If any other man spoke thus to him, Matt would have knocked him to the floor. Instead he stared into Long’s flushed face. This show of emotion, when usually he affected languished boredom, cooled Matt’s own anger.
“At the moment I’m not a worthy opponent, Long. Don’t bother to take up your weapons against me. This is neither the time nor the place to discuss each other’s shortcomings. Of which we both have ample.”
With a nod, Long strolled toward the door and opened it for Matt to pass through.
“As your older brother, I claim the right to say one last thing before we join the others.” Long’s voice dropped to an even tone. They stood face-to-face within the wide, rectangular doorway. Of a height, they stared evenly into each other’s eyes.
“Matt, the world, the people who care about you, haven’t changed. Everything is the same as it’s always been. Only you have changed.”
With that direct thrust, Long strolled almost casually out of the room and down the stairs, leaving Matt staring after him.
Matt knew he was correct. During the hospital fever that wracked his body after his injuries had been treated, despite the raw ache of loss, Matt had realized he had to go on. He had survived! Now it was up to him to chart a new course for his life, to find new meaning. Sometimes he wondered why he had been spared; others hadn’t. Jeffries, rattling in death, his body protectively shielding Matt from the enemy. Higgens, rising up from the ground, rallying the men with his battle cry. And the men themselves moaning in death all around him. And for what? For what good and noble purpose was this evil done? For nothing.
Meaningless. As his own life had become in that instant. Suddenly he realized it wasn’t just himself. He had a wife, Serena. He had to face her. She had innocently wed one man and now would be forced to accept another.
The high-ceilinged dining room had been set as for a party. Six shining candelabras blazed with light, illuminating the fine porcelain and twinkling crystal. The duchess presided at one end, Matt at her side. Serena sat next to him, across from Kendall. A footman stood behind each chair, eager to present Francois’s creations.
Kendall, loud in his appreciation of such culinary delights, kept up a steady stream of conversation concerning the quality of dining in America and aboard ship during their long voyage home.
Across from him, Cecily was all rapt attention, her eyes feasting on his face instead of the delicacies so painstakingly prepared.
Serena was no better, only toying with her food while pretending to pay attention to the conversation between Her Grace, Kendall, and Longford. In truth her thoughts were centered on only one thing—the man sitting so quietly beside her. Blackwood was neither the fairy-tale hero she’d wed so quickly nor the man she’d envisioned in the months living with his family and his belongings, learning what books and music he loved, learning what his life had been like before they met.
He was still startlingly handsome, perhaps even more so now the square chin was firmer, and the face chiseled down. Not even the wound across his wide brow, or his forced, stiff gait where once he’d moved with such confidence, distracted from his appeal in her eyes. Yet in all her dreams of his return, never had she imagined this aloof chasm between them, not even after his letters changed. Her husband was a stranger to her.
Her nerves were so taut, she nearly jumped when the duchess rose, announcing they would leave the men to their port.
With a white line of pain around his tight lips, Blackwood pushed himself to his feet.
“If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll retire early myself.” He shot a hard look at Longford, who responded by continuing to twirl his wineglass between his fingers. “Tomorrow I look forward to hearing all the news while I’ve been away.”
Finally he turned to her with just the merest shadow of his old whimsical smile. A small ache of joy tightened her throat. Somewhere hidden behind the cool, detached exterior he presented, somewhere deep inside, was the man she had married.
As he made his way slowly from the room, the thought came to her again that while he was away he’d had no opportunity to learn more about her, so still clung to the images of their brief marriage. Now he’d returned, could he find the reality wanting? Joy turned to pain, making it hard to keep her tears locked behind dry eyes.
Gratefully she followed Her Grace and Cecily into the small parlor. A maid placed a tea tray before the couch where the duchess gracefully reclined.
“Lord Kendall is just as I remembered him,” Cecily sighed, posing prettily in a chair beside her mother.
“Yes. However, your brother is not.” The hard note in the duchess’s usually musical voice caused Cecily unconsciously to sit up straighter and Serena to stand rooted to the floor, twisting her trembling fingers together before her.