Timeless Christmas Romance

by Laurel O'Donnell et al.

  He didn't trust the man and knew him to be violent. Shortly before Fitz had given Claire Banton the money for her return to England, she'd received a black eye and bruised ribs from the not-so-gallant captain. So, there was ample reason to keep the man away from both Alicia and Cesca—and indeed, from any other young unmarried female in the ballroom.

  Fitz tried not to brood, but he couldn't dance, even had he wanted to. His heart was too full, and his nerves would have made him miss his step. Luckily, Alicia showed no inclination to stand up with him. He wasn't surprised—all she required was that he run back and forth like a servant each time she had a fancy for refreshment. He maintained his dignity as best he could, but underneath, he'd begun to seethe. By the time the allotted half hour was up, he brooked no argument when informing Alicia and her friends it was imperative they leave immediately.

  Despite the awkwardness this engendered, they were a merry party as they bade farewell to old friends and military colleagues and set off in his carriage, in convoy with another vehicle traveling the same road. Somehow, he lost track of Mrs. Blakeley—Alicia's chaperone for the evening—and found instead that Captain Brandt, who was spending the night with the Blakeleys, had settled himself next to Alicia. The only good thing about this arrangement was that it gave him the chance to sit beside Cesca, though this turned out more of a torment than a treat.

  They were sharing a blanket. It would have been so easy to find her hand beneath its concealing folds or brush his thigh against hers. His blood fizzed like champagne at the idea, making him lightheaded. Oh, the lure of forbidden fruit! He had to rely on his military discipline to resist the temptation of touching her.

  The journey was cold but otherwise unremarkable, until about twenty minutes into it. Their carriage lurched, slowed, then came to an abrupt halt, knocking both himself and Brandt against the ladies.

  There were just sorting themselves out when they heard a horse whinny in fright up ahead, followed by a feminine scream.

  "What's happened?" Cesca turned a worried face to Fitz.

  "Nothing to worry about, I'm sure," he said, reaching for the door. "Probably got stuck in a snowdrift, so it'll just be a case of digging the carriage out."

  He leaped out and landed ankle-deep in snow. Damn—he should have exchanged his dancing shoes for Hessian boots before setting out for home. By the light of the carriage lamps, he could see their own equipage was merely stopped in the road, and not in difficulties. The horses shook their manes and champed at their bits, their hot breath making clouds of mist in the icy air, but they weren't distressed. Up ahead, however, the carriage they were following was stuck at an uncomfortable angle toward the side of the road, and the coachman stood by his team, trying to quiet them as the vehicle's occupants emerged onto the snow.

  A brief discussion with the coachman informed Fitz that a wheel had gone into the ditch and broken an axle. Yes, the carriage could be righted with the assistance of the male passengers, but the man was very much of a mind to leave the vehicle where it was, seek shelter for the night, and return at first light to assess and fix the damage.

  Fitz's driver informed him there was an inn, the Oddfellows, less than half a mile ahead, where a warm welcome might be found.

  Deuced annoying. Fitz wasn't worried about himself—his coach could easily skirt around and continue on its way, but the stricken one held Mrs. Blakeley and her younger sister, as well as Captain Blakeley. He could never allow the ladies to walk half a mile through the snow.

  The chill air and the current crisis brought his senses to full alert. He immediately concocted a plan and returned to his carriage to execute it.

  "Fitz—you've been an age," exclaimed Alicia. "We've been dying to know what's going on."

  He resisted the urge to tell her she only need put her head out the window to see. Instead, he turned to Brandt and said, "Captain, the Blakeley’s coach is partially in a ditch, with an axle broken. We're all to make for the nearest inn. To spare Mrs. Blakeley and Miss Carlton any discomfort, I suggest they join the Misses Heathcote in this carriage and head straight for the Oddfellows Inn. You, me, and Captain Blakeley can walk the rest of the way."

  Brandt scowled. "Why must we get ourselves soaked and frozen, sir? I suggest we see if we can't all fit into the one coach, and travel in comfort."

  Typical. Had the man no moral fiber at all? "That would be most improper, Brandt," he replied. "Every time we went into a drift, the ladies would end up in the gentlemen's laps."

  Brandt's mouth quirked up. "Now I say that would be no bad thing."

  "Nonsense, man. Now button up your coat and let's get out so the ladies can take our places."

  "We're not at war now, Major," Brandt snapped. "Your orders mean nothing here."

  Fitz hung on to his patience. "As this is my carriage, I think you'll find that they do. You forget the strain it would put on the horses if they had seven people to pull, in a vehicle designed for four. We could just as easily end up in a ditch ourselves."

  A muscle worked in Brandt's jaw, and his dark eyes bit into Fitz. Then his countenance changed utterly. He flashed Alicia and Cesca a smile and stood up, saying, "Major Fitzmaurice has disappointed my hopes, ladies, but I can see the sense of his idea. I pray you, as soon as you reach the inn, have them stoke up the fire so we can dry ourselves when we arrive, and warm some brandies to heat us from within."

  "Well, I hope the inn's not full of fleas and bedbugs. I'd rather spend the night in the carriage," Alicia muttered.

  Brandt chuckled. "Allow me to bespeak you a whole flagon of mulled ale, Miss Alicia. You'll sleep so soundly that you won't even notice the Trump of Doom!"

  Fitz grimaced in distaste, but quickly hid his expression, as the captain followed orders and disembarked, then remained to help the two new passengers on board. He was about to set off when Cesca leaned out and pushed her blanket into his arms.

  "Take it," she said earnestly. "I'll share with someone else. And don't spend any longer helping sort out the damaged carriage than you need to—I know what you're like. You'll be no use to anybody with frostbitten fingers and toes."

  Wordlessly, he accepted the blanket, still warm from her body, and turned away as he pulled it around his shoulders. Bless his darling Francesca. Her simple act of kindness delved straight to his heart. He knew with a certainty as bright as the moonlit snow that he would move mountains to make her his. He just needed to work out what to do without destroying Cesca's or Alicia's reputation. Which required nothing short of a miracle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mrs. Blakeley was not unpleasant company, nor was her younger sister, Miss Carlton, but all the same, Cesca would have preferred sitting next to Fitz. But he was outside, trudging through the snow while she and the other ladies traveled in comfort to the Oddfellows Inn. Alicia was oddly silent. Now Captain Brandt was no longer with them, her light was shuttered.

  Next time she looked up, it was to find Alicia staring at her with a look of cold calculation. The look vanished instantly but awoke in Cesca a strong sense of unease.

  Mrs. Blakeley broke the tension. "Well, we'll have to hope our brave officers know how to vanquish ghosts."

  "Why would that be?" enquired Alicia, frowning.

  "Because the Oddfellows has a haunted room."

  Alicia laughed, and Miss Carlton shook her head in disbelief. Cesca, on the other hand, could not be so dismissive. "Do you know the story?" she inquired, fascinated.

  "It's a grim tale," replied Mrs. Blakeley. "And perhaps not one for a frozen Midwinter's Eve."

  So why had she brought it up? But Mrs. Blakeley was only making sure of her audience. "It is said that a traveler once became enamored of a maid who worked at the inn. A lowly wench, who mostly cleaned the place and emptied out the slops. The gentleman found her pretty, however, and made improper advances. But she'd have none of him."

  "What kind of gentleman was he?" asked Alicia. "Was he wealthy?"

  "A veteran of King Charles's a
rmy, turned to robbery on the road. So, he had wealth, yes, but ill-gotten."

  "Maybe she'd found this out, which was why she rejected him," suggested Cesca. "For who'd want to ally themselves to a high toby?"

  "I don't know what was in her mind. This story is so old that it may have changed in the telling. But the long and the short of it is, that when the local constable paid his regular visit to the inn, the highwayman blamed the maid for alerting him."

  "And had she?" asked Miss Carlton, sitting forward in her seat.

  "Who knows? That fact is obscured by the mists of time. Anyway, the highwayman was in the room which is now thought haunted, and he had captured the maid and locked them both inside. His reason was vile."

  A shudder wracked Cesca's body, and she drew the cloak more tightly around her neck, wondering what could be coming next. After a dramatic pause, Mrs. Blakeley went on. "He built up the fire in that room, then smashed the window so he could leap out. The constable, who heard the girl's screams, pounded upon the door until it broke. At which point, the villain thrust the girl into the fire to divert the constable, while he sprang through the window."

  Shocked gasps greeted this.

  "I have to assume she died," said Cesca unsteadily. Death by fire? Why couldn't this particular ghost have been drowned instead? Or frozen to death? Anything but burned.

  "Her clothes caught fire, and though she lived on a little while, the agony broke her spirit, and she succumbed. Now, guests at the inn believe they can hear her wailing."

  "That could be the wind," said Alicia.

  "And some have seen a ghostly figure by the fireplace, or forming in the smoke," Mrs. Blakeley finished dramatically.

  "Then I hope that horrible room is already occupied when we get there," said Miss Carlton, looking genuinely concerned. "For I wouldn't sleep there for all the gold in England."

  "Perhaps we could ask the officers to share that room," said Cesca. "And the ladies can sleep in pairs in whatever other accommodation is available."

  Alicia was looking at Cesca with that speculative expression again, no doubt thinking how little she wanted to spend her evening sharing a room with her older stepsister. Well, if that were the case, the feeling was mutual.

  Mrs. Blakeley's gruesome myth and the discussion it engendered had entertained them for much of the journey. Soon they were being helped down from the carriage and escorted into the inn.

  While Fitz's coachman negotiated prices and accommodation with the landlord, a sleepy maid ushered the ladies into a parlor where a fire still glowed gently. It was swiftly stoked to a blaze. Shortly after, mulled wine was offered to them, and the serving maid sent on a mission to heat some ale and look out some spirits in expectation of the gentlemen's arrival.

  Cesca was lurking anxiously in the passageway when the inn door opened, and Fitz entered, bringing with him a flurry of snow. His face lit up as soon as he saw her, and she drank in the sight of him. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and his dark blond hair clung damply to his forehead, but his eyes were brightly alert, and she thought she'd never seen him looking more handsome.

  Captain Brandt was right behind him, so after a brief word of greeting, she scurried back to the parlor. She'd no wish to expose her feelings for Fitz in front of a man she barely knew and couldn’t bring herself to trust.

  When the gentlemen came to join the ladies, they were accompanied by the steely smell of snow, as well as the breath of cold that still clung to their bodies. Fitz gave orders that all the horses be stabled appropriately and cared for, with blankets and a portion of warm mash each. As she lingered by the doorway, she heard him discussing with the innkeeper how many beds were available and working out how best to allocate the rooms between the current company. When he finally entered the parlor, every head turned in his direction.

  "You'll be glad to hear there are enough rooms to accommodate us all," he declared. "I've asked for fires to be lit in each, but I advise that we remain down here while the chambers warm up."

  "Who'll be sleeping in the haunted room?" Alicia asked.

  "Haunted room?" Fitz raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  "Indeed. Mrs. Blakeley has just been telling us all about it," Miss Carlton said.

  He tilted his head and smiled indulgently. "Whoever is least afraid of ghosts, I imagine."

  "I think we should cast lots," offered Captain Brandt. "That would be entertaining."

  "We can make it more entertaining still," said Alicia. "It's almost the season for a game of snapdragon, so I suggest we play that instead. Assuming the landlord has any raisins in his store cupboard. We know already he has brandy and is sure to have a shallow dish."

  "I'd rather not—" Cesca began, but Alicia wasn't yet finished.

  "Whoever gets the least raisins, will have the haunted room," she said. "There now. That avoids a squabble, does it not?"

  Fitz glanced around the company, then stared fixedly at Alicia. He was thinking, just as she was herself, that this was a childish idea—but Alicia pointedly ignored him. Everyone else seemed much amused at the thought of snapdragon, and Captain Brandt was already giving instructions to the landlord.

  Fitz opened his mouth to protest, then gave up with a shrug. When his gaze met Cesca's, he gave her an encouraging smile, but not even that could erase the chill around her heart. She had to hope there was no substance to the ghost story. For, as Alicia well knew, she would be the one who lost the game of snapdragon.

  Because nothing on earth could induce her to put her hand into a living flame.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cesca watched anxiously as an old pie dish with beautiful slip-trailed decoration was brought out. Raisins and brandy were found, and Captain Brandt slipped a coin into the innkeeper's hand in appreciation. Oh well, at least Fitz wasn't going to have to pay for everything—though she suspected, knowing his generous nature, he'd try hard to do so.

  All the candles were extinguished, save the one on the table. The leaping flames in the hearth gave a warm, cozy glow to the room, but that was no comfort. She must get over her fear of fire or spend the night in a haunted chamber. It was a deliberate piece of spite on Alicia's part. Had she spotted Fitz and herself embracing at the ball? It would account for the current effort at punishment.

  Cesca watched with grim foreboding as the raisins were tipped into the pie dish and scattered about so everyone could reach. Brandy was then poured into a large ladle, which Captain Brandt held over the fire until it was sufficiently warmed.

  He smiled roguishly at Alicia, and she simpered back at him. How quickly the man had become Alicia's ally! Was there more than just gallantry involved? Was he trying to make Fitz jealous, because Fitz had been promoted to major, while he remained a mere captain? If that were the case, he was flirting with the wrong woman, she thought, with a wry smile.

  Her musing was interrupted by the progress of the ladle to the table, where Brandt used a taper to ignite the warmed brandy, before pouring it carefully over the raisins.

  "To make it even more interesting," said Alicia, "I'm going to wager I get the most raisins. I will lay out a sovereign, which shall go to anyone able to fetch out more than me."

  "I'll take that wager," replied Fitz, laying a sovereign of his own on the table.

  "Splendid—a battle betwixt a gentleman and his intended." Captain Brandt hung the ladle up by the fireplace. "I sense there's more at stake here than a mere sovereign," he added, smirking at Alicia.

  Cesca winced, and Fitz started at the word intended. But now was not the time, nor was this the place, to refute it. The other members of the group were laughing, and shaking coins out of their purses, entering happily into the spirit of the wager. It would spoil everyone’s fun if Alicia got into a pet.

  Cesca tipped a coin out of her purse. As she set it on the table, she announced, "I wager Viscount Lonsdale will win," earning a black look from her stepsister.

  The room fell quiet until the only things to be heard were the voices of
the greedy flames consuming the brandy's vapor and the breathing of the excited participants. The liquor burned with blue fire, tipped in places with orange, mercifully a far gentler-looking flame than that which had nearly destroyed Cesca's bed all those years ago.

  Then, without waiting for any rules to be established, the company dipped straight in, grabbing raisins from the flames, and dropping them quickly on the table in front of them. There were laughs, complaints, and squawks of dismay as everyone battled to claim the fruit.

  Everyone but Cesca, who could only gaze hopelessly into the flames.

  She tore her eyes away, accepting she could only be a spectator. She watched Alicia, whose technique was to set her sights on a particular raisin and keep her fingers in the flame until she had a firm grip on it before removing it from the bowl. Other players dipped and retreated, or dived quickly in and out, but dropped their spoils. All was done in a spirit of great good humor and evident enjoyment.

  Seeing no one burned or even singed—though there was much licking of overheated fingers—Cesca plucked up the courage to try and salvage at least one raisin, but Alicia knocked her hand side.

  "You could at least let me have one, Alicia," Cesca admonished, bristling with annoyance.

  "This is a contest, my dear, or had you not noticed?" Alicia grabbed another raisin and added it to her haul.

  Gritting her teeth, Cesca steeled herself to try again, but the blue flames flickered and went out. There was a mixed chorus of groans and sighs.

  Eyeing her pile of fruit with glee, Alicia said, "Fitz, will you strike up the lights again, so that we may count our winnings?"

  He obeyed, then returned to his place at the table opposite Cesca, while Brandt decanted the remaining brandy and raisins into a jug for consumption later.

  Alicia had the most. Grinning broadly, she gathered up the little pile of coins she'd won and shot Fitz a triumphant look.

  Cesca was the only player with no spoils at all. She pursed her lips in acceptance of her fate—she was going to spend the night in a room which might—or might not—be haunted. However, even the company of an infuriated spirit was preferable to sharing a bed with Alicia.