Once Upon a Wager by Julie Lemense

here she was. In a fantastical confluence of chance and circumstance. Walking and whole.
    He heard a clatter behind him, and was surprised to realize that he’d stood quite suddenly, sending his chair in a crash to the floor. Even in the busy dining room, the sound of it was jarring, and she looked directly at him. Her eyes went wide with shock, and he smiled slowly, unsure of what to do. But she didn’t smile back. Her face went white, as pale as a moonstone. Her mouth dropped open. She seemed to be struggling for breath, and even though he rushed toward her at a sprint, he barely caught her before she fainted dead away.
    In that instant, Annabelle was cradled in his arms, the room around them nebulous and indistinct. It was as if she were sleeping, her thick lashes casting soft shadows. He gently pulled one hand from beneath her, and used his teeth to tug at the fingers of his glove, wrenching it off. He touched his bare hand to her forehead. There were no signs of fever, and he felt a rush of relief.
    How unlike Annabelle to faint. It was a hot day, though, and the room was too close, and she would be weaker now, because of all she’d suffered. He felt absurdly protective. He couldn’t bring himself to lay her down on the floor of the common room. Nor could he stop staring. It seemed impossible that she was here.
    “I appreciate your help, young man, but perhaps you could loosen your hold on my niece. One does need air to breathe, after all.” He looked up, surprised to see her aunt standing beside him. Noticing that a crowd had gathered, drawn by the commotion, he loosened his arms fractionally.
    “That one’s a beauty,” a young man whispered reverently.
    “Wish I’d caught her myself,” another groused, prompting an angry shove from the woman beside him.
    “’Twas the heat,” warned an elderly woman. “It were too much for the angel.”
    “Alec, bring her here.” His mother was standing at the door of one of the inn’s side rooms. He lifted Annabelle as gently as he could, careful to keep her head against his chest. She seemed to weigh nothing at all. He could carry her all day if she needed him to. Angling through the doorway, he moved beside a small feather bed and laid her down carefully on its white cotton coverlet. He smoothed her hair, untying the ribbons at the throat of her traveling gown.
    “I’m sure I can handle that on my own.” Annabelle’s aunt had swept into the room, closing the door behind her.
    He flushed with embarrassment. “My apologies. I forgot myself in my concern for Miss Layton.”
    She looked at him in surprise. “Do you know my niece?”
    “I am Alec Carstairs, Earl of Dorset. I was a close friend of the Layton children when we were young, although it has been many years since I’ve seen Annabelle.”
    “How interesting.” Her eyes seemed to miss nothing. “I am Sophia Middleton, Countess of Marchmain, and Annabelle’s maternal aunt. Perhaps you could leave us for a few moments?”
    “Of course.” Had he forgotten all of his manners? “I’ll wait just outside the door.”
    • • •
    Annabelle felt a cool cloth on her forehead and opened her eyes to see Aunt Sophia and Lady Dorset standing above her. Oh God, Lady Dorset! And she had fainted. She never fainted! She sat up, self-conscious. Somehow during this debacle, she’d lost her hat. “Don’t worry, my dear,” her aunt said. “We will hardly judge your appearance.”
    Everything came flooding back. The stifling carriage ride. The stuffy dining room. Alec Carstairs. She felt a spurt of anger. How ironic that his return to Nuneaton, so long overdue, had coincided with her departure. Had he hoped to sneak back home unnoticed? Now that she’d found him out, did he think he could smile his way through her defenses?
    “I am so glad to see you recovered, Miss Layton,” Lady Dorset said. “You gave us quite a scare.”
    His mother had always been very kind to her, but Annabelle could see enough of Alec