A Soldier's Heart (10 page)

“She’s certainly changed a great deal since then,” he finally answered carefully.

“She was a pretty little thing then. Now she’s a beautiful woman. Thought you’d run mad that night, remember?”

This time Kendall’s laughter caused Matt to flick his friend a cool look. He found Kendall’s eyes had wandered from Serena to Cecily, who was in high gig surrounded by several devoted beaus.

“Now I see running mad might hold a certain appeal,” Kendall continued somewhat fiercely. Draining his champagne glass, he placed it on the tray of a passing footman before sliding Matt a sheepish grin. “I’m off to rescue your sister.”

A moment later he had displaced her circle, completely monopolizing her.

Once, Matt had viewed this glittering scene with eyes that chose to see only the glamour and the camaraderie. Life had been full of goodness. Now he watched and speculated, seeking deeper motivations. But viewing his world with these new eyes didn’t make him any happier.

Rubbing absently at his thigh, he studied Long and Serena for another minute, trying to forget the odd twist in his gut. Shrugging it off, he made his way across the ballroom, apologized to his mother for his uncharacteristic tiredness, and retired.

A few weeks later, when Long informed him he would be staying in London with their parents instead of taking the much-anticipated trip to Avalon Landing with Matt, and then Serena immediately suggested that perhaps they, too, should postpone their trip to Sussex, the odd little twist returned. His gut tightened with the unbidden thought that Long was a notorious womanizer. Surely he hadn’t turned his practiced eye upon his brother’s wife? And she in turn responded? Once, he would never have thought of such a possibility. Now he was sickened that he had. Turning away in disgust—how low could he sink, to suspect his own flesh and blood—he curtly informed her he was leaving for the Landing in a fortnight, and whoever wished to accompany him was welcome.

On a crisp February morning with the sun’s brilliance reflecting off a light layer of new snow, Kendall tucked Cecily and Serena into a large traveling carriage and mounted his horse. Matt was doubly glad his leg had improved sufficiently to ride, and he could skip the embarrassing confinement of the coach. For the tension between himself and his wife had increased tenfold. Having been married so briefly and now coming together virtual strangers was not Serena’s fault. It was his. So it was his duty to set it straight. Why couldn’t he just move ahead with his life and be satisfied with the kind of union many members of the
ton
endured? A marriage of convenience, where the parties came together when necessary but otherwise lived their own lives, was common enough. Apparently there still lurked, although nearly vanquished, a thread of romantic idealism in him, a vision of what he wished the world to be. He just no longer had the strength to make it happen.

In London he had discovered his wife had grown from the inexperienced and easily impressed ingenue to a polished woman of the
ton
, able to take her place in every social situation. In the country he was astonished at her astute management. She had wrought unbelievable changes at the Landing.

The house always had a comfortable, slightly shabby bachelor feel about it. Her redecoration was bang up to the minute yet still set a comfortable, homey feel, even in the public rooms. Although the style was charming, nothing was as he remembered. He tried to be as noncommittal as possible, but he saw in Serena’s strained countenance that she recognized his feelings.

He was glad she wasn’t present when he conducted his interview with Mr. Stockton.

“Lady Blackwood did what?” he demanded, unable to keep utter disbelief out of his voice.

“Well, my lord, besides ordering new fences and a refurbishing of all the cottages, she fixed it up with the parson’s wife to have a teacher come in to learn the village children their letters.”

Not even his avant-garde mother had ever been so bold. Matt remembered Long’s letter that Serena had taken the Landing in hand. It had been full of admiration. But it had not specified how far she had gone. Matt had been concerned the decorating might be too taxing for his fragile wife. Obviously he’d been as wrong about her as everything else.

“What else?” he asked quietly.

“Well, my lord, after the young Watleys was killed on the Peninsula, the widow Watley had to give up her cottage to a new tenant. The land, you know. I couldn’t just let it lie. Lady Blackwood moved her into that wee cottage just above the stream that’s always vacant on account it has no land to speak of. She ordered Stevens to send her all the mending from the house and ordered me to pay her a wage for her work. Told me she was sure you’d want to take care of the widow since her family has always served the estate so well.”

A hot flush of embarrassment rose from his chest. “I see.” Flipping through the account book, Matt considered his next question. “I believe my brother, the Marquess of Longford, was in residence when all these changes were requested. Did he have nothing to say?”

“My lord, I did appeal to the marquess for guidance. He informed me I should honor her ladyship’s requests as I would your own.”

What could Long have been thinking of? Although nothing seemed amiss, before he said another word, Matt had to see for himself.

“I shall ride out myself and inspect the changes, Stockton. That will be all.”

The country air was crisp and clean; for the first time in months he felt truly alive again. He gave his horse its head. The wintery sea wind ruffled his hair and chilled his face; he saw everything around him with sharper, clearer eyes.

His first stop was the Browns’ newly whitewashed cottage with fresh thatch on the roof. He was greeted warmly and urged into the snug kitchen to share a cup of hot cider. He’d never seen Mrs. Brown when she wasn’t increasing, and once again she was with child. Matt counted eight children at the fire; the oldest girl could be no more than ten.

“My yield is up from last year, my lord,” Daniel Brown informed him with his grizzled head held high. “The young ones been more of a help last season. Must thank your lordship for that. Now the roof don’t leak, they sleep all snug and dry in the loft, so I’m ready for a hard day’s work.”

“I see the repairs were of benefit then,” Blackwood remarked, sipping at the heavy brown earthenware mug.

“Aye. And me Polly here learned her letters.” Pride lightened his weathered face. “Reads to the wee ones so Mrs. Brown can rest awhile. Right content we are, my lord, thanks be to your good graces.”

Matt was compelled to insure thanks be given where it was deserved. “It’s her ladyship’s good graces you must thank. I’m afraid I’ve been absent so long, I wasn’t aware of your needs.”

“Aye, protecting us from Boney.” Daniel Brown nodded with real enthusiasm. “Right proud to be tenants of one of our nation’s heroes. Right proud to have the good graces of a great lady like yours.”

Brown’s sentiments were echoed at each of the cottages where Matt called. Even Reverend Morton was filled with praise for his wife and congratulated his lordship on a most excellent choice.

His last stop was the small cottage on the high bank along a narrow, meandering stream, now a ribbon of ice. He recognized linen from the Landing neatly folded in a basket near the door. Mrs. Watley’s strong tea warmed and relaxed him, so he spread out his legs before the small fireplace. He remembered her sons; although a few years younger, they had often raced their mounts through the village.

He spoke of battle and the bravery of the soldiers. Platitudes only, which he no longer believed, but which brought a fierce light of pride to her face.

“The footman what’s brought me yonder linens told me your lordship was in residence again.” Bustling up from her chair, Mrs. Watley carefully lifted a tissue-wrapped package from the table and held it out to him. “Been workin’ on this here gift for her ladyship.”

Nodding, he took it from her fingers. “I’ll see my wife receives it. Are you content here, Mrs. Watley?”

Her lined, round face broke into a smile. “Miss not havin’ anyone to look after. But grateful I am to have such a snug place. Your lordship be a hero and a generous man.”

His lordship was confused and more than a little chagrined that while he was lamenting the world was not truly the glorious place he’d believed, Serena had set about trying to make it more so.

Riding slowly back to the Landing, he had plenty of time to consider the changes she’d wrought. The realization that Serena was not a fragile ideal to be cherished and protected, but a woman, and even more than he’d ever dreamed, a woman to share and grow with, stirred new feelings which gave him even more to think about.

When they finally met at supper, he could only stare with curiosity at the woman he’d wed, but surely never really known.

“Looked for you to go riding, Matt. Then found you’d gone off without me,” Kendall scolded, although his eyes were as merry as ever. “Your sister consented to entertaining me with a hand of whist, so you’re excused for your desertion.”

Cecily sent Kendall a dimpled smile of such sweetness, Matt was thunderstruck. His sister had without a doubt set her sights on Kendall. The infatuation wasn’t new to Matt, but her obvious intent was staggering. Was his friend aware? Before he could gauge Kendall’s reaction, Cecily turned her dark eyes upon him.

“Matt, what do you think of the wondrous changes Serena has made? Is she not truly amazing?” Cecily gushed, much to Serena’s obvious embarrassment.

Serena shot his sister a look he couldn’t decipher, but which caused Cecily to toy nervously with her lamb stew.

“I’m sure your brother will have his own opinions of the changes I’ve made at the Landing,” she said quietly, lifting her chin to send him a smile that was strained.

“Yes, I have my own opinion.” Leaning back, he twirled his wineglass between his fingers. “I’m in complete agreement with Cecily.”

“You are!” Cecily gasped in surprise, but quickly recovered to flash Serena a triumphant look.

Serena sat silently staring at him in bewilderment.

“In that case, perhaps you’ll be favorable to a few of my ideas, brother dear.”

Kendall gazed at her indulgently. Matt was startled. Had his own infatuation been so blatant? Did all men make fools of themselves thus?

“Lord Kendall says he’s never had the pleasure of viewing a Roman ruin. While the fair weather lasts, I thought we could ride out, stopping at the White Feathers for lunch.”

Shrugging, Matt nodded his agreement, taking a quick peek at Serena, who stared back at him agog. He had been more obvious than he’d thought in his first uneasiness about all the changes here. His change of heart seemed to stun her.

“It sounds a pleasant diversion. Perhaps we should also plan a country ball. It’s been years since I’ve seen some of our neighbors. Would that be too much trouble, Serena?”

Her cornflower blue eyes widened in surprise, but her cherry lips curled in a tentative smile. “Of course not, my lord. Cecily and I shall plan it immediately.”

Their eyes locked and for just an instant something stirred low in his gut. Not the odd twist the sight of Serena and Long dancing had caused, but something different and stronger. Perhaps there was hope for them yet.

Round and round his mind whirled in debate. It was actually a relief to escape to his room at last, although usually he didn’t look forward to the night and the dreams that continued to haunt him. As he undressed he remembered the package he’d been given that afternoon and the promise he’d made to deliver it quickly.

He pulled on a dressing gown, but stopped at the door between their rooms. It had remained firmly closed since that one night he’d rejected her help. What would she think if he knocked?

It was only the promise that urged him on. Besides, he reasoned, her maid would answer. Coward, he chided himself, and knocked.

The door swung open. Serena, her ebony curls cascading over her shoulders, stood before him clad only in a long-sleeved nightshift of finely tucked lawn.

“Blackwood, are you all right?” she asked hoarsely, her gaze scanning him carefully.

“Yes.” Raising his eyebrows in surprise at her anxious tone, he shrugged uneasily. “I merely forgot to give you a gift Mrs. Watley entrusted me to present.”

Scarlet flooded her pale cheeks. “I was concerned because you’ve never before … Never mind!” Shaking her head, she put her hand out for the package, revealing how transparent the gown actually was. “Thank you for bringing me the gift. How is Mrs. Watley?” she asked as she carefully unwrapped the package.

“Content. Thanks to your kindness.” Propped against the doorframe, he watched curiously. “What is it?”

She lifted a tiny garment from the cocoon of tissue. They both realized what it was at the same instant—an infant gown with beautiful embroidery at the hem and along the tiny ruffled neckline.

Her eyes, blue pools of confusion, lifted to his, stirring to life an ache in his chest. His heart gave one single stroke.

“It’s beautiful. She does fine work.” He forced his tones to be even despite the blood pounding loudly through his veins.

She nodded, folding the tiny garment back into its wrappings. “I must ride out and thank her.” Lifting her chin, she gave him a fleeting smile. “Rest well, my lord.”

Nodding, he slowly closed the door and leaned his forehead against it. Breathing deeply, he tried to still his pulse. This whole day had provided him with a new perspective. Perhaps that was why he could now see the thread with which he could weave something of meaning with his life.

Serena leaned her hot forehead against the door, Mrs. Watley’s gift clutched to her breasts. What in Blackwood’s eyes made her tremble? Was it her first reaction to hearing his knock—believing he might be ready to confide in her about his nightmares? Or was it the something that had sparked between them?

She lifted the tiny garment to rub the delicate cotton against her cheek.

For long weeks she’d pondered Buckle’s words concerning looking to the future. Now Serena fully realized what that might mean, and she wished for it above all else.