Page 11 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 7

Cesca was in the kitchen,helping to preserve some of last year’s apples when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. A quick glance through the window revealed Fitz, leaping from his horse and handing the reins to the groom.

Thank heaven! They’d had so little time to talk through the events of yesterday, particularly Alicia’s perfidy. Now they could discuss it properly—in private—and decide on their next move. She knew Fitz had done nothing wrong. It shouldn’t take much to convince Papa that Alicia needed a peal rung over her.

But first, she and Fitz needed to come up with a plan. Fighting to quell the excited thundering of her heart, she hastened upstairs to greet him, only to learn from the footman that he’d gone straight in to see Papa.

He must be about to ask for her hand! Apart from the wedding itself, this promised to be the happiest day of her life. She drifted back to the kitchen, looking for employment to distract her while she waited for Fitz to find her and share his good news. However, after trying to bottle fruit in a cracked pot, burning her hand, and pouring hot syrup all over the table, she decided the best option was to go outside.

There, at least, she could breathe again. She started pacing up and down the lawn in a desperate attempt to contain her excitement, then realized she could be seen from the house and headed off to pace in the walled garden instead. After an anxious twenty minutes, she heard the gate open and looked up.

Fitz stood there, hat, whip and gloves in his hands, his face pale and his mouth unsmiling. Was he leaving already? Why did he look so grim? She hurried down the brick path toward him, her heart in her mouth. “What is it? Tell me.”

She reached out a hand, but he took a step back. “Don’t,” he commanded.

Elation changed to anxiety. Why couldn’t she touch him? “Have you asked Papa if we can marry?” she enquired, her voice quavering.

“I have. But it seems I’m not to have your hand after all.”

The world lurched off balance, and Cesca feared she was about to faint. She found just enough breath to exclaim, "What? He refused you?” Why ever would Papa do that? Unless he’d just cautioned Fitz to wait until the campaign against Napoleon was over.

“Not exactly. He offered me an alternative.” Fitz’s voice shook with barely controlled emotion. “He’d like me to marry your stepsister instead.”

Cesca went cold as the blood flowed away from her limbs. Her bones felt like putty. She staggered, and would have fallen, had he not dropped his whip and caught her.

“Sit,” he ordered, helping her toward the garden bench. “Take a few deep breaths. That’s it.”

He sat beside her, still not touching her—a stranger, distant and polite. How could he be so restrained, when she was falling to pieces?

“Tell me,” she whispered, twisting her fingers together until they hurt.

“It’s because of yesterday. Well, mostly.” His voice was hard, and she felt each word as a knife-blow to the heart. “Apparently so many people witnessed Alicia kissing me, it would be a scandal for me not to marry her. And there was… the other thing.”

“But it was only your two cousins, and our groom, and us. Surely the others could see she was overwrought? My stepsister gets over-excited and gives not a fig for the consequences of her actions. I know what happened wasn't your fault."

“I fear in this case she wasn’t being careless at all. Making me appear to grasp her breast was perfectly calculated. I can’t believe she cares for me—she’s just jealous of you, the ungrateful chit. Doesn’t she appreciate how much you’ve done to make her happy?”

Cesca’s body went numb. “I believe she might have developed an infatuation for you.” Each word felt like a stone in her mouth. “That would explain why she had a tantrum in her room after you came into mine that night. You heard her too, remember? And while she’s been ill, she’s been writing love poetry—we both saw it. Fancy and reality are melded in her mind now, so she puts the common proprieties aside and will do anything to achieve her ends. But how could she do this, though, when she knows how much I care for you?”

“Maybe she doesn’t know. You’re very good at concealing your feelings. When you need to, I mean. But I refuse to make excuses for her—I’m appalled at what she’s done.”

“You can’t marry her, then,” Cesca decided. “Papa will just have to accept that.”

Fitz’s voice was very soft as he said, “It’s not just your father. It’s mine, too. He said yesterday it would be churlish of me not to offer for Alicia after so public a display of affection. Damn those cousins of mine! Why couldn’t they have kept their mouths shut? Then I’d only have your father to deal with.”

“Surely the earl wouldn’t wish you to marry someone you dislike?”

“He says Mama didn’t love him before they married, though he was besotted with her. But despite that one-sidedness, their marriage worked well.”

“That’s ridiculous. He can’t judge everyone else by his own experience.” She felt the numbness percolate away, to be replaced by growing anger. "If there's love on one side and not the other, that love will turn to resentment, then bitterness, and finally, hate. Not even Alicia deserves such a ghastly future."

“Oh, my darling.” Fitz finally reached for her hand and pressed it tightly between his own. “In all of this, you think only of others, not of yourself. I love you because of it. I want to marry you, Cesca. If I cannot, I’d rather never marry at all.”

It warmed her to hear his words, but even as they left his lips, she was building a wall around her heart. Just in case.

“You can’t stay a bachelor forever,” she pointed out. “You’re expected to produce an heir to the earldom.”

“That’s true,” he said, entangling his fingers with hers. “Since his seizure, Papa has frequently hinted that I ought to set up my nursery soon. But I never thought he'd pressure me into marrying the wrong woman. I have to find a way to fight this. But it's been such a shock—I can barely think straight."