Snowbound Surrender
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Christine Merrill
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37
Chapter One
After six months, it still felt strange to be home.
It was even stranger to be holding a sword again. During one particularly savage battle Jack Gascoyne had prayed that if God kept him safe till sunset he would never pick up a weapon again.
Had he been in Navarre? Or had it been Valencia? When he tried to remember individual battles, they ran together in a bloodstained blur. It hardly mattered. He had broken the promise quick enough and continued fighting through the carnage of Waterloo.
Now the war was over and the foil he held felt like a toy compared to his cavalry sword, flimsy and useless should he actually need to defend his life.
He should not even be considering such mayhem. He was on Bond Street at Angelo’s Academy. His opponent, Frederick Clifton, was no real threat. Other than growing taller, Fred was every bit as soft as he had been fifteen years ago, when they’d still been pretending that sticks were swords. Even this thin blade would slice through him like butter, should Jack decide to apply his skill.
It would serve the fellow right. He’d wounded Jack in a way that was far more painful than a sword slash and the cut had not healed in five years. Damage to the heart did not always scar over with time, as he had been promised. This hurt had stayed fresh and painful, bleeding the love out of him until his soul was cold and dead.
While Jack’s spirit had rotted, Fred was still happy, healthy and completely oblivious to the pain he’d inflicted. He thought they could fall easily back into the role of childhood best friends as if nothing had happened between them, before or after the war. ‘It is good to have you home again,’ Fred said, his expression warm and sincere.
‘It is good to be home,’ Jack said automatically. It was what everyone wanted to hear from him, but he wondered if it was true. After all he had seen, London at Christmastime had an unreal quality. It was like staring at his old life through a sheet of ice.
‘I had hoped to see you sooner, of course.’ There was a hint of reproach in his friend’s voice, a reminder of duties that had been forgotten. The Cliftons had considered him family, before he’d gone away. Family was supposed to stay in touch.
But he had one of his own to contend with. ‘I apologise. There was so much to do. Visiting my brother...’
Fred nodded and gave a practice lunge to test the balance of his weapon before facing him to make a bow of acknowledgement and a swishing salute of his blade. ‘And how is Sir Robert?’
‘As disappointed in me as ever,’ Jack said, returning the salute. The relationship between him and his elder sibling could not quite be called an estrangement, but it had never been easy.
‘No pride for the honour you did your uniform? No relief at your safety?’ Fred said, surprised as they raised their swords to fight.
‘Nothing obvious,’ Jack replied.
‘Do not let him trouble you. He was always thus. And you still have friends who love you dearly and are eager to add to your acquaintance.’
‘You are speaking of your fiancée,’ Jack said.
Fred began the bout with a direct attack that was easily parried. ‘I wrote to tell you of the engagement. I received no answer.’ There was a hint of petulance in his tone, to remind Jack again where his obligation lay.
‘I meant to congratulate you in person.’ Parry and riposte. The action of his sword was strong and sure. But it was a weak conversational counter, since he’d given no indication thus far that he knew or cared about Fred’s plans to marry.
‘Thank you,’ Fred replied, obviously distracted since he’d failed to block Jack’s blade as it touched his shoulder. ‘Miss Forsythe is eager to see you, since I have spoken of you often.’
‘I am sure she is a lovely girl.’ Jack’s jaw clenched. Was Fred really dead to the irony of expecting good wishes from the man whose hopes he had ruined? He followed up his first attack with a second, to the stomach, the force of which was met with a woof of expelled air.
Fred straightened to regain his wind, then dropped back into fencing stance, advancing. ‘And it surprises me that you have not enquired about Lucy.’
Just the mention of her name shattered Jack’s concentration and allowed Fred to score a touch, directly to the centre of his chest. If he had been so careless in any of the last five years, he would not be alive to be so troubled by the memory of her.
‘How is she?’ he managed to say, trying to pretend that the answer did not matter to him.
‘Much the same as she ever was. If you come home with me for Christmas, you may see for yourself.’
The ice around him cracked and, for a moment, everything was unbearably real. Jack did his best to keep a calm tone and a neutral expression. ‘Your sister is still with you?’
Fred laughed. ‘Where else would she be but at home?’
‘I thought...perhaps she had married by now.’ He had done his best to think of nothing but that. There had to be something that put her firmly out of reach and out of mind. It was clear by the rush of blood he felt at the thought of her that time and distance had done nothing to change his feelings.
Her brother laughed again, scoring another touch against an opponent who was suddenly without defences. ‘For the moment, at least, she is still unattached. But not for want of trying on my part. I found her several men who would have done nicely and she refused them all. But it seems she is finally about to settle. The local Vicar has been the front runner for her affections for some time.’
‘The Vicar.’ A man of God was exactly the sort of husband Jack would have expected Fred to choose for Lucy. Someone quiet, proper and altogether wrong for the girl he remembered.
‘She has put the fellow off for so long that I was worried she meant to stay on the shelf. But things are coming to a head and I expect we will have good news on that front before Twelfth Night.’
‘That is good to know,’ Jack replied. ‘She was a lovely girl.’
‘Still is,’ Fred corrected. ‘I rather fancy the idea of a double wedding. But I cannot make her decision for her.’
‘Not any more,’ Jack said, pleased that there was no trace of bitterness in his voice. ‘She is of age now, is she not?’
‘Two and twenty,’ Fred replied. ‘Well past time for her to settle down. But she is still the most obstinate creature imaginable and refuses to be rushed.’
When he’d last seen her, she had been nothing of the kind. She’d been as eager and impetuous as he had been, both of them hurrying to arrive simultaneously at some place they’d no right to go. To drive the thought away, Jack renewed his attack with a grunt of exertion and a thrust to the gut that would have ended his friend if it were not for the button on the end of the blade.
Fred gasped in approval and surrendered his weapon. ‘Well done. Did you learn that in Portugal?’
‘Spain,’ Jack said.
‘You must teach it to me. In exchange, I will provide you with the finest Christmas dinner to be found in any of the north counties and a stocked cellar as well. Good food and good company. It shall be just as it was in our youth.’
‘It sounds delightful,’ Jack said, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He’d meant to tell Fred to go to the devil, if such a thing was suggested. His plans for Christmas Day were far darker and lonelier than anything Fred could imagine. But if there was still hope...
There was not, he reminded himself. Though Lucy was not already married, she had found someone who might make her happy. She would be wed soon enough. He’d not heard a word from her in five years to hint that she wanted to renew what they’d shared or wished to see him again, even over a holiday table. But it seemed he was as big a fool as ever he had been and could not resist one last look at the only woman he would ever love.
