A Soldier's Heart (5 page)

The new, rare, insight she’d first experienced with Lord Blackwood brought Serena to her feet. “Buckle, you sent me the novels?”

Bustling up, the former nursemaid fussed with Serena’s dress as she’d done for years. “Well, not precisely. I asked my cousin, Miss Dunnforth, who lives here in the city, to send them. I added the note.” As she peered up through short gray lashes, twinkling lights filled Buckle’s eyes. “It would cause a scandal the length and breadth of Market Weighton if I’m found out. Shall we keep this our secret?”

Such a rush of affection overwhelmed her that, disregarding her elegant gown, Serena cast herself into Buckle’s arms. “I love you!”

Laughing, she pressed a kiss on Serena’s cheek before stepping back. “And I, you. But no more foolishness. We must be ready to leave for the church. Now, are we ready?” Squinting, she fussed at the flowers, tugged ever so gently upon the neckline of the gown, and settled the gossamer veil over all. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied.

“All is in order. Except one thing I must ask.” The apple cheeks shone bright red. “Has your Aunt Lavinia spoken to you about tonight with your husband?”

Serena turned to hide her own embarrassment by fussing with her long gloves. “Aunt Lavinia was vague at best. So was Papa, but I’ve grown up in the country. Joe, the stableboy, and I found the barn cats mating one afternoon. Poor Joe! I thought he’d have an apoplexy the parson’s daughter had witnessed such a thing.”

Buckle sputtered, “Dear child, I’m sure Lord Blackwood wouldn’t like to be compared to a tomcat.”

In all truth, Serena’s feelings about what would happen on this, her wedding night, were as vague and unformed as had been the novels after the hero slammed the bedroom door shut behind him and his bride. But she must do something to soothe the alarming frown on Buckle’s usually placid countenance.

“I’m sure Lord Blackwood will be as kind in his duties as husband as he has been in his dealing with me thus far. He has been all that is proper and noble.” To her relief, the words accomplished their purpose; the rosebud mouth fell into its customary sweet lines.

“Obviously, dear child, in your short time together, you have come to know his lordship well.”

“Yes and no, Buckle.” Nervous flutters overcoming her, Serena laughed, dancing away for one last look in the mirror. “No time to waste!” Picking up the train of her gown, Serena went toward the door, Buckle following. “I don’t wish to be late to marry the man of my dreams. And regardless of all else, that he truly is.”

From the moment she and Lord Blackwood, truly magnificent in full military dress, stood before her father for the wedding service, through the chaste kiss on the lips before gliding hand in hand down the aisle as man and wife, onward to the wedding luncheon with its endless flow of champagne, food, and well-wishers, Serena moved as if in a romantic dream. It was magical and all was perfection.

Reality didn’t intrude until Blackwood’s dainty sister, Cecily, whispered in her ear that Her Grace, the Duchess of Avalon, and Mrs. Buckle were waiting in the west wing suite, which had been prepared for her wedding night. She excused herself to Blackwood, and his eyes gazed at her with such intensity that, suddenly, her thoughts of this night were not so vague.

Nervous flutters threatened to completely overwhelm her when she found the duchess and Buckle laying out a lacy negligee and gown. She stopped dead in her tracks, until the duchess took her hands, warming them with her own sure clasp.

“I know you are nervous, Serena, which is why I asked Mrs. Buckle to help you retire instead of one of our maids. I’m only here to tell you how pleased I am Matthew has chosen so well.” Cupping Serena’s cheeks with graceful fingers, she studied her face, then kissed her once. “I am delighted to have such a beautiful new daughter.”

Serena still couldn’t move even after Her Grace floated away in a cloud of silver chiffon.

“Her Grace is a true lady. And the little Cecily, she’s a right sweet one. Dear child, it’s a wonderful family you have now.”

Buckle’s voice drew her to the mirror, where she stood quietly allowing her to remove the flowers from her hair and slip off her satin pumps.

“I’m married, Buckle.”

In a matter of minutes Serena was wearing the sheer layer of lace and the negligee.

“Let me brush your hair, dear child,” Buckle soothed, pulling the brush carefully through her thick curls.

Serena sat on a slipper chair before the fire and gazed into the flames, trying to settle the shudders waving through her body. Blackwood would sweep her up in his arms and then … what?

Twisting around, she stared into Buckle’s face, shadowed by the flickering flame. “Buckle, I’ve experienced such strange feelings since arriving in London. It’s almost as if I’m becoming a different person.”

“Not a different person, dear child. You’re simply growing up, as I knew you would.” Buckle gave her a comforting hug. “You’re my little kitten who has always been warm and cared for in her small wicker basket. Then one day she discovers she can climb out and find a whole new world full of danger and excitement and joy. But the basket is always there to climb back into, dear child. Be happy,” she whispered through what sounded suspiciously like tears, but Serena couldn’t be sure, for Buckle whirled away, leaving the room too quickly.

She sat alone before the fire waiting for her husband. Lord Matthew Blackwood. A man she’d known a scant few weeks. A man who with one look caused her to act not by logic, but emotion.

The flutters turned to coils of excitement, forcing her up and around the room. She noticed the welcoming touches the duchess had provided—silver brushes and combs with her new initials engraved on them, a small posy by her lamp, and a miniature of Matthew, age eleven. She studied it for a moment, then restlessly moved to the window. The streetlamps were glowing, all in a row, like small moons in the darkness of Mayfair.

Finally she faced the huge bed with its crimson velvet hangings and sheets that smelled of lavender and sunshine.

Then she heard stirrings on the other side of the door leading to Blackwood’s dressing room. In a panic, she dropped her negligee upon the chair and crawled into bed. Lying back against the plump pillows, she pulled the sheet high around her throat.

He found her there a moment later when he quietly entered, closing the door behind him. He cast one long look at her in bed and she held his rich chocolate gaze as long as she could. Then he slowly extinguished each candle until the bedchamber was lit only by firelight. She closed her eyes when she saw he was untying the sash of his robe. The bed gave with his weight and she felt his warmth slide along the length of her body.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. I’m safely under the covers.”

Dutifully she lifted her lids and found his whimsical smile only inches away beside her on the pillow.

“Have I thanked you for sending for dear Buckle?” She found, to her surprise, her voice sounded oddly husky.

“Several times.” The corners of his mouth deepened. “I wanted everything to be perfect for my bride.”

“Why did you wish me for your bride, Blackwood?” she asked, her heart doing an odd little catch as she stared into those mesmerizing eyes.

He shifted closer and reached a hand to arrange her hair in a proper fall across the pillow. “I wanted you for my bride because I love you, sweetheart. Surely you must know that.”

But what could he love? He didn’t even know she wasn’t a good horsewoman, but an excellent gardener. Had he discovered she was utterly devoted to Papa and Buckle, and even Aunt Lavinia in her own fashion? Is that what he admired, her strong familial feelings? Was it her scholarship? She knew little about the world, but she’d memorized the texts of almost as many sermons as her father. Was it her way with the parish children? He knew so little about her, what could he admire? It was suddenly vitally important to know.

“What do you love about me?” The huskiness caused her to whisper.

A thrill of enticing fear shook her as he brushed each of her eyelids with his lips.

“I love the goodness shining out of your eyes,” he whispered. He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I love your perfect nose.”

A shy rapture made her heart pound against her ribs as his finger traced her mouth.

“I love the very proper words coming out of these cherry lips. I love the way you chew just here when you’re considering the proper way of things.”

Suddenly the tip of his tongue replaced his finger on her often-abused lower lip. “Quite simply, Serena, I love everything about you.”

“I believe”—her voice shook slightly—“that is enough for now.”

Finally their lips met, and sweetly they tasted one another. Shifting his arm, he eased her closer so her body came in contact with every inch of his. Without words he held her until her tense limbs slowly yielded. Only then did he continue brushing her lips in feathery kisses which left her wishing for deeper contact. With a sigh he acquiesced, his lips parting hers, tenderly probing, filling her with exquisite longings hitherto unknown.

Like a wonderful dream, she could do naught but flow with his magic and follow his tender encouragements. Wrapped in his arms, suffused with new, exquisite sensations, at last, she fell asleep.

When the embers in the fireplace were nothing but a faint glow in the darkness he reached for her again. Joyfully she went into his arms.

If the books Buckle had provided and the excitement of London had stirred new emotions in Serena, Blackwood carried her to a magical place where the contentment of her past life became a pale, faded image. Contentedly resting her cheek against his warm bare chest, she almost forced her weighted lids open at hearing an unfamiliar voice, but Blackwood reassured her with a quiet whisper. So she sank deeper into him, refusing to wake from her dream. She was safe now. Nothing, ever, could take this away from her.

S
ometime during the night they shifted position: Serena was no longer resting her cheek against Blackwood’s chest, nor could she hear the strong, even beats of his heart. But she could hear his voice repeating her name over and over again. To respond she must brush aside the cobwebs of sleep and open her eyes.

He was sitting beside her on the edge of the bed; but with a jolt that brought her fully awake, she realized he was already in traveling clothes.

“Oh, no, I’ve overslept! You’re ready to leave for our bridal trip to Avalon Landing.” Struggling up from the pillows, she pushed strands of loose curls off her face. “I shall be ready in a trice, I promise.”

“Sweetheart, I have bad news.” His now familiar and dear whimsical smile didn’t quite reach his dark eyes. “Orders arrived unexpectedly last night from the War Office. I must return to my regiment immediately.”

Still dazed with sleep, it took a few seconds for the full impact of his words to sink in. “You are leaving now?” The question came out in a breathless little whisper. Last night she had with eager hands let go of the past to joyfully embrace the future; now it was ending with hardly more than a beginning.

Biting her lower lip, she felt tears wash her eyes—Blackwood’s stricken face wavered through a watery haze.

“Sweetheart!” He crushed her against his chest, holding her in the strong arms she’d so very recently come to know. “I’m sorry about the Landing. You’d love it there! But I must return to my duties.”

Rubbing her cheek against the rough wool of his jacket, she gave a small hiccup. “I know. But I thought we’d have time to become better acquainted, as we started to last night. I was quite looking forward to it.”

“The things you say,” he chuckled into her ear, placing a kiss there. “I wished the same, sweetheart. But it’s not to be.” Shifting long fingers through her curls, he settled them around her throat and with gentle thumbs tilted her face up so she was gazing into his face, his eyes deep and fathomless.

“Remember I leave my heart here in your keeping.”

“And you take mine with you,” she whispered, trembling with the emotions his words evoked. She closed her eyes and swayed against him. With a sigh of relief she felt his lips press hers and she clung to him as if she could not get close enough. Her lips burned against his, urgently wanting to leave a mark there so she could not be forgotten in the months ahead.

He pulled away first to cup her tearstained face with long fingers, his mesmerizing eyes searching her every feature. “I want to remember you just as you are now. Sweet, perfect Serena. Promise me you’ll never change. That when we’re reunited everything will be just as it is at this moment.”

“I promise.” At this moment she would promise to tether him the moon if he wished it.

In response, his lips scorched the tender skin on the side of her neck. Her hands clung weakly to him as his lips worked their way gently from her ear, down her jawline, until at last they touched her mouth. She drank in his deep kiss to store this sweetness within so it would always be a part of her.

He lifted his lips to taste her salty, tear-brimmed lashes. “Don’t open your eyes,” he commanded. With gentle hands he eased her back down upon the pillows and she felt him brush a curl off her face. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart, and dream of my return.”

She did as she was bid, clutching at the top of the sheet with trembling fingers and swallowing down sobs. She felt the bed lift with the removal of his weight, and heard the door click shut behind him. Even then she didn’t open her eyes. Her new happiness had been so short-lived, now replaced by a curious sense of impending tragedy. At the back of her mind she’d known Blackwood would return to war, but it had seemed a distant separation. For the whirlwind days of their courtship, so full of romance and burgeoning emotion, it had been easily disregarded. Now the sheer weight of loss—of something so new and so slightly explored, when she instinctively knew its depths held delight and fulfillment-caused her saddened mind to seek solace in the oblivion of slumber.

She awakened to sunlight streaming through narrow breaks in the heavy curtains. For two deep breaths she was disoriented. The crimson velvet draping the large bed was so vastly different from her narrow cot at home in the rectory. Now this opulent room with the rich hues of an oriental carpet and the fine carved wooden furniture was home. Her home with Blackwood. It seemed but a dream, all of it, but her body told her differently. Last night in Blackwood’s arms had been real.

Hugging herself, she sat up, her eyes feeling puffy and weighted from her bout of weeping. Tears would wash nothing away. Blackwood had returned to his duty as a soldier, and in truth, she must accept it, for she valued his honor as much as his love. She must now, alone, take up her duty as his wife.

A soft knock sounded at the door before it was opened. Instead of a maid, Cecily entered carrying a silver tray with a pot, two cups, and a rack of toast.

“Good morning, Serena. I hope you don’t mind I’ve come to share your breakfast of chocolate and toast.”

Placing the tray carefully on the bed, Cecily eased down beside it. The deep brown eyes were so like Blackwood’s, fresh pain tightened Serena’s throat.

“Thank you, Cecily. I’m afraid I’m not fit company this morning.”

“I understand.” A small hand patted Serena’s bare arm. “It’s of all things unfair. That stupid War Office! Tearing a groom from the bosom of his bride on their wedding night. It’s monstrous!”

This being Serena’s first glimpse of Cecily’s flair for the dramatic, she couldn’t help smiling in spite of her sadness. “I appreciate your sentiments. But Blackwood must do his duty.”

“Matt always does his duty. He’s the most honorable of men. And quite dashing and handsome. Both my brothers are brilliant catches, I’m told. I’ll confess my friends all either have a tendre for Matt or Long.”

Serena’s only contact with the marquess had been at official social engagements, where he seemed to do nothing but glare at her through hooded eyes weighed down by heavy black lashes. She suspected he might hold a certain appeal for some women since his rakish appearance did bear strong resemblance to the heroes in the novels she’d read, but he frightened her.

“I probably shouldn’t be confessing such things to you,” Cecily laughed, pouring them each a cup of steaming hot chocolate. “But you have no need for concern. Matt fell in love with you at first sight and swept you off your feet. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen! Gossip says you’re the envy of the Season. Never before has anyone had a come-out ball one month and a wedding the next. I plan to do the same, of course.” With a smug smile, Cecily bit into a piece of toast.

The warm, soothing chocolate eased Serena’s tight throat. “Your come-out isn’t until next Season, is it not? It’s difficult to predict how one will react. I could never have predicted what has transpired between Blackwood and me.” Although there was barely a year difference in age, after last night, Serena felt much older and wiser.

“I know exactly how it will be.” Cecily nodded, her dark eyes sparkling above rose-flushed cheeks. “I’ve known since I was fourteen. I’m going to wed Lord Kendall.”

“Kendall!” Serena gasped, remembering Blackwood’s friend with the crisp, sandy curls and laughing green eyes.

“Can you keep a secret, Serena?” Cecily asked in awesome seriousness, leaning slightly forward.

Since she had never had brothers and sisters, the intimacy of shared confidences was foreign to her, but such was the appeal of Cecily’s little heart-shaped face, Serena learned toward her eagerly. “Of course I can keep a secret.”

“Lord Kendall has already kissed me. Twice!”

As mature as Serena felt after last night, her strict upbringing brought her bolt upright in shocked indignation. “But how dare he? And how could he face Blackwood after such a dastardly deed? You’re just a child!”

Serena could tell by the sudden narrowing of Cecily’s eyes she didn’t care to be called a child, but she shrugged good-naturedly. “No doubt he doesn’t even recall the incident. I was fourteen and Long came home to Avalon Hall in Berkshire to rusticate. Matt and Kendall were down from Oxford for a fortnight holiday. One night they were all drunk as monks in the library. I crept down to take a look. Matt and Long were both passed out on the couches. But Kendall, sprawled in a wing chair, was still awake. He saw me and called me to him.” A faraway look came to Cecily’s fine brown eyes. “He pulled on my braid and asked what I did there. I told him I’d come to see my brothers. ‘Cast away the lot of them,’ he said with that wonderful laugh of his which makes green devils dance in his eyes. He said I must retreat to my bedchamber before I was caught by Nannie. But before he set me away, he kissed me on both cheeks.”

Serena was aware of intense relief, for she’d liked Lord Kendall and was happy to find she could continue to do so.

“I fell in love with him then and there, and have remained constant. All I must do is go through the form of a Season and I shall be free to marry him. It’s a romantic lot you’ve married into, Serena.” Cecily laughed, and the light, musical sound was like a balm to Serena’s bruised spirit. “Except Long and Mother, of course. Speaking of which, I nearly forgot!” With a little bounce, Cecily rose from the bed. “Mother is waiting in the front parlor. I believe she wants to show you around the town house and introduce you to the staff.”

When Cecily entered the room, Serena was at the point of becoming a watering pot; now she was suffused with fresh energy.

“Cecily, did someone send you up here to lift my spirits?” Hugging her knees, Serena smiled at her new sister. “In truth, you’ve done just that!”

“Good!” Cecily nodded, a dimple appearing in her cheek, instead of marking her chin as Blackwood’s did. “Mother said it might help if you talked to someone closer to your own age. Mother may not be romantic, but you’ll find her very wise.”

Truly Serena appreciated the Duchess of Avalon’s gentle wisdom as she introduced her to her new duties. Since Blackwood and she had discussed virtually nothing, she was surprised to learn the west wing of the town house was Blackwood’s, the east Longford’s, when the entire family was in residence. The family seat, Avalon Hall, in Berkshire comprised fifteen hundred acres and two towns. Blackwood’s main seat was Avalon Landing on the Sussex Coast, a large, sprawling place he loved but had spent little time at, so it was in the hands of an estate manager, Mr. Jeremy Stockton.

Longford, as heir, had two minor estates in his care, for one day Avalon Hall would be his. Along with these facts, the duchess imparted a myriad details concerning the running of such a large establishment as the London house. Although, she confessed with her light, musical laugh, this household was small compared to the other holdings.

Truly overwhelming for a parson’s daughter, but Serena found the training Buckle had provided stood her in good stead. Her mind was so cluttered with facts and names and lists, the jolting pain of Blackwood’s abrupt departure began to fade ever so slightly. She guessed the duchess was wise enough to keep her busy so she wouldn’t grieve.

Blackwood had been gone less than a fortnight when they were interrupted in the conservatory by Wilkens, who, with a pained expression in his small eyes, looked down his long, imposing nose at the shorter man beside him.

“This gentleman has come with a message from Lord Blackwood for Lady Serena. He insisted my lord said he must give it in person.”

“That he did!” The thin man, dressed in rough country clothes, nodded enthusiastically. “Gave my word, Harry Thurston did, and keepin’ it I am.”

Rising to her feet, Serena stepped toward where he stood clutching a large clay pot of greenery.

“Is this for me, sir?” Even as he nodded, she took the pot in her hands. “This is a chrysanthemum plant, is it not?”

“Aye, my lady. Lord Blackwood, he was passing by, for our cottage is near the sea, and spied my wife tending the garden. A generous man, my lord. Says I’m to bring this planting and this here note.”

Carefully setting the pot on the wide rim of the central fountain whose shepherdess eternally poured water from a pail onto the stones around her feet, she reached for the small piece of paper he thrust toward her.

“Sweetheart, I’m reliably informed these red chrysanthemums are symbolic of true love. Think of me as you tend this symbol of my deep, abiding affection. Blackwood.”

Embarrassment burned her skin, scorching her throat as she realized she’d spoken the intimate words aloud. Stricken, she stared from Mr. Thurston, who continued to nod enthusiastically, to Wilkens, whose stern demeanor suddenly blurred a bit around the edges.

“Very thoughtful. Thank you, Mr. Thurston.” The duchess’s musical voice bridged the awkward moment. “Wilkens, see that Mr. Thurston has ample food and drink for his journey home.”

The men retired from the scene while the duchess tactfully admired the plant, giving Serena a moment to recover.

“Will it bear blossoms? I fear horticulture is not a particular interest of mine.”

“Yes, Your Grace, in autumn there will be lovely red blooms which will return year after year if attended properly,” she finally managed.

“Perhaps we should turn it over to the gardener for care.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace! I shall attend it myself,” Serena put in hurriedly. “Gardening is an interest of mine.”

As if Serena had said something that pleased her greatly, the duchess gave her a deep, warm smile. “I’m delighted to hear it. I have something else which I hope will interest you.” She lifted a slim volume from a small marble table nearby. “This is Matthew’s favorite book of poetry. Perhaps reading what has given him pleasure will bring you closer to him. But now, I fear, I must attend His Grace—this is our reading hour.”

Left with Blackwood’s book of poetry and his gift, Serena carefully chose the best spot in the conservatory for the plant. She felt the soil, added more water, and removed two yellow leaves. It was strangely reassuring to have some tangible evidence of Blackwood’s regard, for their time together did seem dreamlike, almost a figment of the romantic nature that had blossomed within her so recently.