A Soldier’s Heart(16)

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.