A Soldier's Heart (8 page)

His owl eyes, so like his mother’s, blinked rapidly. His shirt points made it virtually impossible to turn his head and he moved with odd jerky contortions, looking at once like a crested jay.

Serena covered her smile at the mixed metaphors with her fan. “Frederick, the poem was lovely, but I’ve told you before Cecily regards you as a most charming friend,” she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I feared so.” He languished. “Gossip has it Lady Cecily’s heart has been given and she waits for someone’s return.” An expectant smile suffused his face, made ruddy by his too-constraining collar.

She wouldn’t fall for that trap. “I wouldn’t listen to idle gossip, Frederick, for it’s usually inaccurate.” Fanning herself briskly, for the soiree was a squeeze with virtually everyone in attendance, she attempted to fob off her cousin’s inquiries. “I never pay heed to it myself.”

“So like you, Serena, to be above such things. Mother says you’re like your sainted papa. I don’t care what anyone else says, you have my admiration for being so brave in the face of the unpleasant gossip about you and Longford.”

Serena’s moving fan clicked shut. Stunned, she stared back at Frederick, but he was already moving stiffly away. Gossip about Longford and her? The absurdity of it was such she instantly dismissed it from her mind.

That evening, much to her surprise, Longford waited up for their return. Since he stood propped against the library door, slowly swirling a snifter of brandy in his fingers, it was not too difficult to determine he’d been imbibing.

“What a pair of lovelies you are,” he drawled, sipping at the brandy. “Cecily, Father has received three more offers for your hand and turned them down as you demanded he do at the beginning of this interminable Season. Their Graces are much too indulgent for your own good. Still determined to wait on Kendall, huh? You may end up on the shelf, brat!”

“How can you be so heartless, Long!” Cecily lifted her chin, sending him a pained look. “You know I have given my heart to Kendall. If you mean to be insulting, I’ll have no part of it.” Picking up the edge of her gown, she swept up the staircase without a backward glance.

“I want to talk to you alone anyway, Serena. Come into the library,” he demanded before turning away to stroll lazily to the bottle and refill his glass.

She followed him for no other reason than to discover why he was being cruel to Cecily, whom he so obviously adored.

“It isn’t like you to talk so to your sister.”

He laughed once before flinging his head back and tossing the last of the brandy down his throat. “As you see, I’m not at my best tonight. Ever get bedeviled by ugly gossip, Serena?” he asked with a bluntness that sounded utterly sober, although he suddenly sat into a chair by the fireplace.

Holding herself stiffly erect, she looked calmly into his face and tried not to think about his resemblance to Blackwood. “I have no time for such nonsense. It’s a waste of my energy.”

His long mouth curved up at one end. “Well done, Serena. My mother’s influence is clearly discernible.” The hooded eyes slid over her slowly. “You’ve made a remarkable transformation from insipid country mouse to fascinating woman. Perhaps this time I really should take my cue from the gossiping tabbies and act accordingly.”

He sprang up and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek with one finger.

She slapped it away. “Do stop being utterly absurd! I know exactly what you’re up to.” Exasperated past bearing, she glared at him. “Just inform me what this is all about. No doubt in time I’d find the proper way without your tortured guidance, but I haven’t the patience for it now.”

She had the privilege of seeing true surprise settle over his countenance.

“Obviously you’ve found it on your own. You’ve heard, I see. And dismissed the talk as the rubbish it is. I’m delighted your opinion of me isn’t so low you’d believe I covet my brother’s wife.” He placed his glass on a side table and looked at it with distaste.

“Longford, unlike your sister, I know under all those layers of cynicism there really must be a heart. And I know it remains untouched by me, or anyone else.”

Those hooded eyes studied her for a long moment. “Reverend Fitzwater’s daughter, there are times when you amaze even me!” His genuine laughter echoed in the library even after he’d strolled out.

Immensely weary with all the currents swirling around her and the constant ache of Blackwood’s absence kept tightly hidden inside, Serena wished for nothing but the forgetfulness of slumber. Before she could go up to her bedchamber, Cecily flew through the wide doorway to clasp her in a tight hug.

“I couldn’t bear being at odds with Long, so came down to make amends and heard all!” she declared, releasing Serena to step back and smile so broadly, her dimple disappeared. “I’m delighted there isn’t the slightest truth to what people are whispering.”

Serena was utterly shocked to discover Cecily had heard the gossip and said nothing to her. “Why wouldn’t you discuss this with me if you knew? Cecily, you weren’t afraid it was true?”

“Long is quite dashing and handsome. Besides, he’s a rake, and we women always lose our hearts to such men. It is something within us, believing we are the ones to save them from their fate,” she returned calmly.

“But surely you would have hated me if I was unfaithful to Blackwood?” Serena’s legs started to tremble and she sat in the chair Longford had just vacated.

“How could I hate you for loving both my brothers? It’s easily done.”

Her answer was so logical, Serena saw, at last, Cecily truly was her mother’s daughter.

“But it’s all right. Your undying affecting for Blackwood is stronger than Long’s rakish appeal,” Cecily finished with a dramatic sigh.

“In all honesty I must tell you rakes, your brother or any other, have never held any attraction for me. Perhaps in a novel it’s so, but I believe most of us are drawn to other attributes. After all, Lord Kendall is not a rake, is he?”

“Lord Kendall is marvelous! So brave, so gallant, so handsome … so…” Her eyes wide, Cecily obviously searched for more apt descriptions of her heart’s desire. “…so absent,” she finally concluded. “Serena, when will Kendall return? I don’t know how much more I can bear.”

Not being so poor-spirited to spoil Cecily’s dramatic posture by reminding her she bore the loss of her husband, Serena patted the slumped shoulder. “We must be brave for just a while longer. These dreadful wars will end soon. And with that, Lord Kendall will return … and Blackwood, also.”

But Serena was proved wrong. For at the Season’s end there was no happy news. She went to Avalon Landing after securing promises that any news would be sent straight through to her. The summer came and went. Fall promised a bountiful harvest, and the village was full of praise for the lady of the manor.

She returned to London, where the duke and duchess had stayed on so the Prince Regent’s physician could attend His Grace, who continued failing.

It had been so long since word of Blackwood that when a letter finally arrived in October, both Cecily and the duchess demanded she read it aloud straightaway.

It was so vastly different from his other letters, which had been full of glory and valor, that they all stared at one another silently. Serena saw something flicker in the depths of the duchess’s eyes. Perhaps she, too, had noticed the lack of personal affection or any whimsical reference to their chrysanthemum plant.

A few weeks later the duchess, pale-faced and without her usual grace, entered the conservatory, where Serena was fussing at the chrysanthemum, her thoughts, as always, centered on Blackwood.

“Serena, word has arrived from the War Office.”

Something in the duchess’s face brought her to her feet. Fear, greater than anything she had ever known, froze her into immobility.

Taking Serena’s suddenly frozen hands, Her Grace squeezed them, bringing back life and warmth. “There has been a defeat at the bombardment of Fort McHenry. Matthew has been seriously injured and will be on the next boat home.”

It took a few moments for the words to penetrate Serena’s fear-numbed mind. She forced herself to speak calmly. “How serious are his injuries?”

Tears welled in Her Grace’s eyes. “The dispatch didn’t say. But he lives, Serena, and shall be returned to us.”

“Yes.” She nodded, unable to feel anything at this moment. “Kendall and Jeffries will bring him safely home.”

Now the tears did slide down Her Grace’s pale cheeks. “Jeffries was killed trying to get Matthew to safety after he fell.”

Without words, Serena went into her arms, each knowing what this loss must mean to Blackwood.

The news catapulted the entire household into action to prepare for Blackwood’s arrival. Longford outfitted a carriage and drove to the coast. When the ship arrived he would immediately send a message with outriders so that all could be in readiness.

Before Blackwood was returned to her, another letter came. Obviously arriving on the same ship he had, it beat him to town. She opened it with trembling fingers and saw at once it was dated several weeks before.

With terrifying certainty Serena realized this was not the letter of the man who, full of glory and confidence, left her on their wedding night.

Deceit was not a part of her nature, but she practiced it this night. Carefully folding the note several times, she locked it in the wooden box with the other often-read messages from Blackwood. The outriders had arrived and she could not share this note of despair with those who waited so hopefully.

With a fixed smile she drifted through the next day determined to believe her fears were unfounded and that once she saw Blackwood, all would be as it had been during their brief, but glittering, courtship and marriage.

Cecily saw the carriage first from her post at the parlor window, where she’d been for hours worrying the golden tassels on the velvet drapes. “They are here!” she gasped, already moving toward the front door.

The duchess went after her, and Serena followed, her heart beating so hard against her ribs, it was difficult to breathe. Word had traveled quickly; the entire household suddenly appeared on the steps around them, except the duke, who was forced by illness to wait in his bedchamber.

Longford stepped out first, followed quickly by Kendall. Serena felt Cecily sob beside her as Kendall’s bright green eyes surveyed her quickly before turning back to the open carriage door.

Pale fingers gripped the doorframe, and an instant later, Blackwood’s face, still marked by an angry-looking wound across his forehead, appeared. Every giddy emotion Blackwood had ever inspired completely engulfed her, and without thought of anything but reaching him, she moved forward.

Helped by Kendall, he stepped down. Longford handed him a cane, and his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain as he walked toward them.

There was one moment of intense joy and reassurance when his eyes searched her out in the crowd moving forward to welcome him home. But her joy fled, replaced by cold, paralyzing fear, rooting her to a sudden halt, for the eyes looking at her were a stranger’s.

With piercing clarity Longford’s words came back to haunt her. “Someday he’ll be forced to accept the world and us as we are … It is in your best interest to become the kind of woman up to that challenge.”

Clearer than she’d ever known anything in her life, Serena knew that time had come.

His eyes sought out Serena—so beautiful and pure, so untouched by all the tragedy of the world. She moved toward him, then stopped abruptly. Could she see he had changed from the man she once knew? That he felt a stranger in his own home? Is that why she suddenly stared at him with such wide blue eyes?

Poppet reached him first, throwing her arms around him with her usual enthusiasm, but this time he couldn’t sweep her up and twirl her around as was his habit.

“Oh, Matt, you’re home at last!” she sobbed, her tears tickling his neck where she’d buried her face. “We’ve missed you so!”

With one arm he held her tight and tried not to grimace with the pain her weight added to the strain on his shattered leg. “Poppet, or should I call you Cecily, you’re all grown-up.”

“Well, of course! You’ve been away forever,” she scolded with a hiccup before stepping away. “But you’re home now and we shall never let you leave us again!”

His young sister had grown so dazzling, not even the tears streaking her cheeks detracted from her beauty. He saw admiration flair in Kendall’s bright green eyes as she turned to him. Memory stirred something dormant in Matt’s chest as, instead of curtsying, she extended her hand.

“Lord Kendall, welcome home.”

“Lady Cecily, I echo Matt’s sentiments. You are quite the lady now,” Kendall laughed, pressing his lips to her fingers.

The stirring memory forced Matt’s gaze back to Serena. Did she recall their first meeting when, instead of curtsying, she’d offered her hand and he’d taken it so eagerly?

That had happened to two different people—not the confident woman in a scoop-necked blue gown gathered high under her breasts by a velvet ribbon, no doubt in the height of fashion. And not the soldier, leaning heavily on his cane. Her keen eyes were lit with something he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the sweet innocence he remembered.

But the changes were not hers alone. The scales had dropped from his eyes so he now saw himself and the world as they really were. Long had often called him an idealistic young fool; at last he understood what that meant.

Some things, however, were constant in a world spinning off its axis. His mother embraced him in rose-scented warmth: the security of childhood, of a world that would fall into place just as he wished. That he knew better now was a source of keen embarrassment. How could he have lived in his dream so long?

“Matthew.” She released him. “It’s wonderful to have you home. Your father awaits you upstairs. But first, I know there is someone you must be most eager to greet.” With a last smile she stepped back and motioned Serena forward.

Of all his ideals, Serena had shone the brightest. Had he ever known her, really? Or had he only seen what he’d wanted to in her? Now he must learn to deal with the real woman, for she was in truth his wife.

The sunlight gleamed in her rich ebony curls threaded through by the same ribbon as her dress. The color exactly matched her eyes. He’d forgotten how thickly they were fringed with feathery black lashes which curled gently at the tips. He felt her hesitation; saw it in the stiff set of her shoulders and the fixed smile not quite reaching those clear cornflower blue eyes. It was awkward, to meet thus, with all watching, after such a long separation.

She extended both hands. “Welcome home, my lord. You’ve been sorely missed.”

He took one cool hand, still supporting his bad leg with the cane. When with a short glance she realized he couldn’t take the other, she placed it over their clasped fingers. A gentle smile lit her face.

“You must be weary and hungry from your journey. The chef has spent days preparing all your favorite dishes. I know you remember how he holds us all hostage with his genius, so we mustn’t keep him waiting.”

This skillful handling of the strain between them surprised him. She’d been so quiet and unassuming when they wed. Or had she been? Perhaps he’d only seen her that way because he wished to.

Cecily laughed, sounding remarkably like their mother. “Serena’s quite correct. Francois has outdone himself!”

“Yes, come. I know you all wish to freshen up before dinner. And perhaps, a visit for a few moments with His Grace.” His mother placed her hand on Longford’s arm, leading the way back into the house.

Matt followed slowly, with Serena beside him. He was oddly grateful she didn’t try to assist him. In appreciation he slid her a smile which brought a light red flush to her slender neck and high cheekbones. She must feel the tension just as he did.

Cecily, holding Kendall’s arm, brought up the rear. Matt caught snatches of her quiet questions about their journey and Kendall’s brisk replies.

Serena remained silent, only nodding when he excused himself to make a long, painful climb to the second floor.

His short visit with his father left him cold with fear. The real evidence of the duke’s declining health was not easy to accept. He couldn’t bear the loss of anyone else he held dear to his heart. In the old days he could have hoped for a miracle, but his last battle had torn all prospect of hope from him.

Jeffries. The pain of loss thrust through him as clean and sure as the bayonet that had slashed his brow.

Long waited in his bedchamber.

“I shall find you a new valet tomorrow. But tonight I will have to do.” Long spoke with none of his usual mockery as he poured water into the white bowl on the washstand.

“I don’t need help. Nor do I wish a new valet.”

Shrugging, Long stepped back to make way for him. It was slow going to lean on the cane with one hand and use the other to clean away the dust of travel, but he managed it, to his great relief.

Silence grew in the room. Silence and a feeling of estrangement. Where was the easy comradeship of the past? Matt turned from the small mirror. “I’m ready to go down now.”

“So I see. And very well done. My compliments,” Long drawled, flicking an invisible speck of lint from his impeccably tailored buff coat. “However, I shall still find you a valet as soon as possible.”

“No! I want no one!” The sharpness of Matt’s voice startled even him, cutting through the silence.

“Planning to spend the rest of your days polishing your own boots?” Long’s mouth curled at the corner in a sneer. “Hardly a pastime for one of our nation’s heroes.”

“Cut line, Long! This is not a subject for your mockery. No one can ever replace Jeffries. He was more than just my batman, more than my friend. He was a part of my life for as long as I can remember. His loss is something I don’t take lightly.”

“And you think I do!” Matt’s anger was well matched. “If you recall, we shared the same childhood. Jeffries sat me on my first horse; taught me most of what I know of good horseflesh. His loss is felt by all of us! No doubt once you stop wallowing in self-pity because you couldn’t single-handedly wrest back the colonies without one drop of English blood being spilled, you’ll see that for yourself.”

If any other man spoke thus to him, Matt would have knocked him to the floor. Instead he stared into Long’s flushed face. This show of emotion, when usually he affected languished boredom, cooled Matt’s own anger.

“At the moment I’m not a worthy opponent, Long. Don’t bother to take up your weapons against me. This is neither the time nor the place to discuss each other’s shortcomings. Of which we both have ample.”

With a nod, Long strolled toward the door and opened it for Matt to pass through.

“As your older brother, I claim the right to say one last thing before we join the others.” Long’s voice dropped to an even tone. They stood face-to-face within the wide, rectangular doorway. Of a height, they stared evenly into each other’s eyes.

“Matt, the world, the people who care about you, haven’t changed. Everything is the same as it’s always been. Only you have changed.”

With that direct thrust, Long strolled almost casually out of the room and down the stairs, leaving Matt staring after him.

Matt knew he was correct. During the hospital fever that wracked his body after his injuries had been treated, despite the raw ache of loss, Matt had realized he had to go on. He had survived! Now it was up to him to chart a new course for his life, to find new meaning. Sometimes he wondered why he had been spared; others hadn’t. Jeffries, rattling in death, his body protectively shielding Matt from the enemy. Higgens, rising up from the ground, rallying the men with his battle cry. And the men themselves moaning in death all around him. And for what? For what good and noble purpose was this evil done? For nothing.

Meaningless. As his own life had become in that instant. Suddenly he realized it wasn’t just himself. He had a wife, Serena. He had to face her. She had innocently wed one man and now would be forced to accept another.

The high-ceilinged dining room had been set as for a party. Six shining candelabras blazed with light, illuminating the fine porcelain and twinkling crystal. The duchess presided at one end, Matt at her side. Serena sat next to him, across from Kendall. A footman stood behind each chair, eager to present Francois’s creations.

Kendall, loud in his appreciation of such culinary delights, kept up a steady stream of conversation concerning the quality of dining in America and aboard ship during their long voyage home.

Across from him, Cecily was all rapt attention, her eyes feasting on his face instead of the delicacies so painstakingly prepared.

Serena was no better, only toying with her food while pretending to pay attention to the conversation between Her Grace, Kendall, and Longford. In truth her thoughts were centered on only one thing—the man sitting so quietly beside her. Blackwood was neither the fairy-tale hero she’d wed so quickly nor the man she’d envisioned in the months living with his family and his belongings, learning what books and music he loved, learning what his life had been like before they met.

He was still startlingly handsome, perhaps even more so now the square chin was firmer, and the face chiseled down. Not even the wound across his wide brow, or his forced, stiff gait where once he’d moved with such confidence, distracted from his appeal in her eyes. Yet in all her dreams of his return, never had she imagined this aloof chasm between them, not even after his letters changed. Her husband was a stranger to her.

Her nerves were so taut, she nearly jumped when the duchess rose, announcing they would leave the men to their port.

With a white line of pain around his tight lips, Blackwood pushed himself to his feet.

“If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll retire early myself.” He shot a hard look at Longford, who responded by continuing to twirl his wineglass between his fingers. “Tomorrow I look forward to hearing all the news while I’ve been away.”

Finally he turned to her with just the merest shadow of his old whimsical smile. A small ache of joy tightened her throat. Somewhere hidden behind the cool, detached exterior he presented, somewhere deep inside, was the man she had married.

As he made his way slowly from the room, the thought came to her again that while he was away he’d had no opportunity to learn more about her, so still clung to the images of their brief marriage. Now he’d returned, could he find the reality wanting? Joy turned to pain, making it hard to keep her tears locked behind dry eyes.

Gratefully she followed Her Grace and Cecily into the small parlor. A maid placed a tea tray before the couch where the duchess gracefully reclined.

“Lord Kendall is just as I remembered him,” Cecily sighed, posing prettily in a chair beside her mother.

“Yes. However, your brother is not.” The hard note in the duchess’s usually musical voice caused Cecily unconsciously to sit up straighter and Serena to stand rooted to the floor, twisting her trembling fingers together before her.

“He has been hurtfully disillusioned,” the duchess continued with the same firmness.

Serena leaned forward, tensely awaiting Her Grace’s assessment. If anyone could show her the way to help him, it would be his mother.

“I pride myself on my sons’ fine minds and keen insights. Just as someday Richard’s cynicism will be tempered, Matt’s idealism has been shattered in ways which will be difficult for him to pick up the pieces and form a new pattern. We must be patient and assist him in any way we can.”

“But how can we best help him, Mother?” Cecily asked eagerly. “I want the old Matt back, prosy as ever.”

“That we shall never have, Cecily, nor should we wish it for Matthew’s sake.” Gracefully lifting the teapot, she poured the dark liquid into white cups. “As to how we can best help him, we must each find our own way.”

The exasperated look Cecily flashed Serena spoke volumes. Her Grace obviously expected them to take appropriate action, but would offer no specific suggestions.

“I believe I shall forgo tea and retire to my bedchamber.” Frustrated, Serena wanted time to consider a plan of attack. Blackwood was her husband—there must be some way to reach him.

She found none as she paced back and forth across the delicate blue and cream carpet. Serena stared at the dark wooden door separating her bedchamber from his. Should she knock on the door and ask if he needed any assistance?

Instinct told her Blackwood would not accept that.

Glancing at the ticking clock on the mantel, she realized she’d already wasted twenty minutes uselessly fretting about her further actions. Should she go on as if he weren’t there?

That seemed untenable to her.

She stopped in front of the door. Should she be so bold as to just assume he would wish to spend his first night at home with his wife after such a lengthy absence? Should she demand he do so?

The naive, innocent child Blackwood had married would never be so bold, but Serena was a woman now, all due to him. He had awakened her to the wonder of romance. He had provided all the opportunities for her to learn and grow, to take responsibility for an entire estate. She had followed her instincts and she had done well in every other endeavor. Why did she feel so helpless now?

Vainly she sought for an insight into the best way to approach her husband. A loud crash on the other side of the door startled her into action. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pushed the door wide and entered his chamber.