? What did you say in your note, then?”

“Mr. Sheridan,” Stella carefully said with patience that barely masked her own worry, “I didn't send her a note. If Miss Sparks received a letter today, it wasn't from me.”

A myriad of emotions washed over Nathaniel – anger, worry, frustration – all fighting for dominance. Strangely enough, exhaustion was the one that broke through as his straight posture fell. Disregarding all protocol of behaving in the presence of a guest, especially one that is a lady, Nathaniel emitted a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a growl, raking his fingers through his hair and exclaiming, “That girl!!!”

“But...but...” Eleanor stammered. “Oh, Hugh, what if someone had written the note pretending to be Miss Ashton? Nicky wouldn't lie!”

This wouldn't be the first time.

Nathaniel didn't really want to think about it, but he clearly remembered the last time Nicola had so bluntly lied to them. It had been at the park; she had chosen the company of Sebastian Bartholomew over that of her long-time friends. Would be such a surprise if Nicola lied her way out of the house to meet the viscount, knowing that the Sheridans would not be happy about her rendezvous? True, Eleanor had said that Nicola didn't anymore feel that way about Bartholomew; but the last time Nathaniel checked, Eleanor had to jolt Nicola out of staring at her former fiancé.

Wait. What am I doing?!

Inwardly, Nathaniel kicked himself. Yes, he was feeling tremendously jealous and insecure at the moment, but that shouldn't stop him from focusing on the matter at hand. For all they knew, Eleanor could be right that Nicola had been tricked. Nathaniel shouldn't be irrational right now; he could do that later. (Or never, if possible.)

Feeling a pair of eyes at him, Nathaniel glanced up to find Sir Hugh looking at him from his seat across the table. The other gentleman raised a patient eyebrow at him, but, possibly sensing his friend's current inability to think straight, he cleared his throat meaningfully, making the ladies turn to him.

“All right,” Sir Hugh spoke up, his firm hand taking hold of Eleanor's fidgeting ones. “Let's all take a moment to take a deep breath, and tackle this situation with utmost care.”

Beside him, Eleanor closed her eyes and took a deep breath, following her fiancé's lead. Sir Hugh continued.

“I think we must take the worst case scenario into consideration: that Miss Sparks had indeed been kidnapped. Although it is possible that she did fib about her destination— and I'm sure she'd have a perfectly good reason for it, love. We might have had nothing to worry about at all, but it would be best to be sure. The trick now is how to search for her in the most efficient way.”

“We can solicit the help of the Bow Street Runners,” Nathaniel said.

“Father will be home in a while,” Eleanor piped in.

“How about Miss Sparks' relatives?” Stella inquired. “Isn't her uncle a baron?”

“He's not her uncle,” Nathaniel put in reflexively.

“And I doubt Lord Renshaw would want to help,” Eleanor said, frowning. “He'd always treated Nicky like an unwanted burden, and always pressuring her about selling Beckwell Abbey.”

Lord Renshaw. Beckwell Abbey. Nathaniel froze, suddenly remembering something Nicola had said not so long ago.

“...I daresay I was half-expecting him to try something even though he's said he's had enough. Harold says his father wants to kill me.”

She had said it so casually, as if she was describing the weather, that it had stuck out to Nathaniel. At least it did at the time. Nathaniel couldn't believe he had forgotten all about it. Ah, it was that Sebastian Bartholomew's fault for making a move on Nicola and therefore distracting Nathaniel!

“Sheridan?”

Nathaniel turned to Sir Hugh, his hazel eyes filled with worry now more than ever.

“I think it's about time we got going,” he said, standing up. “Eleanor, wait for Father and inform him of the developments. Miss Ashton, if you would be so kind as to send a letter to Sir John. Sir Hugh and I will go ahead to contact the Runners.”

Without waiting for a reply, Nathaniel quickly strode out of the room, Sir Hugh immediately behind him.

“You're not thinking that the Grouser would kidnap Miss Sparks for a piece of land, are you?” Sir Hugh asked once they were out in the hallways.

Nathaniel hesitated. Sir Hugh was his best friend and on other circumstances Nathaniel would have gladly shared all gathered information with him. But since Nicola had specifically asked him not to tell anyone about certain details about the Blutcher business, Nathaniel had to pick his words carefully.

“I can't be sure,” he answered instead.

And, really, he wasn't entirely sure. Oh, what Nathaniel would give to get his hands on Harold Blenkenship so he could wring answers out of the boy!

It was as Nathaniel was thinking this when the sound of a panicked voice filled the air.

“Lord Sheridan!” exclaimed the voice, telling Nathaniel that his father had arrived home. “I must speak with you, Sir!”

"Calm down, lad!” the Lord Sheridan said in a firm but accomodating tone. “Whatever is the matter?"

"I have important news! A very important matter I must discuss with you, Sir!"

"Well, come to the study, then, and—"

"There's no time! There's no time, we must—!!!"

The tirade of frantic exclamations came to an abrupt stop when beady eyes saw Nathaniel. And Nathaniel, recognizing those beady eyes and pale face, raised an eyebrow.

Well, what do you know.

There, standing in the Sheridans' doorway and dressed in another horrendous ensemble that was undeniably – and tragically – his own creation, was the Milksop, Mr. Harold Blenkenship.