Page 13 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 8

Cesca sat on her bed,the door locked, a handful of papers spread out across the counterpane. She’d left some of the writings behind, in hopes Alicia wouldn’t realize that some were missing. If her stepsister had any idea what she was up to, the papers would end up as ash. Assuming there was something incriminating in them.

She unfolded a page and sucked in a breath. Not a poem, a letter. Not written in Alicia’s hand, although there were some similarities.

My Darling Alicia,

My heart burns for you with an undying love. Never have I seen a creature more beautiful, more splendid than you. Tell me, has one of the goddesses stepped down from Olympus and arrived on Earth in mortal form? Say not so, for then I will be in fear you may be taken away from me, at the whim of Juno, jealous of all lovers. I can’t sleep for wanting you, and all my daylight hours are torture. Say we may be together soon, I beg you. Please rescue me from my nightmare by saying the words I long to hear drop from your sweet lips. Fitz, I love you. I love you, Fitz.

Cesca sat back, nausea roiling in her stomach. Fitz? How could the letter be from Fitz? Dark wings beat about her head, threatening oblivion, and it was as much as she could do not to faint. But she forced herself to look again.

The handwriting. It looked similar to his, but it wasn’t the same—unless he’d been drunk when he wrote it. And Fitz was never drunk. Nor would he express himself in such florid terms. Alicia had written the letters to herself. All Cesca need do was take her stepsister’s writings to their father. They were the perfect proof of her infatuation with Fitz, of an unhealthy delusion masquerading as love.

Papa surely wouldn't expect Fitz to marry Alicia after that. Especially if it turned out she'd orchestrated the whole ghastly spectacle of the runaway horse and Fitz's so-called rescue.

She unfolded more of the pages. Some of the letters, she discovered, were in Alicia’s usual hand, supposedly her replies to her lover. All were dated, so they could be read in order, each letter more passionate than the last. Those purporting to be from Fitz were all signed with an unreadable squiggle, quite unlike his genuine signature. It shouldn’t be hard to convince Papa of their lack of authenticity.

Folding them up, she slipped them into her reticule, threw on a shawl, and went in search of her father. She eventually discovered him in the kitchen garden, balancing on his good foot and pruning an espaliered pear tree.

“Papa, may I speak with you?”

“Of course, though I know what you’re going to say,” he answered, dropping his shears on the grass. “You think me wrong to force Fitz to marry Alicia.”

“I do,” she said. Was this a hint of hope? Did he know he was mistaken? “But you don’t yet know my reason.”

“I’m not blind, child,” he said, patting her hand. “I know you and Fitz care for one another. But I’m trying to prevent a scandal which would affect us all, including the earl. An engagement between Alicia and Fitz would mollify Society. Let’s give it six months or so until everyone has forgotten yesterday’s embarrassing incident.”

No. It would better if there were no engagement at all. Was she to be forced to watch Fitz and Alicia parading about as a happy couple? It would crush her. Was she genuinely expected to hide her head and pretend she didn’t care?

Alicia had no right to do this to her. No right at all. “Please sit down, Papa,” she said. “I have something to show you.” Without explanation, she handed him the letters and watched his face change as he examined them. When he finally looked up, his expression was stony. "This isn't Fitz's handwriting."

“I know. There are more of these letters under her mattress. I don’t know how long she’s been doing this, but I’m sure she must have planned that so-called accident at Beaulieu.”

"I have spoiled that child." He rested his head in his hands, then massaged his temples. "When her mama died, we were united in our grief, and I couldn't see beyond the fact that she understood my suffering. I apologize, Cesca, for being too lenient with her, and confess to being a foolish old man who should take all the blame for her behavior yesterday.”

“Then change your mind, Papa!” She took his hand between her own. “Let Fitz offer for me and accept him, please!”

"People see what they choose to see. If Society discovers Alicia trapped Fitz, after writing him foolish letters and poems, she’ll become a laughing stock. That, as I said, will reflect poorly on our family and tarnish your reputation too. For now—unless some other solution presents itself, which I very much doubt—they must be engaged. I know the earl will be in agreement—he won’t want a shadow to fall over his son’s good name."

“I don’t care about my reputation, and I’d rather die an embittered spinster than marry anyone but Fitz. You know he hates the idea of doing anything dishonorable.” Cesca swallowed hard, distress stinging her throat. “He’ll be so miserable, entering into an engagement he may never get out of.”

“The final decision must rest with the earl.” Her father plucked off a yellowed leaf and rolled it between his fingers. “To him, the opinions of the ton matter even more than they do to us. I think Fitz may improve Alicia if he squires her about when he’s home and keeps her out of trouble. And if he can quell her waywardness, that will surely be a good thing.”

"So, I can't make you change your mind?" Cesca’s lungs had constricted, and she had to force out every word. “Won’t it reflect badly on Fitz when he breaks the engagement?” It could mean half a year’s delay. More, even, because Fitz’s name would be severely tarnished if he dropped Alicia and immediately started courting herself. It could be a year, maybe even longer, before Cesca was in his arms again. How was she to bear the wait? So many things could go awry in that time. Badly awry. She shuddered.

Papa shook his head. "I regret the letters only strengthen my conviction. Alicia's clearly obsessed with the man, and I dread to think what she might do if we don't let her have her way. We already balance on the edge of scandal. She wouldn't think twice about leaping in and taking us all with her. You're a sensible girl, my dear Cesca—you must understand my reasoning. Alicia could ruin your prospect of a respectable marriage."

“She still could. How do you think she’ll react when Fitz breaks their engagement, especially if she thinks it genuine? She won’t let him go that easily. Best not to take the chance at all.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but her father’s expression didn’t soften. “Francesca, you’re young. You must understand there are some matters best left to your elders to decide. I can see no alternatives at present.”

She swiped at her eyes, then turned away and walked rapidly toward the garden door, not wanting Papa to see the anger twisting her face. She was closer to hating someone than she’d ever been in her life. Not him, because he couldn’t possibly comprehend the depths of her feelings for Fitz—but her stepsister. Alicia, who’d cast a dark shadow of despair over what should have been one of the most joyful days of her life.

One thing was for certain—she never wanted to speak to her again. She’d rather cut out her own heart and offer it up to the crows.