Page 9 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 5

Cesca'snext letter from Fitz clearly wasn't meant for general consumption. It came tucked inside his missive to the family and had her name in bold lettering on the front. Everyone stared at her as she left the garden, where they were taking luncheon alfresco, and sought the privacy of her room.

The folded paper trembled in her fingers. What news did Fitz have that he wanted her to hear first? Fear cannoned through her—it must be bad news. He'd lost a limb; he'd suffered burns, or—worst of all possible scenarios—he'd taken a wife. It wasn't unusual for such things to happen, she knew. All that traveling, meeting new people in thrilling or desperate circumstances—emotions were raw, needs were urgent.

She sighed at her folly and took a few calming breaths. Then she opened the letter.

May 15th, Flanders

My darling Francesca,

I trust you are well. I have little time to write, as you will soon understand.

My recent news is that I've fallen foul of a fellow officer. He was insulting a lady, and I rushed to her defense. Blows were exchanged, and when the whole business was put before the colonel, he insisted he and I settle our dispute like gentlemen. Meaning a duel at pistol point. I know this will shock you, but I also know you will appreciate my honesty. As you can see, I am unharmed, or I'd not be writing this letter. The colonel told both myself and my opponent we must delope and fire wide, but during that moment when I stared death in the face, not sure if my nemesis would obey our superior's order to miss me, I came to a realization. I was a fool not to marry you before enlisting. Even if I were to fall in the field, I'd have the peace of knowing you'd be well-provided for and could add the title countess to your name, which would allow you to hold your head high in Society.

So, my only desire in this world is to marry you, my lovely Francesca, at the earliest opportunity. To that end, I have sent off for a special license, and applied for a week’s furlough, and intend to come as soon as I can to ask for your hand in person, assuming your papa is well enough to receive me. My father has already given his blessing; he wrote and told me how much he'd enjoyed your visits, and that he'd be delighted to see us united.

So, I'll be with you soon, I hope and pray, to make my offer for your hand.

Your doting servant,

Fitz

Cesca’s heart pumped painfully as panic invaded her breast.

"No, foolish girl," she said aloud, pacing the room. "He won't be here so very soon. He's only been back in Flanders a few weeks—they'd never grant him furlough after such a short time. Would they?"

All the same, she couldn't help but run to the nearest mirror to make sure she looked presentable. Large hazel eyes stared back at her, alight with expectation. She tucked a loosened curl of her dark blond hair back into place and pouted at herself. Did that mouth look kissable? She had to hope so.

Now she had an ordeal to survive, that of telling her family the contents of her letter. Or at least, a censored version thereof—she didn't want Papa having too long to think about accepting Fitz's offer, just in case he came up with objections. And he certainly wouldn't want to hear about such things as camp followers. Alicia probably would, but that was by-the-by.

As Cesca emerged through the open French windows and onto the terrace, Papa put down Fitz's other letter and stared at her. Alicia, curiously, looked away.

"So," said Papa, "Viscount Lonsdale, or should I say, captain, for that is what he is at present, plans to visit us as soon as he may. I wonder what the urgency is. Lord Beaulieu is in much better health, is he not, Francesca? So, I don't understand his son's haste in returning home. He seems to be far too often on leave—his fellow officers will start thinking him a coward."

That rankled. "I'm sure he wouldn't come if there were an important battle imminent," Cesca said. "What else does he say in his letter?"

Papa frowned at the paper in front of him. His gout was evidently still paining him, putting him in irascible mood. "Nothing of any great import. We were disappointed, weren't we, Alicia? What does he say to you?"

"Oh, much the same, that he'll be back soon," she said, hoping her guilty joy wasn't written all over her face.

Putting the letter down, Papa said, "A decoction of willow bark for the pain wouldn't go amiss, my dear. Then, if that works, I'll take the carriage, and call on Beaulieu. His son's peculiar behavior warrants discussion, and I confess I’ve been missing the old coot. You shall both accompany me."

"I wanted to go riding this afternoon, Papa.” Alicia pulled a face.

Cesca sighed to herself. Honestly, her stepsister seemed to be getting even more selfish as time went by. Everyone did their best to please the chit, but though she thanked them prettily enough for their indulgence, the smile never reached her eyes.

"I can't spare a groom," Papa replied. "Bates will be coming with me, and Gadling will have to stay and look after the stables. I suppose you could always ride alongside if you don't want to join us in the carriage."

"I suppose I could."

"Well," said Cesca, refusing to be daunted by the combative atmosphere, "if we're going out this afternoon, we'd best finish our luncheon and get ready. Shall I send a note over to the manor to tell them to expect us?"

Before her papa could answer, there was a clatter of hooves on the driveway as a rider hove into view. Pulling his mount to a halt at the side of the house, he leaped from the saddle, flung the reins at the groom who chased out to meet him, and strode toward the Heathcotes, doffing his hat as he came. The breath caught in Cesca's throat.

Fitz! True to his word, he'd come, posthaste.

Which meant—though she hardly dared believe she deserved such happiness—that in a few days’ time, she'd be his wife.