A Soldier's Heart Read online

“Jeffries, you’re wearing the leather to a nub. Already I can see myself in the things.” Matt laughed, too content to let anything unsettle him.

  “What’s to do when we’re off fightin’ the Frenchies?” Jeffries barked, with the familiarity of a trusted servant. He rose to his feet, his bowlegs parted, folded his arms across his chest, and thrust his red, stubby beard in the air. “Aye, that’s a wee rub, isn’t it, laddie? You’re a soldier through and through. Heart and soul. When we finish with these Frenchies we’ll have those uppity colonists to contend with, mark my words.”

  Matt spared one glance into the small mirror over the washstand to check his cravat before turning to his batman. “Don’t worry, Jeffries, I don’t plan to desert my country. I shall always be a soldier; now I shall also have a wife and family. Lots of men are married. We fight not only for honor but to keep our cherished ones safe at home.”

  “You don’t ken. That’s the problem wi’ young ones…” Jeffries shook his head in despair and glared at him through bushy brows. “Aye, the marquess is a right one. That great noble head of yours is in the clouds!”

  “Dare I believe my ears, Jeffries? You haven’t agreed with me since I bought that chestnut mare when I was twenty,” Longford drawled, making his presence known. He leaned against the bedchamber doorframe, obviously disapproving.

  Recognizing the look in Long’s hooded eyes, Matt resigned himself to another lecture. “Come to wish me happy, Long? If you wish to ring a peal over me like Jeffries, go away.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve come to tell you I’ve horses at the side entrance and the yacht waiting at the coast. They say Greece is lovely this time of year. In a word, I’m here to offer escape before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” Kendall asked, striding purposefully through the doorway, a bottle of port in one hand, glasses clutched in the other. “Not too late to have a final drink to Matt’s lost freedom before facing the fracas downstairs.”

  “Kendall, I’m not wed till next week.” Matt laughed, taking the bottle to a small table.

  “You’re well and truly in parson’s mousetrap.” Kendall shook his head, one sandy curl falling over his bright green eyes. “A betrothal party in your parents’ home with the entire ton crushed in to wish you happy means no retreat, Matt. Legshackled! Never thought I’d see the day.”

  When Jeffries handed them each a glass of port, Kendall leaned against the doorframe opposite Longford and raised his glass. “My condolences to Matt. May Longford and I be more fortunate.”

  “Charming as always, William.”

  Both Kendall and Long straightened as the Duchess of Avalon appeared.

  “Your Grace, my apologies.” Kendall bowed deeply, even though a grin still curved his lips.

  “No need for false apologies, William. I plan to be there when you must eat your words. Both of you!” she added with a speaking glance at her eldest son, before lovingly cupping his chin with her graceful fingers.

  Only when he responded with a careless shrug and a kiss upon her cheek did she float into the room. Her black lace gown set off her white hair, which contrasted dramatically with the bold black eyes her sons had inherited. At fifty-three, the duchess was still a beautiful woman.

  “Mother, I fear the party has adjourned to my bedchamber.” Matt smiled, kissing her cheek. Instantly he was transported back to childhood by the essence of rose clinging to her. At bedtime, or whenever he was afraid or lonely, he would be comforted within her arms and surrounded by that scent. “I know you haven’t come to wear the willow over me.”

  “Why bother? She knows you for the stubborn idealist you are!” Long barked out, bringing all eyes to where he lounged against the door. “Mother is well versed in the ways of our world. This goes beyond even its usual lunacy.”

  Recognizing the thread of concern in Long’s practiced boredom, Matt stilled his edge of anger, but he wondered when he would cease being the little brother. “Mother, isn’t it amazing Long and I had the same tutors, read the same books, attended the same school at Oxford, yet we see our world so differently?”

  “My darlings, it is perfectly understandable.” Her light, musical laughter healed his anger and even brought a reluctant smile to Long’s mocking mouth. “You are both intelligent men who know there is more than one avenue to the same place. Each of your paths is unique, as befits my sons.”

  “Mother, please! Kendall hasn’t realized he is surrounded by bluestockings.” Matt couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s befuddled expression.

  “Don’t know about paths or avenues, Your Grace,” Kendall retorted in all seriousness. “But Matt reads more than any man on the Peninsula. Not just battle plans, but poetry!” He spoke the word as if it were peculiarly loathsome, and Matt couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of embarrassment. “Byron! Can’t abide the stuff, myself. Too prosy for my taste.”

  Her Grace narrowed her eyes, regarding Kendall with that certain expression that boded ill. “I shall send a packet of literature for you to read on your journey back to the Peninsula. The volumes will surely improve the tone of your mind. I expect to discuss them when next we meet, William.”

  Thoroughly chastened, Kendall could do naught but bow and hastily empty his glass of port the minute she turned back to Matt.

  “Have you made any progress in improving the tone of Cecily’s mind?” Matt asked, hoping to distract his mother’s attention from his hapless friend.

  “Speaking of your sister. She’s—”

  Whatever his mother had been about to say was forever lost when the subject flew into the room to cast herself upon Matt’s chest. He lifted her up in the air, swinging her around, her delightful laughter as musical as their mother’s. Six months short of seventeen, Cecily was already a beauty. Next year at her come-out, her thick white gold hair and contrasting sherry eyes would make her a reigning beauty; for now she was still his little sister. Setting her back on her dainty slippers, Matt kissed the tip of her nose before releasing her.

  She danced over to Long, who tugged at one long gold curl, which Matt’s whirling her about the room had loosened from its rosy ribbon. “When are they letting you put your hair up, brat?”

  “Long, it is so vexing! You must talk to mother. She says I can’t attend Matt’s betrothal party because I haven’t yet had my come-out.”

  “Sorry, poppet, Mother’s right. It would cause unwanted attention.” Matt was shocked his sister would even think of doing anything so unconventional. “Don’t be so impatient to grow up. The rules of etiquette may seem silly now, but they’re in place for good reason.”

  Long didn’t quite sneer at him, but came close. “And Kendall thinks Byron proses,” he drawled. “Listen, brat, meet me on the second-floor landing at ten and I’ll bring you a glass of champagne.”

  “Will you really, Long?” she asked in a breathless little voice. Then she spied Kendall, who had moved to stand next to the armoire as Matt’s bedchamber became crowded with family. All playfulness fell from her; a rose to rival her ribbons and the embroidered flowers around the hem of her muslin gown crept up her neck into her cheeks. Nervously twisting her loose curl around two fingers, Cecily curtsied.

  “Lord Kendall, I didn’t see you. Good evening.”

  “Good evening to you, Lady Cecily,” he gave her a credible bow, his bright eyes crinkled in a smile. “You’ve grown up since last we met. I hardly recognized you.”

  “Everything and everyone changes eventually, Kendall.” Long stared into Matt’s face even though he spoke to his friend. “Matt has never quite understood we mortals can’t always stay as he wants us to be.”

  His idealism wasn’t so great it couldn’t be nudged aside by Long’s continued harping! “Not again, Long! I want to hear no more about my being a martyr or a saint! In—”

  “Stop bickering as if you were still scho
olboys.” Matt’s blistering rebuttal was interrupted by his mother’s firm words. “Matthew, you are about to become betrothed. And you, Richard, are as you’ve always been: a rational to the end.”

  Identical chocolate eyes met and clashed. “I cut my milk teeth on that philosophy, Mother.”

  “Of that, I am aware, my darling. Now, however, I must break up this fascinating gathering of minds. First, His Grace must be awakened for the party; the journey was hard on him. Cecily, a maid will bring supper to your room. And, gentlemen, I will see you downstairs in fifteen minutes, promptly.” With Cecily in tow, his mother floated out of the room, her apparent delicacy belied by her adept management of them all.

  “I’m going down to start imbibing immediately so I’ll be completely cast away by the time your engagement is announced. Perhaps then I can stomach it.” Shaking his head, Long turned on his heels.

  “Wait for me, Longford. I’ll march into the fray with you,” Kendall offered, throwing Matt a jaunty salute.

  “Aye, I can see we’re all in for rare times ahead, laddie. The good Lord help us,” Jeffries mumbled, leaving Matt alone.

  Whereas a moment before, the room had been filled with everyone he held dear, except for his father and Serena, now solitude pressed in on him. Doubts! He had none. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and once he found it, wasted no time in securing it. He had always wished to be a soldier, and he was a damn good one. He had dreamed of the ideal woman, who embodied a sweet innocence which touched his heart. He had found her. In a week he would realize his dream and make Serena his bride.

  “It all seems like some wonderful dream, doesn’t it, Serena? I’m quite flown away with success, I must tell you,” Aunt Lavinia twittered, fanning herself beside the mirror as the maid buttoned Serena into her wedding dress. It was the dress of her dreams, the finest of white batiste with a demi train edged in embroidery. Her lace veil and matching gloves lay across the bed.

  “You really are quite beautiful, Serena. I wonder why I never noticed before?” Aunt Lavinia questioned, her bulgy eyes studying Serena intently. “Although one could wish you would let a bit more bosom show. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter now. The success of the Season is at our fingertips. We must simply enjoy it to the fullest!” Her lilac satin gown swishing about her, Aunt Lavinia moved across the room. “We leave for the church in an hour. To think Prinny will be in attendance! I must check to see your father has ordered the carriage. We mustn’t be late.”

  Serena hove a sigh of relief at her exit. She needed a moment to herself—for the last week, she’d been feted and courted by the ton to the extent that she actually longed for the peace at the parsonage.

  The maid finally succeeded in placing every ringlet just so and reached for the white roses Blackwood had sent. Cleverly twisting them into a simple cornet, she positioned them on Serena’s head. But the fastening was proving difficult. Suddenly Serena’s skull was nearly pierced by a sharp jab.

  Her grimace of pain brought such a frightened look of horror to the maid’s pinched little face, Serena smiled encouragingly.

  “Don’t be concerned. I’m quite all right. You’ve done such a lovely job—there’s no need for haste. I believe the bride must be in attendance for the wedding ceremony to take place.”

  Her attempt at calming the little maid fell lamentably flat, for tears filled her pale brown eyes, and her fingers trembled as she worked again amidst the curls.

  Racking her brain at how best to alleviate this poor child’s fears, Serena hardly noticed the knock on the door. In the mirror she saw it open and a large woman enveloped in a brown traveling dress entered.

  “Buckle!” Serena screamed, twisting around to throw herself against the ample bosom of her old nursemaid, now rectory housekeeper. “The best, most wonderful surprise! However did you get here?” she asked, tearing herself out of Buckle’s arms to gaze into her dear face.

  She hadn’t changed a whit! Her cheeks still reminded Serena of rosy apples, and the huge white coil of hair hung precariously, as it always had, at the back of her head. “When did dear Papa send for you? How thoughtful of him!”

  “Dear child, it wasn’t your papa, although I’m sure he would have had he thought of it. It was Lord Blackwood. He sent his own carriage to fetch me, with a note saying you told him there were three things you missed. He’d gotten you your garden and your papa, but needed me to fulfill all your dreams.” Buckle’s tiny rosebud mouth curled up in a smile of singular sweetness, which caused twinkles of light in her watery blue eyes. “He seems just the kind of man I’ve always dreamed for you.”

  Lord Blackwood. Somewhere in the whirl of activity the last week, he’d nearly gotten lost. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been with him every evening at routs, balls, and soirees, but that they were constantly surrounded by well-wishers. Serena’s days had been so completely taken up with putting together a suitable trousseau, they’d had no time together.

  As if someone suddenly walked into the room and emptied an ice-cold bucket of water over her head, ruining her coiffure and her wedding gown, she couldn’t be more shocked. Suddenly she was awake to the fact she was marrying a stranger. She knew nothing of his thoughts. His kindness to Buckle was as surprising to her as it was touching.

  The only thing she knew was when she looked at Blackwood, she was filled with quite shocking feelings which were frightening and exciting in the same instant.

  “Lord Blackwood is very handsome, Buckle. And obviously from his kindness to you, just as handsome inside.” Serena forced a smile, feeling somewhat better. “Now you are here, everything is perfect! Rest while I finish.”

  Only after settling dear Buckle in a chair did Serena look up and notice the maid still holding the white roses in her hands.

  “Thank you, but you may go now. Mrs. Buckle will help me finish.”

  A hasty curtsy and a rapid exit showed how grateful the maid was not to have to put the finishing touches on Serena’s wedding attire. Everyone seemed to be on tenter hooks about these nuptials. Truth to tell, it was just beginning to sink in that perhaps Papa was correct—this whirlwind courtship and wedding were a bit unorthodox.

  “Buckle, no one does my hair as well as you. Please.” She offered the roses to Buckle. Spreading her dress out around her, Serena slipped onto a low stool next to the chair. It brought back fond memories of the rectory and her childhood sitting like this before Buckle, and in a trice having her ribbons and flowers perfectly settled among her curls.

  “There! It’s perfect. You look lovely today, dear child,” Buckle sighed, dropping her hands so Serena could clasp them fondly.

  “Buckle, it’s so wonderful you are here. Things have been happening so quickly, I’ve been at sixes and sevens. The city is such a wondrous place. There’s an excitement in the air which gets inside one’s blood and does the oddest things to normally sensible persons.”

  “And who might that just be, I wonder,” Buckle teased, her rosebud mouth curling deeper at the corners. “I was afraid the city might frighten you—you being so sheltered and living such a simple country life.”

  Serena lowered her eyes, studying the sturdy brown cloth of Buckle’s skirt. “I have something quite shocking to confess to you. You know Papa dislikes the city, so never speaks of it. And … Aunt Lavinia, well … you know Aunt Lavinia.” She shrugged, finally finding the courage to meet Buckle’s steady gaze. “The short of it, dear Buckle, is I would have been utterly terrified if a package hadn’t arrived from the squire’s niece six weeks before I left. That in itself was surprising, since I hadn’t met with her after her travels abroad, but the note said the books were a gift from London for my kindnesses to her. Which I recall were nothing more than nudging her awake a few times during Papa’s sermons.”

  Buckle stifled a chuckle, her apple red cheeks glowing. “Did you enjoy the books, dear child?”

 
“They were novels!” Serena was unable to restrain her own gurgle of laughter. “Quite shocking stories about life in the city. They were much truer than my imagination. I hadn’t a clue how to go on until I read them.”

  “Well, how could you know!” Buckle snorted. “You with no mother, rest her soul, stuck away in the wilds of York in a tiny village. And the squire not doing his duty, only inviting you to the manor once a year on Boxing Day. And the present baron’s wife too busy with her own children to have time for you. And your aunt only writing twice a year on your birthday and Christmas—sending gifts more suitable to a child than a growing woman. And me not a lady, so never having a Season. And your sainted papa so unworldly, he never thought what needed to be done to prepare you for the temptations of the ton. What was I to do?”

  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.”