“He has been hurtfully disillusioned,” the duchess continued with the same firmness.
Serena leaned forward, tensely awaiting Her Grace’s assessment. If anyone could show her the way to help him, it would be his mother.
“I pride myself on my sons’ fine minds and keen insights. Just as someday Richard’s cynicism will be tempered, Matt’s idealism has been shattered in ways which will be difficult for him to pick up the pieces and form a new pattern. We must be patient and assist him in any way we can.”
“But how can we best help him, Mother?” Cecily asked eagerly. “I want the old Matt back, prosy as ever.”
“That we shall never have, Cecily, nor should we wish it for Matthew’s sake.” Gracefully lifting the teapot, she poured the dark liquid into white cups. “As to how we can best help him, we must each find our own way.”
The exasperated look Cecily flashed Serena spoke volumes. Her Grace obviously expected them to take appropriate action, but would offer no specific suggestions.
“I believe I shall forgo tea and retire to my bedchamber.” Frustrated, Serena wanted time to consider a plan of attack. Blackwood was her husband—there must be some way to reach him.
She found none as she paced back and forth across the delicate blue and cream carpet. Serena stared at the dark wooden door separating her bedchamber from his. Should she knock on the door and ask if he needed any assistance?
Instinct told her Blackwood would not accept that.
Glancing at the ticking clock on the mantel, she realized she’d already wasted twenty minutes uselessly fretting about her further actions. Should she go on as if he weren’t there?
That seemed untenable to her.
She stopped in front of the door. Should she be so bold as to just assume he would wish to spend his first night at home with his wife after such a lengthy absence? Should she demand he do so?
The naive, innocent child Blackwood had married would never be so bold, but Serena was a woman now, all due to him. He had awakened her to the wonder of romance. He had provided all the opportunities for her to learn and grow, to take responsibility for an entire estate. She had followed her instincts and she had done well in every other endeavor. Why did she feel so helpless now?
Vainly she sought for an insight into the best way to approach her husband. A loud crash on the other side of the door startled her into action. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pushed the door wide and entered his chamber.
Instantly he turned a pale, pain-tightened face toward her. Blackwood must have stumbled before he fell into the chair and toppled over the table beside it. His cane lay too far away for him to reach it.
Without words, she placed the small rosewood table back in position and leaned his cane against the chair. Only then did she meet his dark, anguished eyes.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’m often clumsy these days.” He shrugged, his glance flicking toward his cane. “Perhaps I should move to another chamber so—”
“Of course not. These are your … our rooms,” she interrupted without thinking, and then regretted it as his gaze studied her face.
“Serena, very soon we must talk about all that has transpired while I’ve been away.”
“We could do so tonight if you wish.” She hoped her words didn’t sound as unseemingly eager to his ears as they did to hers.
He pushed himself to his feet. “No, I’m afraid tonight is not the time. Tomorrow perhaps. Rest well, Serena, and I shall try not to disturb you again.”
His dismissal left her no other choice but to leave him. Not so subtly, she allowed the door to remain open between the rooms. Trying for a semblance of normalcy, she began to take down her hair, placing the pins in a tortoiseshell box on her dressing table.
There was a prolonged silence while she brushed through her hair. Finally the door shut behind her.
She crossed the room to lean weakly against it, closing her eyes to take deep, even breaths, trying to still the pulse pounding through her. Where was the confident, glorious man who’d swept her off her feet? He’d been so sure she was the woman he’d sought. There had been nothing tentative in any of his actions toward her before. Now hesitation pervaded every word and action between them.
Confusion coiled fingers through every fiber of her being, making it difficult to think, to do anything but feel. And she was uncertain now of even that. What should she be feeling?
The maid already had water poured into the bowl on the washstand and her white cotton gown laid across the foot of the bed. As rapidly as she could, she was between the cool, crisp sheets, burying her cheek in the pillow, desiring the solace of slumber. Unable to find just the right position to bring peace to her weary body, she tossed and turned until the covers were a tumbled heap around her.