Disclaimer: I do not own Nicola and the Viscount. Meg Cabot does. I do not own Nathaniel Sheridan, either. Which is a bummer.

In Which Nicola Greets the Morning

The sun rose early that day. Of course, the sun rose every day in London, and, of course, the sun could not truly be early for, by definition, something being early meant that that particular thing happened before the time it was expected. Nay, the sun was not early, but simply on time. As it rose, the aroma of fresh bread was filling the air, jovial horse hooves were clapping on the cobblestone, and morning chores were already being done in the Sheridan household. Servants scurried about, airing carpets, sweeping corridors, and flinging heavy curtains open to let the sunlight into the house. Like all servants in all households, they worked quietly, especially when passing by the bedchambers, so as not to rouse their masters from their sleep. Indeed, as maids glided through the hallways, their feet barely made a sound.

Despite the soundlessness with which the staff worked, however, and despite the lack of proper light in the room, the moment the sun rose in the horizon, Nicola Sparks stirred in her bed and awoke. She blinked, noting the sliver of sunlight that peeked through the gap between the curtains, before sighing and covering her head with a pillow. To her, the sun rose too early that day, for she had no desire then for the day to already begin. Oh, she was not in a downhearted state—far from it! But the truth was: she did not know precisely what she felt that morning.

Disoriented? Not quite. She knew exactly where she was (the guest room she always occupied whenever she was in the Sheridan household) and she knew exactly what year it was (1810, at the tail end of the social season).

Distressed? Not hardly. Granted that she only recently survived a rather traumatizing ordeal, it was a wonder why she slept quite satisfactorily. What she had experienced not more than half a day before could easily have been stuff of nightmares—getting tricked by her relative (as well as someone she thought to have been in love her), being kidnapped, falling from a roof—nevertheless, her slumber had been dreamless. She would have preferred having good dreams, of course, but a dreamless, somewhat restful sleep was better than a nightmare-ridden one. Perhaps her heart, her poor, battered heart, was, after all, as resilient as she had supposed on that afternoon in the rose-filled drawing room with Nathaniel.

Nathaniel...

Nicola felt her cheeks grow warm at the mere thought of his name. His name, which she had, up until recently, exclaimed in irritation whenever he teased her (which was all the time). His name, which, to be truthful, was a rather pleasant one (not that Nicola ever admitted it to anyone). His name, which meant "gift of God" (a fact that Nicola knew but never consciously acknowledged). And oh! what a gift of God he was! Charging forward atop his galloping steed in order to miraculously catch her from dropping to her death...

A sudden squeal of delight bubbled up from Nicola's chest, and, out of reflex she buried her face further into her pillow to muffle the sound. The Lady Sheridan had known Nicola when she was still a girl in braids, but proper ladies did not squeal, as was taught in Madame Veuxvincent's Seminary for Young Ladies, and Nicola did not want the Lady Sheridan to think her to be improper.

Nicola was certain now that she did not feel distressed. Not now, when she could not remove the giddy smile from her lips. Not now, when she could not seem to will her excited heart to calm down. She still could not help but be amazed at how Nathaniel Sheridan, whom, once upon a time, she had only seen as her best friend Eleanor's annoying older brother, turned out to be the one she truly loved, and, what's more, loved her in return.

Nicola bit her lip, suddenly realizing what she might truly be feeling that morning. She felt excitement about the recent developments, yes, but alongside that excitement was the reason why she had yet to get up. If she was only excited then she would have jumped out of bed to joyously reunite with the reason for her feeling. No, she was not only excited. She was also, and quite verily, nervous.

She did not, for the life of her, know how she would carry herself. After the previous evening's debacle, she had practically collapsed in bed without even the courtesy of bidding her hosts good night. Nicola knew that emotional and physical exhaustion was to be blamed—and probably also her warm bath for being a little too soothing—and she knew that the Sheridans most probably understood. Still, Lady Sheridan and Eleanor had both been so worried that they both hugged Nicola for one full minute when she arrived with Nathaniel, the least she could have done was come down to share supper with them. She hadn't been able to properly thank the Lord Sheridan, either, for leading the Bow Street Runners to her rescue. As for Nathaniel, the last time Nicola had seen him was when she was being led away from him and towards her room to wash up; she had looked over her shoulder to find him still standing by the doorway, gazing after her with a smile on his handsome face.

Oh, even the butterflies in her stomach were nervous!

Nicola let out a small growl of self-scolding, then sat up so abruptly that she felt light-headed for a brief moment. She knew she was going to have to join the living world eventually; she had no valid reason in trying to postpone it. Eleanor would most likely go to Nicola's room before going down to breakfast, and if she didn't, then Nicola would go to hers as a best friend should. The Lord and Lady Sheridan would most likely simply embrace her when she bows her head in gratitude and apology. And Nathaniel would most likely be surprised out of his wits when Nicola kisses him the moment she sees him, but he would just have to suffer through it.

So, with a resolute nod, Nicola set to preparing for the day, and when Martine came knocking a while later, the maid found Nicola already dressed and almost finished fixing her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck. Martine, who had seen Nicola before, during, and after her foolish engagement to the Viscount Farnsworth, seemed to be glad that her mistress was up and about, and not moping over the tragic turn of events. Eleanor, as well, was elated to meet a perfectly energetic Nicola in the hallway—as Nicola had guessed, her bosom friend was on her way to check on her before proceeding to breakfast.

At the breakfast table, the Lord and Lady Sheridan greeted her warmly, and Phillip, who had heard of the exciting events that had transpired, begged Nicola to tell her side of the story so that he could have a better idea about the antagonists. (It must be said that neither master of the house scolded Phillip for referring to an earl, a viscount, and a baron as antagonists, because perhaps that was what they were.) The youngest Sheridan was bouncing in his seat, as usual, and attempting to act out an imagined fight at the Gilded Rose, that Nicola couldn't help notice the stark contrast between him and the empty chair beside him.

Nathaniel went out early that morning, Eleanor had told Nicola on their way down to breakfast. Wherever he went—Eleanor wasn't sure, or was simply not telling her—Nicola found herself half-relieved to know that she didn't have to face him just yet. Yearning though she was to see Nathaniel's smile, the one she had been imagining all morning, she highly doubted that Eleanor would appreciate seeing her brother kiss (or be kissed) in front of her. And even if no kissing were to take place, Nicola was quite sure that she would have trouble eating her breakfast instead of simply looking at Nathaniel over the dining table. That, or she would quite possibly squirm in her seat if he were to fix his warm gaze upon her.

Nicola was just about to interrupt Phillip so that she could relay how exactly she had been kidnapped—strange that she was already able to think of it as an adventure story to tell a child, rather than an event that could have cost her her life—when the sound of familiar footsteps—goodness, she could recognize his footsteps!—reached her ears. With unconsciously bated breath, she watched Nathaniel come into the room raking his fingers through his wind-tousled hair; a beloved brown lock, of course, stubbornly fell on his forehead. He seemed to be deep in thought, absently mumbling out a morning greeting and an apology for being late, before looking up to the occupants of the room.

And in that moment, when Nathaniel's hazel gaze met her sapphire one, Nicola finally decided that whatever she felt, or did not feel, when the day had started was not at all important, for she now knew what completely filled her heart.

Happiness.

Contentment.

Love.

And when Nathaniel smiled, Nicola, quite happily, greeted him, "Good morning."

A word from the author: Tada! Another Nicola and the Viscount piece. If you're familiar with Nathaniel and the Orphan and you're wondering why it took me years before I wrote this, let's just say inspiration seems to strike me only when something major happens in my life. And if you're NOT familiar with Nathaniel and the Orphan, then... that's fine. Hehe.

A few people have been asking that I do a continuation fic for Nicola and the Viscount, but since I'm fond of writing fanfics that are in-story, write-between-the-lines type of pieces, here we have something that happens between Chapter 19 and the Chapter 20 in the book. The rest of this piece is not actually going to be one whole story since I can't seem to gather enough creativity to think of a new story arc, since, y'know, Nicola and the Viscount has a pretty solid ending. But we do have two years to play with, don't we? This, then, shall be a collection of one-shots regarding Nat and Nicky, all of which can (supposedly) stand alone, but can also be read as one story. Sort of.

I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks for reading!