A Soldier's Heart (7 page)

“I am quite accustomed to perusing account books, Longford. But I thank you for your concern.” Giving him no time to respond, she spun around and departed with dignity.

The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring with Cecily, who proved to be an entertaining guide. Stories of Matt’s exploits as a young man sent them both often into gales of laughter. His presence was apparent in every room and in the devotion of the staff. By the time she was finished, Serena understood why he loved the place so well.

Longford entered the estate office with Mr. Stockton when she completed her examination of the books. Obviously he was still uncertain of her ability. Having nothing to prove, to him or to herself, she pretended he wasn’t there.

“Mr. Stockton, I notice expenditures five years ago for repairs to our tenant cottages, but nothing since.”

“That’s correct, my lady.” His head bobbled in a nod at the top of his long, gangly neck. “His lordship wished to improve the dwellings.”

She folded her hands in front of her, ignoring Longford to concentrate on Mr. Stockton’s blank, pale face. “But what about maintenance?”

“In my opinion, my lady, the structures are sound as they are.”

“I shall ride out and see for myself tomorrow. I’d like a complete list of the tenants—family size, position on the estate, and so forth—with an appraisal of their productivity and perhaps a list of their needs before I go. When I return from my tour we shall discuss the matter again. Thank you, Mr. Stockton,” she said with a dismissive smile which he quickly understood, departing with a long, loose stride.

Longford strolled out after him, but stopped in the doorway to ask, “What would Matt make of his country mouse now, I wonder?”

He left her with an enigmatic smile startlingly reminiscent of his mother.

As much as Serena tried to ignore it, a niggling worry frayed at her mind. She hadn’t really changed. She was simply doing her duty as her father and Buckle had taught her and as Blackwood would surely wish. He loved the Landing. In his absence she would strive to make it all he would wish.

Cecily accompanied her in an open landau for the round of visits. They were greeted warmly by all, whose kind inquiries about her husband and praise for his management heartened her. It was obvious that Blackwood wished his tenants to be comfortable and happy. Young children played about some of the cottages; older boys could be seen helping their fathers. The estate seemed to be running smoothly, but her inquisitive eyes picked out thatched roofs and fences that needed repair before winter, and dwellings that could do with new whitewash.

At one home a young girl sat on a low bench in the yard with several even younger children clustered about her. Serena was astounded to see she was reading from a book in her lap. She ordered the driver to stop.

“Where could the child have learned to read?” she inquired of an equally mystified Cecily.

By this time the cottage door opened, a woman, obviously in an interesting condition, standing in the doorway. “Children,” she commanded. Immediately they sprang forward to offer their curtsies and bows.

“I’m Mrs. Brown, my lady. Would you and Lady Cecily care for a cool drink?”

“That would be most kind, Mrs. Brown.” Serena stepped out of the carriage and turned toward the eldest child. “And what would your name be?”

Shyly the girl looked up, still clutching the book as if it were precious. “Polly, my lady.”

“You were reading to the younger children?”

The child blushed. “No, ma’am. Just tellin’ stories to fit the pictures. The vicar’s wife gave me the book.”

Mrs. Brown bustled forward with two glasses of water. “My daughter’s the clever one,” she said proudly. “Mrs. Morton keeps saying she should learn her letters.”

Serena smiled at the little group. “Perhaps one day I can come back and hear a story, too. Thank you for the drink, Mrs. Brown. Is there anything you or Mr. Brown need for the coming winter?”

“Thank you, your ladyship. We’ll do just fine. Polly will help when the new babe comes.”

Polly seemed young to have that kind of responsibility, but Serena didn’t comment. On the way home in the landau she was silent, ordering her thoughts. As they reached the front door, abruptly she announced, “The vicar and his wife, the Mortons? They should come to tea directly.”

She presented her list to Mr. Stockton the next morning. After only the briefest of hesitations, he bowed. “As you wish, my lady. I shall see to it immediately.”

She waited until he left the room before collapsing into a deep wing chair in the library in thought. She’d once told Buckle she was fearful of the changes going on inside her. Could she have turned so completely from dutiful to demanding? What she required was necessary, though. If Blackwood were here, he would agree. Wouldn’t he?

Leaping to her feet, she shook off such feelings. She was simply following the path Blackwood and the Duchess of Avalon opened before her.

That path would have been most idyllic were it not for her fears for Blackwood in the next weeks as she and Cecily explored the Sussex Coast. Longford came and went as he pleased, going often to London and returning with news from the Peninsula, which was more often than not frightening. Even more upsetting was the absence of a letter.

Longford did not intrude on their pursuits, but occasionally joined them at dinner, and once attended service in the village with them.

The evening Serena invited the Reverend Morton and his hopeful family for an informal supper, Longford thrilled the three sons by showing them his horseflesh. Serena and Mrs. Morton reached an immediate understanding, and thereafter she became a great ally and a pipeline to the village.

As the autumn wore on, Serena and Cecily continued their visits to the tenants. Twice Serena kept her promise and returned to the Browns to participate in the storytelling. She learned to go slow with changes, allowing the people some time to accept her ideas.

That no further letters from Blackwood arrived was a constant dull ache. All she did for the estate and its people made her feel closer to him, but she yearned for more. The two messages she had received were already dog-eared from her constant rereading. She got into the habit of keeping a journal, thinking perhaps she would send it to him so he could see how her days were full of happiness and work.

Cecily was true to her word, staying until the chrysanthemum plant bore deep red blooms.

On the morning of her departure she hugged Serena tightly, tears standing in the dark chocolate eyes. “I shall miss you so! But before you know it, you’ll be at Avalon Hall for the holidays. Will you not be lonely without us?” she asked, with a frown marring her usual sunny countenance.

“Father and Buckle will arrive soon and stay until we journey together to Avalon Hall for Christmas. Besides, I still have decorating in the house and the redesigning of the gardens to complete.”

Cecily’s light, musical laughter caused Serena to smile. “Wait until Matt sees the wonderful changes you’ve made here. When next you write, please give him my love. And send my regards to Lord Kendall,” she added with a pert grin before disappearing into the carriage.

Serena looked up at Longford astride his stallion, waiting silently beside the carriage. He gave her that same enigmatic smile.

“You just might do.” He drew on the reins. With a nod from him, the carriage pulled away, and Longford galloped ahead, leaving her waving until they were out of sight.

Even without Cecily’s companionship, the days were full. The nights were hard. She filled them by reading volumes from Blackwood’s library, but it was difficult to concentrate when most of her thoughts were focused on receiving some kind of word from or about her husband. Her husband … with whom she’d spent but one night, but who became more and more important to her each day. There would be so much for them to share when he returned.

She was in the library reading one of the books on political philosophy when Stevens solemnly presented a packet brought by messenger from London.

Inside were two letters. Overjoyed, she opened them both at once and found one dated in midsummer and the other much later. She read the earliest first, learning of the battle of San Sebastian and Blackwood’s pride in his men, particularly Sergeant Major Higgens. In his words she experienced the deep affection and admiration he felt for the older man. Again the letter was full of the small details of his days: how the men hated the use of case shot and how he missed Kendall, who had been promoted to his own regiment. He closed with loving words and a whimsical inquiry into the wellbeing of their plantings.

She determined to press a chrysanthemum bloom this very night and enclose it in her next letter, along with the pages of her journal.

As long as it had taken the one letter to arrive, the other must have come through with the dispatches, for it was dated only a few weeks before.

Unbidden, tears trickled down her face. A deep, swelling pain burst to life in her chest, bringing a terrible realization. While she was adding weight and strength and substance to the glittering, shallow image of Blackwood, seeing him as he truly was beyond the handsome face and dashingly broad shoulders which had first attracted her, he still only saw her as the embodiment of his dreams.

Although surely he was still that to her, even more so, now she recognized his true worth. It wasn’t that thoughts of him didn’t still make her breathless and a trifle giddy; on the contrary, the yearning grew stronger each day for his return.

With sickening dread the thought came to her Longford might be correct: Blackwood saw people as he wished them to be, not as they truly were. Perhaps he would not feel the same about her when he must live with her day after day. She could not then continue to be only a romantic dream. She would become a real person with human frailties.

Totally rejecting such thoughts, she rushed to the conservatory and snipped a blossom. While it pressed between heavy volumes, she penned a letter to Blackwood. She refused to admit she wrote it exactly as she would have done months ago and that there was no longer any thought of enclosing the journal pages. She placed the pressed crimson petals between the sheets and folded them over carefully, lifting them for a fleeting moment to her lips.

True love surely would conquer all. If indeed what Blackwood felt for her was as real as what she now felt for him.

S
erena received Blackwood’s Christmas letter in late January at Avalon Hall, where the entire family plus Aunt Lavinia and her cousin Frederick were snowed in. Tempers were slightly on edge from their forced confinement, especially Cecily, who was having to gently fob off Frederick’s adoration. Longford, who was deprived of riding his wild stallion on a daily basis, had little to do with the assemblage, preferring to spend most of his time with his father in the study. The letter’s arrival was a welcome diversion, so, as was her habit, Serena shared most of it. She read Blackwood’s regards to all the family, his glorious reports of his men’s bravery, and of course, the mention of Kendall for a rapt Cecily.

The rest of the letter was hers alone: regret they couldn’t be together for their first holiday; delight at receiving the chrysanthemum petals, which he kept close to his heart. These passages fed the feelings Blackwood had inspired in her heart since the first time she looked into his dark eyes.

That the messenger was able to get through from London heralded the clearing of the roads. Aunt Lavinia prepared for her leave-taking by closeting herself with Serena in the small parlor. From the hard glaze in the huge blue eyes, Serena feared a scolding was at hand.

“You’ve done so brilliantly! How could you fail to be increasing?” her aunt fretted, the owl eyes blinking rapidly. “I’d so hoped you’d be setting up Blackwood’s nursery. I know how pleased Charlesworth’s family was when I produced dear Frederick within the first two years of our marriage. Really, Serena, you must understand how important it is to secure the succession.”

As much as her aunt’s harsh words hurt, Serena refused to give in to the uncharitable retort that dear Frederick was a disgraceful rip who’d been sent down from Oxford more times than Serena could recall. Besides that, his mother only kept his antics under control through the dire threat of cutting off his allowance. She couldn’t imagine Their Graces being pleased if she produced such an offspring to add to their old and noble line.

Instead she forced a smile. “Aunt Lavinia, you know Blackwood and I had only one night together before he was called away. When he returns we shall have ample time to think of such matters.”

“Serena, you are as unworldly as your father after all!” Stretching her eyes as wide as possible, which was a frightening sight indeed, Aunt Lavinia leaned closer. “Have you forgotten men are killing one another in that dreadful war! Blackwood may never return, and you have failed to produce his heir!”

Fear such as she’d never known gripped her heart. Blackwood’s letters were so full of the glory and the honor of war, she hadn’t really looked beyond the idealistic words. Aunt Lavinia was right for once!

To think she’d been fretting Blackwood might be disappointed to find her slightly changed when there was every chance they might never be able to fully explore their feelings for one another. For the first time Blackwood’s passages concerning his men’s valor and bravery took on their true meaning. These men were fighting for their lives despite any glorious protestations.

Immediately upon her aunt’s rather protracted leave-taking, Serena pleaded a headache and retired to her bedchamber. The letter she penned to Blackwood this night was the truest to her heart. That he might notice the change in her didn’t seem a whit important now compared to her need for him to know her feelings. How could she have remained so naive?

Suddenly the reports, sketchy as they were, and Longford’s discussions with his father, took on a deeper significance. At last she recognized their fear for Blackwood was greater than she’d imagined, for it was based on fact. She spent hours poring over maps, trying to trace her husband’s movements during the past year.

Her constant fear for him colored all her actions. Within a fortnight of her aunt’s departure she left for the Landing, anxious to oversee the spring planting and the changes in the gardens she had so lovingly designed.

The Reverend and Mrs. Morton were only too willing to assist her more charitable designs. Many of the villagers had lost a man to the war. Serena felt they should receive extra help from the estate. She trusted the reverend to devise a scheme so that even the severely wounded could still have a useful place.

She proposed a school for the younger children, thinking of Polly, and offered a stipend for anyone who could teach letters and basic mathematics. Mrs. Morton suggested a notice be posted in the village.

The vicar’s wife had also brought a list of special needs, including a Mrs. Watley, a widow, who had just learned her twin sons had been killed at the Battle of Orthez. Her small farm had been given to a family man, and she had nowhere to go and little to support herself with. Serena assured Mrs. Morton she would think of something quickly and have Stockton see to it.

Convinced that Blackwood would be proud of these accomplishments, she departed for York for a brief visit with her papa and Buckle with a slightly lighter heart.

When she arrived back in London to prepare for Cecily’s Season, the seemingly endless trips to the modistes and milliners on Bond Street kept her occupied, but always her thoughts were with Blackwood. This time last year she had first looked up into those mesmerizing dark eyes and lost her heart.

News of Napoleon’s abdication on April 6 must have flown across the Channel, as Cecily phrased it. There was much rejoicing in London. The duke insisted on coming down for a celebratory dinner, for surely his son would be returning forthwith.

A toast to His Majesty, poor sick man, and the Regent, was quickly followed by a tribute to Matthew. Cecily squeezed her fingers under the table and shot her a wide, dimpled smile. Serena knew what was utmost in her mind: Kendall would be home during her Season, and she would have her opportunity to snare him.

Uppermost in Serena’s thoughts was the anticipation of seeing Blackwood and again recapturing the dizzy emotions of their wedding night, which had ever haunted her dreams.

Her euphoria continued gaining strength as word of the Treaty of Fountainbleu reached London and men were rumored to be already returning. This Season’s frivolities surpassed all that had gone before. The
ton
was prepared to celebrate victory without end.

One afternoon at tea she and Cecily regaled the duchess with the newest hearsay concerning troop movements and talked of nothing but Kendall and Blackwood’s triumphal return. Her Grace was smiling indulgently at Cecily’s dramatic protestations that she intended to honor Kendall as a hero of the nation all her life when Longford suddenly burst through the door.

Serena took one look at his set face and knew something was very wrong.

“Richard, what a pleasant surprise.” The duchess gracefully lifted her hand for his kiss. “I shall have another cup brought immediately.”

“No, Mother, I fear I need something stronger!” He sprawled in a chair next to his sister. “This came through with the dispatches, and since I was visiting a friend at the War Office, I said I would deliver it myself.”

Since the large packet was directed to Her Grace, the Duchess of Avalon, she opened it. Inside were several sheets of paper folded over with their names on them. The duchess handed two to Cecily.

She instantly opened both. “One’s from Matt wishing me a successful Season and bidding me not to break too many hearts. The other is from Lord Kendall.” Her voice was full of breathless excitement as her eyes scanned the page. “He sends his regards and regrets he cannot be in attendance for my come-out ball but asks for the first waltz upon his return.” She clutched the sheet tightly to her breasts with such an enraptured expression on her lovely face, even her cynical brother’s long mouth curved in something other than his usual sneer.

“What does Matt say in your letter, Mother?” Longford asked carefully. Serena experienced the strongest feeling he was waiting for something.

“He sends us his love and his hopes for his father’s improved health.” Her smile didn’t quite reach the dark eyes she had bequeathed to all her children. “We have the best for last. Serena, there are several sheets addressed to you.”

Almost reluctantly, Serena unfolded her letter. She didn’t get beyond the first few lines. Cold disappointment froze her until she forced herself to blink away the ache behind her eyes.

She looked straight at Longford. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I guessed, knowing my brother.” He shrugged.

“What? What is it!” Cecily demanded, jumping to her feet, the precious note from Kendall still clasped to her bosom.

“Blackwood is not returning. Fourteen thousand men are to go to the colonies, and he feels honorbound to go with his regiment. Kendall goes also.”

Cecily fell back into the chair, her eyes filling with tears.

Needing to be alone, Serena rose and sent a fleeting smile in Her Grace’s direction. “Please, excuse me.” It came out a broken whisper and she fled the room before she lost her composure entirely.

The conservatory was a refuge—the chrysanthemum plant sat in its place of honor: green and alive, but dormant. Dropping down beside it, she spread the sheets across her lap and forced herself to reread the hated words.

He wasn’t coming home! His love of duty obviously was more important than any feelings he had for her. While her regard for him had deepened, being surrounded by his things and the people who loved him most, had she become nothing more than a pleasant memory? Refusing to give in to such thoughts, she shut her eyes, reliving each of their meetings in her mind.

She only lifted her lids when she heard Cecily’s whisper and felt her kneel beside her. She looked into the tear-streaked little face.

“Serena, they aren’t coming. What if they never return?” Cecily asked with a sharp catch in her voice.

“Of course they shall return.” From where came the even tone? “Blackwood says they shall rout the colonists in short order.”

“Serena, my friend Mary Featherstone’s brother, Sir Giles, never returned from the Peninsula. And there have been others.” Her voice dropped to the merest whisper, her eyes filling her white face. “It could happen to Matt or Kendall.”

“Cecily, I forbid you to speak so!” Serena retorted in stronger tones. No matter she ached inside as if a hole had been ripped through her. No one would ever see the despair she felt. She rose, pulling Cecily to her feet. “Both Blackwood and Kendall will return victorious, I have no doubts. Nor should you.”

Cecily held on to her hands so tightly, they hurt, but Serena didn’t pull away. “Serena, what shall we do?”

“Do?” She forced a laugh and was pleased to discover it sounded real. “Why, enjoy your Season, of course. They would both wish us to do so, and I fully intend to.”

Those moments alone with the late afternoon sun bathing the conservatory in golden light forged a bond between the two girls. They never spoke of their fears again. Side by side they threw themselves into the most feverish pursuits of the Season. As all had predicted, Cecily was declared a diamond of the first water. Smitten beaus sent her poems describing her hair as cascading moonbeams and her eyes as pools of sweet chocolate. They smiled over the missives, but with her usual flair for the dramatic, Cecily refused to save any but Lord Kendall’s brief note.

While Cecily left cracked hearts littering the
ton
, Serena formed a court of her own. Finally she learned the art of coy use of fan and lashes Aunt Lavinia labored so last Season to teach her. It was really quite simple when one’s emotions were so uninvolved. Now it was merely a game they all played for one another’s amusement.

When she heard herself termed a reigning beauty, she was so shocked, she hid her laughter behind her fan. What a change of fortunes for Miss Serena Fitzwater of Market Weighton, East Riding, York! What would Blackwood make of this creation that the
ton
was forming?

She tried not to dwell on thoughts of him. Although sometimes she would catch a glimpse of Longford—his shining hair or his dark eyes—so reminiscent of Blackwood that it seemed an arrow pierced her heart. Then she would be gayer than ever.

Much to Serena’s surprise, Longford seem to be forsaking his rakehell ways to ensure Cecily’s Season. He was so dutiful, attending both his sister and Serena, the matchmaking matrons began once again to urge their daughters to cast lures at the future duke, for obviously he’d mended his ways.

Halfway through the Season at Lady Jersey’s ball, he bluntly informed both girls they were established firmly enough to satisfy even Their Graces, and promptly abandoned them to begin a scandalous interlude with a young married baroness whose elderly husband remained in the country. The tabbies were off! Both Cecily and Serena were continuously assailed by tidbits of gossip.

The next night Aunt Lavinia held her annual soiree to parade the lovelies for her son, or as some snidely remarked, “to parade her son for the lovelies.” Frederick, stuffed into his coat, was immune to all but one.

“Cousin, dearest, do say you will assist my suit for the fair Lady Cecily. I’ve been captivated by her beauty since last winter at Avalon Hall,” Frederick proposed to Serena after pulling her aside. “Did she receive the poem I penned to her eyelashes?”