Even though she berated herself, she still hugged that day tightly to her. Conversation had flowed so freely, as if there was nothing they couldn’t discuss or find of interest to share. And there was that one moment in the warm quiet of the ruin when she’d literally ceased breathing. She’d broken the spell herself, fearful she was simply imagining his eyes held a new warmth as he looked at her.
By the night of the ball, she was trembling with anticipation whenever Blackwood was near. It wasn’t the same excitement she’d felt so long ago when first she’d gazed up into his eyes. It was a deeper, secure feeling that her knowledge of his intelligence, his gentleness with his family, his continued generosity to his tenants, and his vulnerability engendered. The next time, she vowed, she’d not be the one to pull back. She would help him gather up his shattered idealism to form a pattern that once again would make him whole.
Dismissing her maid, Serena fussed in the mirror a moment more, tugging up on the plunging neckline of her blue silk gown. No doubt a habit she’d gotten from Buckle.
Without knocking, Cecily burst through the door. “Serena, your guests are arriving,” she announced, twisting between her fingers one long curl which fell over her shoulder. “How do I look?” she fretted, peering into the mirror with an uncharacteristic frown marring her smooth forehead.
In a deep rose gown which showed off her beautiful long throat and rounded shoulders, Cecily was dazzling.
“Kendall won’t be able to resist you,” Serena reassured her.
“Well, he’s doing a remarkably good job of it!” she declared, exasperation bringing added color to her cheeks. “Could I be any more obvious?”
“No!” Serena returned with real feeling. “Unless you plan to literally cast yourself at his feet.”
“Well, there is that!” She laughed. “What do you plan next in your campaign with Matt?”
Anticipation and anxiety combined to make her insides one tight knot, but she ignored it to take Cecily in hand. “Come. We mustn’t be late to receive our guests. As to my campaign with your brother, we shall simply have to see what the night will bring.”
Lights and color and music swirled around her in the great hall as side by side she and Blackwood greeted their neighbors. The first time they’d been together at a ball, he’d been in full regimentals and she’d thought him a figure of heroic proportions. Now she knew he was so much more.
His black velvet jacket fit perfectly over his wide shoulders, and his ruffled evening shirt enhanced them. With a hiss of indrawn breath, she felt the knot tighten inside her as she remembered resting her cheek against his hard chest, the male scent of his skin, and his soft whispers which had made her feel safe and secure.
But the war had taken everything from her.
Refusing to dwell on the past, she carefully orchestrated the evening with a lifted brow to Stevens or a word to a footman when something needed attention. The great hall had never looked so festive. Even the tapestries hung against the walls, with their figures of huntsmen and hounds, seemed almost alive in the brilliant golden light.
The only flaw in her pleasure was receiving a note from Reverend Morton they would not be attending, for Mrs. Morton had come down with a shockingly bad head cold. Serena made a mental note to send a basket of sweets from the ball to the rectory in the morning.
Then all thought fled as Blackwood touched her arm and she looked up into those mesmerizing eyes.
“I believe we are expected to begin the dancing.” With a shadow of his old whimsical smile, he took her hand and led her onto the floor.
His hand at her waist drawing her closer brought back a rush of memories: their first waltz, and that magical dance beside the reflection pool at Lady Sefton’s when he’d declared he was asking for her hand on the morrow. Then, it had all been like a romantic dream. Now, if he reached out to her so, it would have so much more substance, for she had grown to realize not only his true worth but her own.
As always, their steps were perfectly matched, and with a catch of happiness, she realized his leg was completely healed. If only all else could be.
The waltz was barely finished when their neighbor, Sir Henry Winston, claimed her hand. Blackwood gave her a smile of regret as Sir Henry led her into a country dance. Once again she thought she glimpsed golden glints of a new warmth in his eyes.
The evening conspired to keep them apart, although often their eyes met across the width of the room. Which was perhaps as well, for the knot inside her was nearly painful when he was near. It was as if she was holding her breath in anticipation. She refused to admit what she now yearned to happen between them, for she knew events did not always fall into place as desired.