Armand covered the few steps to the table in an excited, hitching gait and then sat in Nick’s recently vacated chair without invitation. He pulled the box toward him with his good hand and maneuvered it onto his knees.
“This is the whole of it?” he asked, his tongue flicking over his lips as he flipped open the clasp with a tiny click. He raised the lid to reveal stacks of shining coin.
“Yea. All of it after your debts,” Nick replied easily. “You’ll find them accounted for on the note within.”
Armand frowned as he lifted a folded square of parchment from the box, clinging awkwardly to the trunk with his misshapen arm. “Of what debts do you speak?” he demanded as he shook open the page and scanned it. His complexion darkened. “This is an outrage!” Armand bellowed. He shot to his feet, knocking the coin box from his lap and sending a shower of shushing, tinkling gold to the floor. Simone gasped and backed away. Armand still clutched the piece of parchment and now he read aloud from it.
“Accommodations at Stag and Stern Inn, livery hire of one gelding, walking stick from Petra Bazaar—” Armand slurred the words, and he raised blazing eyes to Nicholas. “Howdareyou deduct such frivolous expenses without my council!”
Nick’s voice brooked no apologies. “If you will note, I deducted none of Simone’s expenses from prior to our marriage, as was my right.”
“This is absurd,” Armand sputtered, his eyes skittering over the parchment once more. “Would that I had known of your miserliness beforehand, FitzTodd. I would have—”
“What?” Nick prompted. “Objected to the match? Not been as liberal with your drink or purchases? Not presented me with every bill for your care while in London?” His chuckle held no humor. “I think not.”
Nicholas could feel Armand’s anger radiating like an evil blaze and was not surprised when Simone stepped forward to attempt to placate her father.
“Papa,” she cajoled, “surely you did not intend to accept the lord’s coin with an air of charity—your pride would not allow it.”
Armand looked at Simone as if she’d sprouted horns. “’Tis neither pride nor charity of which I speak, you empty-headed brat,” Armand raged. He shook the parchment at her. “I need every c-coin, every farthing. M-my treasure demands it! I am close—I can feel it!”
Nick had quite enough. “I tire of your company, du Roche. Collect your spoils and be gone from this chamber. Simone and I depart London on the morrow, so you may say your farewell to her as you go.”
Armand stared at Nicholas for some time, saying naught but speaking volumes with his eyes. Then he dropped awkwardly to his knees and began scraping the spilled coin back into the box with his useful hand. Simone joined him on the floor, attempted to assist him. “Touch it not! Get away,” he shouted crouching over the puddle of coin. “You’ll poison it!”
Simone jumped to her feet again, a hurt frown on her face. When Armand had closed the lid and hefted it awkwardly under his afflicted arm, he stood.
“We may not see each other again for many years, Papa,” Simone ventured. “Fare thee well.”
“Let us hope not,” Armand sneered. He looked her up and down. “You are your mother’s daughter, for certain. Good riddance, Simone.” Armand swerved around Nicholas, wrestled with the door handle, and then was gone into the corridor, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.
Nick shut the door quietly, and when he turned back to the room, Simone had thrown herself onto the bed, sobbing.
She screeched into the coverings. “Oh, I hate him! I hate him!”
Nick sat on the side of the bed and gathered Simone to him. “Shhh. He’s gone now.”
“Why must he still look to me as if I am to blame?” she demanded through angry tears. “Have I not done all that he’s asked of me? And yet he cannot treat me with the most meager kindness!” She scrubbed at her nose.
“Shhh,” Nick said again, rocking her gently. “He’ll not cause you further pain. He has his beloved coin now, and is gone.”
After several moments of sniffling and hiccoughs, Simone grew still. “I am surely going to burn in Hell,” she murmured into Nick’s shoulder, “for I wish with all of my being that he would have died instead of my mother.”
“Nay, you’ll not burn in Hell,” Nick replied lightly. “Your beauty would turn that fiery pit into Eden, and then what would Satan do, hmm?”
Simone giggled half-heartedly, and it encouraged Nick. Tears were not common for Simone. Nay, not only tears, but any weak emotion, and he would resort to whatever trickery at his disposal to see her smile again.
“He’d have to close up shop. Relocate. Perhaps to Wales,” he said, and then nodded. “Yea, I’d wager Wales to be an ideal location for Hell.”
Simone’s giggle evolved into a chuckle and she pulled away from him, swiping at her eyes. “But, Nick, does not Hartmoore lay near the Welsh border?”
“Why, yea, it does,” he said, a grandiose expression of shock on his face. “How fortunate for me—I shan’t have a lengthy journey.”
Simone sent him a genuine smile this time, and Nick was immanently relived. “Thank you,” she said. “For so much.”
“Perhaps you should not thank me just yet,” Nick said, his voice serious.
Simone gave him a wary frown. “Why not?”
