“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 schoolboys.” 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.”