Written in My Heart by Caroline Linden Page A

want any Caxby names to be on the lists, of course, but in her innermost heart, she selfishly thought she could bear any loss but that one.
    Millie returned with the bolt of fine blue wool and unfurled it across the table. Jane bent herself to the task of marking and cutting, glad for the distraction work offered. It might be weeks, she told herself as she worked. He had written to her after previous battles, and in some cases it took a full month for the letter to arrive. And there was no guarantee the fighting was over; Wellington’s dispatch had said Bonaparte was driven from the field, not captured. The duke meant to pursue him, which might mean weeks or even months more of war. Bonaparte had been beaten once before, and came back within three months.
    But … perhaps this really was the end. Perhaps the soldiers would be returning, not on a brief furlough but to stay, to resume their lives, even to marry and raise families….
    “Is this the skirt?” Millie’s excited voice broke into her dangerous thoughts. “Mrs. Lynch said I might sew the skirt.”
    Jane snapped her scissors closed. “Yes, this is the skirt. Here is the front panel, cut the full width of the cloth, and here is the back. See here? The tapes will fasten at this mark.” She draped the rich blue fabric over a rack. “Tamsin will mark the tucks for you, and mind you make them tight and straight.”
    “I will!” protested Millie with a wounded look. “I always do!”
    “And knot the thread firmly, so they don’t unravel,” added Jane. Millie shut her mouth with a downcast look. She was only fourteen and had great enthusiasm, but also bouts of carelessness. The last time she’d been given something to stitch, she’d made only a single knot in the thread, and it had pulled right out during the customer’s fitting. “I’ll show you my trick of making knots that never pull out,” Jane told her more kindly. “It will make your seams stay tight and flat.”
    Millie perked up. “Truly? Thank you, Jane!” She hurried off to get the extra pins with the usual spring in her step.
    Tamsin brought over the measurements for the jacket. “Have you heard anything?” she asked softly.
    Eyes trained on the fabric as she carefully laid out the pieces of the riding coat, Jane shook her head. Mrs. Bellows was a statuesque woman who liked her clothes to fit snugly, but Mrs. Lynch was right; they’d likely be letting this coat out by the end of the year. She marked an extra half inch on the bodice seams.
    “Well, I’m sure it’s much too early,” Tamsin said after only a moment’s pause. “Only a week, barely enough time for the official dispatches to arrive! I don’t know why I even asked.”
    “I would ask, if I knew anyone who might have the answer.” Jane shifted to better cut the darts in the bodice.
    “Mr. Campbell?” ventured Tamsin after a moment.
    “I don’t think anyone in Caxby knows anything yet.”
    “No.” Tamsin rallied a bright smile. “I’m sure it won’t be long, though. Soon the regiment will be home, if they’ve truly beaten Bonaparte all the way back to France.”
    “It may be weeks before they do that, and weeks more before anything else is settled.” In spite of herself Jane’s voice wobbled. She managed to snip the last dart before closing her eyes. It was almost cruel, the hope that strained and beat within her heart, begging to be given rein. She hardly dared think that the war might finally be over, no matter how decisive or brutal the battle had been. It had been years … and might very well be years more.
    “Jane.” Tamsin’s voice softened. “Let me finish the cutting. It’s only the sleeves, I can manage it quite well. You finish Miss Finch’s evening gown. Those puffs and slashes are dreadfully difficult, and you have such a hand at them.”
    Gratefully Jane stepped aside. “Yes. Mrs. Lynch did say Lady Finch would be asking about it soon. Thank you, Tamsin.”
    She got her workbasket and went