With terrifying certainty Serena realized this was not the letter of the man who, full of glory and confidence, left her on their wedding night.
Deceit was not a part of her nature, but she practiced it this night. Carefully folding the note several times, she locked it in the wooden box with the other often-read messages from Blackwood. The outriders had arrived and she could not share this note of despair with those who waited so hopefully.
With a fixed smile she drifted through the next day determined to believe her fears were unfounded and that once she saw Blackwood, all would be as it had been during their brief, but glittering, courtship and marriage.
Cecily saw the carriage first from her post at the parlor window, where she’d been for hours worrying the golden tassels on the velvet drapes. “They are here!” she gasped, already moving toward the front door.
The duchess went after her, and Serena followed, her heart beating so hard against her ribs, it was difficult to breathe. Word had traveled quickly; the entire household suddenly appeared on the steps around them, except the duke, who was forced by illness to wait in his bedchamber.
Longford stepped out first, followed quickly by Kendall. Serena felt Cecily sob beside her as Kendall’s bright green eyes surveyed her quickly before turning back to the open carriage door.
Pale fingers gripped the doorframe, and an instant later, Blackwood’s face, still marked by an angry-looking wound across his forehead, appeared. Every giddy emotion Blackwood had ever inspired completely engulfed her, and without thought of anything but reaching him, she moved forward.
Helped by Kendall, he stepped down. Longford handed him a cane, and his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain as he walked toward them.
There was one moment of intense joy and reassurance when his eyes searched her out in the crowd moving forward to welcome him home. But her joy fled, replaced by cold, paralyzing fear, rooting her to a sudden halt, for the eyes looking at her were a stranger’s.
With piercing clarity Longford’s words came back to haunt her. “Someday he’ll be forced to accept the world and us as we are … It is in your best interest to become the kind of woman up to that challenge.”
Clearer than she’d ever known anything in her life, Serena knew that time had come.
BOOK TWO
The Meeting
Home. Matt couldn’t quite believe he was standing again on English soil. Perhaps the pain throbbing in his leg blurred his thoughts so the sea of people moving to greet him seemed unfocused. Nothing was quite real. Especially his wife.
His eyes sought out Serena—so beautiful and pure, so untouched by all the tragedy of the world. She moved toward him, then stopped abruptly. Could she see he had changed from the man she once knew? That he felt a stranger in his own home? Is that why she suddenly stared at him with such wide blue eyes?
Poppet reached him first, throwing her arms around him with her usual enthusiasm, but this time he couldn’t sweep her up and twirl her around as was his habit.
“Oh, Matt, you’re home at last!” she sobbed, her tears tickling his neck where she’d buried her face. “We’ve missed you so!”
With one arm he held her tight and tried not to grimace with the pain her weight added to the strain on his shattered leg. “Poppet, or should I call you Cecily, you’re all grown-up.”
“Well, of course! You’ve been away forever,” she scolded with a hiccup before stepping away. “But you’re home now and we shall never let you leave us again!”
His young sister had grown so dazzling, not even the tears streaking her cheeks detracted from her beauty. He saw admiration flair in Kendall’s bright green eyes as she turned to him. Memory stirred something dormant in Matt’s chest as, instead of curtsying, she extended her hand.
“Lord Kendall, welcome home.”
“Lady Cecily, I echo Matt’s sentiments. You are quite the lady now,” Kendall laughed, pressing his lips to her fingers.
The stirring memory forced Matt’s gaze back to Serena. Did she recall their first meeting when, instead of curtsying, she’d offered her hand and he’d taken it so eagerly?
That had happened to two different people—not the confident woman in a scoop-necked blue gown gathered high under her breasts by a velvet ribbon, no doubt in the height of fashion. And not the soldier, leaning heavily on his cane. Her keen eyes were lit with something he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the sweet innocence he remembered.
But the changes were not hers alone. The scales had dropped from his eyes so he now saw himself and the world as they really were. Long had often called him an idealistic young fool; at last he understood what that meant.