Page 6 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 3

How Cesca survivedthe weeks until the arrival of Fitz's first letter, she didn’t know. She understood only too well the malaise that had kept Alicia to her bed during the dark days of winter, but she could never take that course herself—it would give her too much time to think, and thinking increased the pain.

A whole, long, frustrating month after Fitz's departure, a packet of letters arrived from Flanders, addressed to Mr. Heathcote.

Their arrival put Cesca in a cold panic—she dropped things, forgot things, and spilled her tea. She had to sit on her hands when Papa finally got around to opening the missives, lest the trembling of her fingers reveal her feelings.

The letters were crammed with amusing vignettes of Fitz's fellow officers and men, and descriptions of the new landscapes in which the army set up camp. He asked after Alicia's health—which seemed to please her greatly—and repeatedly assured them all of his own, his only complaint being that he was seeing a great deal more mud than he was used to. They wouldn't know him when they saw him next, he joked—he'd become hugely capable and self-sufficient since joining the army and couldn't wait to demonstrate some of his newly acquired skills back on the home farm at Beaulieu Manor.

There were no personal comments, no hints as to what lay between him and Cesca—the epistles were meant for the whole family. If only he could have contrived to write to her secretly! It would have steadied the uneasy beat of her heart if he'd reassured her of the strength of his feelings.

As the letters started to arrive more regularly, the severity of Cesca's palpitations grew. The worst moment was when news reached England in March that Napoleon had escaped from captivity on Elba and had arrived on the coast of Provence. Was Fitz about to see action? Engage with the enemy for the first time? Would the next letter bring devastating news, written in an unfamiliar hand, describing his heroic death on the battlefield?

She found herself questioning Fitz’s decision not to opt for a hasty marriage before departing with his regiment. If they'd married back in January, she might even now be quickening with his child, and would at least have that prospect to comfort her in his absence. And if he were—God forbid—to be killed, she would always have a piece of him to cherish, and a reason to carry on living.

But it was too late to do anything about that now. The letters continued to arrive and, at Papa's request, she replied to each one in words of careful neutrality.

In early spring, she had to send Fitz the worrying news that his father, the Earl of Beaulieu, had suffered an apoplectic seizure, and their family physician was genuinely concerned. The news would summon Fitz home, whether the army needed him or not. She couldn’t wait to be reunited with him, despite fears their meeting would be blighted by sorrow.

On a bright day in mid-April, her heart lifted at the realization spring had truly arrived. A light breeze wafting through the open window brought with it the sound of enthusiastic birdsong, and as she gazed out the breakfast room window, there was a glossy quality to the sunlight gilding the late primroses and brightly colored tulips in the borders beyond. If Fitz came soon, his sea journey would at least take place in fair weather.

For once, Alicia was down early to breakfast. The promise of spring had patently affected her too—she need only take a little exercise and fresh air to bring the roses back to her cheeks.

"Have we heard anything from Fitz?" Alicia inquired, piling her plate high with devilled kidneys, kedgeree, and toast.

"Of course not. It's much too early for the post, and I can assure you, nothing arrived in the middle of the night." How typical of her to ask after Fitz, and not care about the condition of the earl. Cesca resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Alicia took a mouthful of food, then pushed her plate away.

"Are you not hungry, child?" asked Papa. "I hope you're not feeling worse again."

"I might be," Alicia replied, her mouth drooping at the corners.

His brow creased in worry, so Cesca said quickly, "Then you must take a brisk walk around the garden with me, Alicia. That will give a spike to your appetite."

Her stepsister shook her head and scowled, unimpressed by Cesca’s suggestion. If only Alicia could be a bit more thoughtful of others—she must know Papa worried about her. He had his own health issues to contend with, and was concerned about the Earl of Beaulieu too, having known him since they were boys.

"I'll fetch my shawl," Cesca said decisively, "and meet you in the walled garden in quarter of an hour."

"Maybe." Alicia took a desultory sip of her milk. "But if I don't come, don't wait for me."

She didn't come. After wandering about the walled garden for a good half hour, frustration took Cesca out into the paddock for the bracing walk she'd promised herself. She couldn't stay cross for long—the countryside was looking so splendid today. The morning sun had fashioned a mantle of glittering gold from the cobwebs strung across the grass. The edges of the field were blurred with mist, the tops of the hedges apparently floating above the haze. In a nearby hawthorn, a blackbird trilled his song.

A sound made her look up, just in time to see a man vault over the gate at the bottom of the field. She pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders and lifted her head to greet him as he strode toward her.

Her heart turned a somersault. Less than a second later, she was hurtling toward him, her shawl flying from her shoulders.

"Fitz!"

"Francesca!” He caught her and swung her around in a crushing embrace. “The gods have answered my prayers. I dared hope I might catch you alone, and now here you are."

Desperate though she was to hold him tight, to feel the warm reality of his living, breathing body, she had to look at him, to reassure herself he was still in one piece. Stepping away, she appraised him from head to toe, and her cheeks heated. Though it had been but a couple of months, he had grown in both stature and bearing. The military life had not just turned him into a soldier; it had made him into a leader of men, proud, self-confident, expecting to be obeyed.

He put his hands on his hips and gave her a lopsided grin, proof that the old Fitz had not been completely taken over by this new demigod. "Like what you see?" he asked, quirking a provocative eyebrow.

She pretended to give his question some thought. Eventually, she said, "Couldn't you at least have come in uniform? I could marvel at you even more."

He spread his hands and looked down at his comfortable country attire. "This was the best I could do in a hurry. The doctor gave Papa a purge and some strong balm tea, which made him fall asleep. He looked comfortable enough, so I dashed out to see you."

Her heart swelled with bittersweet joy. Aside from his father, he had thought of her above all else. She must surely be the luckiest young woman in England, to have this infinitely desirable man for her very own.

"You've missed breakfast," she said, gazing up at him, "but I'm sure we can stretch to tea if you'd like some."

"All in good time. There's something I need to do."

Excitement fizzed through her veins as he took a step closer to grasp her hand. She expected him to kiss it, but that wasn't what he had in mind. His breath feathered her cheek as he bent his head, capturing her gaze with the intensity of his. His attention focused on her mouth and her lips tingled in delicious anticipation.

"Fitz! You're here!"

"Your stepsister's timing is impeccable," he muttered as he drew away.

"Oh, Fitz, how wonderful to see you!" Alicia cried as she closed the distance between them and flung herself into his arms. Buffeted by the whirlwind of her arrival, Cesca took a step back, impressed at the amount of energy the young woman had just found. Not bad... for an invalid.

But when Alicia threw her arms around Fitz's neck and kissed him full on the lips, a suspicion she'd been nursing since Christmas gave way to horrid, soul-destroying fact. Alicia cared a good deal more for Fitz than she ought.

Her stepsister was in love with him.