Lady Widbrook wrote back, expressed her delight, and invited Cesca to accompany her to a regimental ball on the second day of the proposed visit. It was a soldiers’ reunion, a local celebration held in honor of the fortunate survivors of the battle of Waterloo. It was also an opportunity to raise a glass to the dead of that desperate conflict.
Unfortunately, those survivors numbered men from Fitz’s regiment. He would be there, making her first meeting with him in six months a very public affair. It was not what she would have wanted at all. Particularly when on arriving at Mountney Hall, she learned that he was escorting Alicia to the event.
Which meant she was right. He’d capitulated. That was why he’d never written. Concealing her feelings from Lady Widbrook when making that discovery was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Midwinter’s Eve, the night of the ball, came far too quickly. Lurking upstairs in her spacious chamber, Cesca stared at her reflection, sighed, then pinched her cheeks to get a bit of color into them.
Stepping away, she turned around in front of the mirror. She looked resplendent in her gown; her hair was beautifully styled, her face pretty but very pale, and her expression looked haunted. She didn’t want Fitz to see her like this. He’d know the minute his eyes met hers how much she still suffered his loss. Steeling her courage, she headed downstairs in search of her warmest cloak and wondered if she ought to take a fortifying drink to soften the blow of seeing Fitz and Alicia together.
It was about half an hour's carriage ride to the Assembly Rooms where the ball was to be held, and would doubtless be an uncomfortable journey, with nothing but darkness beyond the windows. The elderly Lady Widbrook was a problematic conversationalist, being somewhat deaf, so Cesca decided not only to have a snifter of brandy before leaving—though she knew it was frightfully unladylike—but she also decided to take a book.
A few flakes of snow were drifting on the air as they climbed into the carriage, and by the time they reached their destination, she felt frozen to death. As soon as she got the chance, she hunted down a bowl of lamb’s wool and enjoyed its hot, tingling descent down her throat. A glass of wine mulled with cinnamon, nutmeg and honey followed, and the warmth finally stole back into her limbs.
What she needed to retain that warmth was a good, lively dance, so she took her place next to Lady Widbrook, and gazed at the dancers with a hopeful smile, waiting for the gentlemen to notice her and fill her dance card.
Before long, she was noticed, and some old friends invited her to join their party, which, with her chaperone’s permission, she did.
This was a much livelier prospect. The young gentlemen in the group made sure no lady was left out, and Cesca was soon dancing, smiling, and joking with them all.
Until Alicia entered the room with the Blakeleys, near neighbors of the Heathcotes.
Accompanied by Fitz.
Chapter Eleven
Cesca was surprised to find Alicia wasn't the evil looking harpy she'd conjured up in her mind. The girl appeared taller, more elegant, and considerably more grown-up than she had six months ago. But despite her having evidently developed an eye for style, Cesca thought her silk gown and turban a little too lavishly bright, and the gown decidedly too low-cut. How could Papa possibly have approved? Then, her breathing achingly shallow, Cesca looked at Fitz.
He cut the same dashing figure as ever. With an agonizing contraction of the heart, she knew her feelings for him were undiminished.
Her current dancing partner—a darkly handsome fellow by the name of Captain Brandt—was forgotten as she drank in the sight of Fitz, his dark blond hair bronzed by the candlelight. His broad shoulders and upright carriage marked him out as a demigod among mere mortals. Her heart flared like tinder in a furnace, and her dancing became that of a string-less marionette, relying on Captain Brandt to guide her where she needed to be.
Then the music ended, and her partner made his bow and retreated. Alicia, suddenly spotting Cesca in the crush, caught Fitz by the arm, and steered him in her direction. The urge to run was only just suppressed; to cut her stepsister in such company would do her no credit, and Papa would be furious when he heard. So, she pasted on a smile and kissed the air either side of Alicia's face and invited her to join their party.
She had to greet Fitz too, or risk Lady Widbrook’s displeasure, but when she looked up into his face, she discovered she was mistaken about him not having changed.
He'd changed a good deal.
A livid scar bisected his left eyebrow, stopping just short of his eye—a badge of honor from Waterloo, perhaps? It didn't spoil his looks, though. In her eyes, it enhanced them, making him look harder, more virile, and more commandingly masculine. Despite the softness of the candlelight, she could see that the lines on his face were deeper, giving him a forbidding look, but his general aspect was flat and lifeless, and his mouth an unsmiling slash.
But as he looked at her—really looked at her—a fire kindled in the depths of his blue eyes. A fierce flame, stoked by fury. Why was he angry with her?
Shocked, she collapsed back into her seat and took a hefty swig of her mulled wine. Alicia talked at her after that, but she had no idea what was being said. She could feel Fitz's presence, more powerfully than she'd ever felt it before, and it cowed and crushed her, leaving confusion in its wake.
Did he still love her? Did he now hate her? She couldn't tell. All she knew was that she couldn't breathe when his eyes were on her. Her equanimity didn't return until he excused himself and stalked off in search of Lady Widbrook.
Throughout the rest of that painful evening, Cesca did her utmost to appear unmoved by the presence of both Fitz and Alicia. She made every effort to simper, to flatter and to flirt with any eligible bachelor who happened to speak to her, or dance with her. Yet all the time, she could feel Fitz's brooding presence and knew he was watching her.
He must know she was avoiding him, and understand the reason, but surely that wasn’t enough to put him in so black a mood? She knew he'd only done what he thought was the right thing in courting Alicia. She understood the amount of pressure he'd been under from both her father and his own. But it was impossible to forgive him when he offered nothing but hostility.
“Excuse me, Miss Heathcote, but I think it unwise to dance more than one waltz with the same gentleman.” Fitz must have grown tired of challenging her at a distance. He’d decided to do it at close quarters.
She gaped in surprise, and her partner, Captain Brandt, looked daggers at him. Fortunately, everyone else was too absorbed in the dance to notice the brief battle of wills that ensued. Brandt’s face paled, but after a moment, he smirked at his rival and said, “Be my guest. Unless the lady objects to your appalling lack of manners. I, of course, am used to them.”
Fitz’s head went back as if he’d been struck, but he held his ground, gazed coolly at his opponent and slid his hand around Cesca’s waist. Too stunned to object, her gaze locked with his and she barely noticed Brandt’s exit as Fitz swept her back into the dance.
He was fire and ice, his anger burning with a cold flame that threatened to freeze the blood in her veins. She couldn't drag her eyes from his face, and the heat of his hands branded her body, searing away her will.
She could find nothing to say. Even if she had found the words, her tongue would have stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes must do the talking for her.
And then she realized he wasn’t angry at all. The lines on his face were the scars of fundamental unhappiness, and the rigidity of his body was an effort to keep control.
He bent his head and whispered, “I missed you so much. I needed you more than you can ever know. Why did you run away?”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I thought you’d write and we could work out what to do.”
“You could have written to me.” He twirled her around in time with the music, his touch hard, uncompromising.
He was blaming her? She’d done n
othing wrong. Nothing. Her jaw tightened.
“What, write to my stepsister’s betrothed?” That wouldn’t just be improper. It would have made her look like a love-sick fool, chasing after the man who’d abandoned her.
His fingers tightened their grip on her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m not engaged to Alicia.”
She missed her step. “You’re not?”
“How could you doubt me? I’m only squiring her tonight to protect her reputation. But the pressure on me to marry her has not eased one iota. Where in hell have you been, Francesca?”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” She’d just trodden on another dancer’s foot. “I… I… we can’t talk here, Fitz.”
“Later, then.” He squeezed her hand, and she felt the pulse of his touch throb through her entire body. She’d tried to tell herself she could manage without him, but now he was near, her need was so fierce that it threatened to engulf her. She gazed up at him, hoping against hope that he still wanted her.
His eyes told her all she needed to know.
The music wavered, ended, and they spun to a halt. Fitz bowed over her hand, but his eyes never left her face. She fought her way out of the spell he’d created, lest she say—or do—something idiotic, and noticed the room was far less crowded than it had been.
"Where did everybody go?"
He didn't reply. Taking her hand, he led her back to her party, where Alicia immediately jumped up saying, "Fitz. It was too kind of you to dance with Cesca. There would have been gossip had you not, wouldn't there?"
He still held her hand, but as he stood so close to her, only someone behind them would have noticed. Crackles of electricity, like summer lightning, leaped from his body to hers. Propriety and convention were stripped away, leaving her indifferent to anything but the feel of Fitz's hand. Not that Alicia would have noticed, for Captain Brandt had joined her, and she appeared more than entertained by his conversation.
When Fitz finally released her, Cesca felt more alone than ever and decided another visit to the punchbowl was in order. But before she could move, he restrained her with the lightest of touches, then announced, "I'm going to find out why the guests have started disappearing so early."
She forced herself not to watch as he strode off in search of the Assembly Rooms’ Master of Ceremonies. The last thing she wanted to do was give away her feelings in front of Alicia.
"Cesca.” Her stepsister patted the empty seat next to her. “You must come and talk to Captain Brandt. He met Fitz in Flanders when he first joined the regiment. I'd no idea my fiancé had such charming friends."
"We've met," said Cesca, reluctantly taking the proffered seat.
Brandt stood and bowed politely. "I've already had the honor of several dances with your sister,” he informed Alicia. “And I wouldn't say your beau and I were friends exactly—more in the way of… colleagues, I suppose. But I'll accept the compliment, nonetheless."
Cesca supposed she shouldn’t condemn Alicia for flirting with Brandt, not when she'd spent most of her evening flirting with the officers herself. Her reason had been to show Alicia she no longer cared about the theft of Fitz and perhaps—although she wasn’t proud of herself for it—to make him jealous. Although now, having been held in his arms, she knew her love for Fitz to be still very much alive, and the pain sat inside her like cold-bladed steel, ready to inflict further wounds each time she set eyes on him. Which happened a lot, despite her best efforts. Her gaze was glued to his tall, elegant form as he moved around talking to the other guests, before escorting Lady Widbrook from the room.
When he finally returned to their party, his face was grave. "The snow's coming down faster and settling. Those with longer journeys to make have already left, and we'd be advised to do the same before traveling becomes either dangerous or impossible. Miss Heathcote," he added, turning to Cesca. "My aunt has gone to collect her cloak and will be leaving immediately for Mountney Hall."
He offered her his arm, but as she rose to take it, Alicia protested. "Oh, no, Fitz, she can't go yet—I've hardly spoken a word to her. Papa will be cross if we return too soon, so we must stay a little longer—I'm so enjoying myself."
His expression darkened, but he recovered himself quickly. "Of course, we may stay a little longer. But I want to see your stepsister safely on her way back to my aunt’s and make a foray out of doors at the same time to assess the weather for myself. Miss Heathcote?" The arm was offered again.
"No, Fitz, don't make her go! She can come back with us, can't she? There's plenty of room in the carriage. I've barely begun to tell her about all the plans I have for Beaulieu when we marry, or the improvements I've already suggested for Lonsdale."
Fitz winced, then shot Cesca a meaningful look. "The choice is yours, Miss Heathcote."
If she stayed, they’d be able to talk—that hand-clasp told her that he still cared, that their story wasn't yet over. If Alicia continued to focus all her attention on Captain Brandt, it would be easy to steal a moment or two.
"I'll stay," she said. "But I must make my apologies to Lady Widbrook first, so she doesn't think I've abandoned her."
Fitz signaled his approval with an unsmiling nod and placed her hand on his arm. How exquisite it felt to be walking arm-in-arm, crossing the ballroom with him. She held her head high, letting herself imagine they were a couple. Although if they were, she hoped he'd be looking a lot less somber.
Apologies were made, and farewells said. When Fitz went in search of his coat, he fetched Cesca's cloak as well, so she could stand in the open doorway and wave Lady Widbrook off.
Even after her ladyship's carriage had been swallowed by the night, Cesca remained, gazing out at the darkness. Mesmerized, she watched the snowflakes as they suddenly sprang into existence in the light emanating from the house, then swirled to the ground in a never-ending cascade. Fitz stood beside her, watching too. It was beautiful. The scene, the moment, the man. She would store this memory away and treasure it, revisiting it whenever melancholy threatened to reduce her to tears.
But the beauty of the moment was not yet over. Fitz pulled her tightly against him. She softened against his body, resting her head on his chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and let out a deep breath of contentment.
It felt so right. He was still her best friend. She needed him, and she'd been an idiot to doubt him. But questions still had to be asked.
She tugged at the lapel of his evening coat. "Why didn't you answer my note?"
He sighed heavily. "Alicia burnt it.” His voice was taut as he added, “Right in front of me."
"What?" Cesca freed herself and stared up at him, unbelieving. "I never imagined she’d stoop that low."
"She's determined to marry me. And half the ton expect it, it seems. Trust me—I have no intention of giving in, whatever the scandal. Lord, Cesca, I thought I'd lost you! Could you not have tried writing to me again? You must have guessed when I didn't follow up your note that there must be something amiss."
She leaned in again and nestled her head beneath his chin, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. "I thought you didn't want me," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I supposed you must have buckled under the pressure from both our families and agreed to wed Alicia." Voicing her stepsister's name almost choked her. How could Alicia have done such a terrible thing? Poor Fitz. How must he have felt?
"Never," was his vehement reply. "I came to your house early the day after your father refused me, having realized you were right. We should elope and be damned to the consequences. But you'd gone."
His arms clamped more tightly around her, and she felt them breathe as one. Being apart for so long made their reunion so much more poignant, bittersweet but beautiful. Her battered heart would never withstand another parting.
Hardly had the words formed in her head, before they escaped her lips. "I love you."
Shocked at what she'd revealed, she made to pull away. But Fitz trapped her in his embrace, holding her tight
ly against him.
"I love you back," he said.
Chapter Twelve
Fitz now had what he'd ached for all evening, his beloved Cesca in his embrace, and she'd just said the only words that could heal his damaged heart. The urge to kiss her was barely restrained.
Knowing she loved him must be enough for now. They were in a public place; the unpredictable Alicia was just inside—as well as the dangerous Captain Brandt—and there was Cesca's reputation to consider.
"Oh, Fitz, it's all so hopeless," she whispered, her cheek pressed against his lapel.
"Never say there's no hope," he said fiercely, kissing the top of her head. "I was a complete fool not to listen to you when you said we should run away together. I was stubborn and proud, and too much bound by convention to risk a scandal, so I don't deserve one iota of affection from you. But I'm paying the price for my folly, believe me. Alicia makes sure of that."
There was so much more he needed to say, but he felt Cesca repress a shiver, and immediately whisked them both inside, signaling to the footman to close the doors.
"I don't think it's wise to stay here any longer," he told her as they returned to the ballroom. "Maybe you could persuade Alicia to leave, as she takes very little notice of me. Besides which, the sooner we can separate her from Brandt, the better—or your father will have an even worse scandal to cope with."
"Oh, Fitz, I hate to see you so unhappy." She gazed up at him.
He looked at her for a moment, spellbound, then pulled himself together. "Forgive me. I've no right to add my worries to your woes. I have no intention of spoiling your ball—pray, dance as many measures as you can in the next half hour. Then we'll both prevail upon Alicia to depart."
Timeless Christmas Romance: Historical Romance Holiday Collection Page 48
