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.”
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.