The Separation
1815
Sometime during the night they shifted position; Serena was no longer resting her cheek against Matt’s chest, nor could she hear the strong, even beat of his heart. But she could hear his voice repeating her name over and over again. To respond she must brush aside the cobwebs of sleep and open her eyes.
He was sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, but with a jolt that brought her fully awake, she realized he was in traveling clothes.
“Matt, is it your father?” she asked with real alarm, fearing the worst.
“No, Serena,” he answered quickly, taking her hands with a numbing grip. “Long arrived last night with news from the Continent.”
The fear that she’d pushed back into its dark corner rushed forth, bringing her scrambling up to kneel before him. Dreading the answer, nonetheless she forced herself to ask. “What is it?”
“Napoleon is on the march, gathering an army behind him. The Duke of Wellington has gone to Brussels, where he’s to command the allied troops to meet the French. He particularly requested me on his staff.”
His words reached her, but they made no sense. He would think her dull-witted, even at such an early hour and after such a night as they had shared. As she stared into his face, the look in his dark eyes was too complex to read. “I don’t understand.”
“Serena, you must understand it is my duty to go,” Matt said gently.
“You can’t mean it!” she cried, her heart pounding through her with such force, she trembled. When he didn’t speak, she answered herself. “No, of course you don’t mean it. Not after the nightmares. Not after the senseless loss of your men. Of Higgens. Of Jeffries. Not after all you’ve suffered!”
He was as pale as the white marble fireplace, but his eyes blazed so dark, they appeared black.
“Serena, you have helped me to find myself. To accept. You are correct. I no longer see war through the eyes of that idealistic youth. I know it is neither glorious nor noble. But it is sometimes necessary.”
He was breathing as quickly as she was, but his voice was calm and firm. “Because of your courage and understanding, I have come to accept that, regardless of everything else, I am a soldier. A soldier who must do what is honorable and just. It is honorable and just to stop Napoleon once and for all. And that I must do.”
Not again! Just as they were beginning, they would be separated! All the fear and uncertainty! Not again!
At last the pain was more than she could bear. She ripped her hands from his warm grasp, recoiling back until the headboard bit into her spine.
“Then last night meant nothing to you! I mean nothing to you.” The tears stood, burning, on her face. Suddenly her voice was raw with desperation. “You would leave me again because your honor is more important than what we share?”
He was standing quite still, and she saw him literally cease breathing. “This is who I am,” he went on with obvious difficulty. “My honor is as much a part of me as my feelings for you are. Last night I saw you confront tragedy with something of beauty and strength. I can do no less. Nor would you wish me to. When I return—”
“No! Don’t bother!” she cried, unable to hold rational thought in the maelstrom of pain. “Go to your stupid honorable war. Get killed yourself! I won’t be waiting like a stupid fool this time!”
Putting both hands over her face, she wept, coiled in a tight ball of fear and confusion.
“Sweetheart, please listen.”
She heard the desperate plea in his voice, and when he touched her shoulder, she dropped her hands and opened her eyes.
“Don’t call me that and don’t touch me,” Serena whispered through the agony in her throat. “Leave me! I don’t care if I ever lay eyes on you again!”
A chill spread through her nerves and flesh as, dry-eyed, she watched him leaving for the last time.
It seemed like an eternity that she stared blindly at the door he closed between them. She couldn’t quite form her thoughts into any logical pattern. In a handful of hours she’d helped bring a child into the world, witnessed a woman’s death, and for the first time in nearly two years, spent a magical time in her husband’s arms, only to awaken to find him leaving her once again. She had a right to be exhausted, frightened, sick at heart, and confused, didn’t she?
The confusion stilled for an instant to mark one undeniable truth: Matt was leaving to face God knew what, and she’d sent him on his way with the memory of angry words.
Stumbling off the bed, she called his name and pulled open the door. In a state of shocking dishabille she ran, barefoot, toward the staircase. Through the tall mullion window she caught a glimpse of Matt and Kendall as they rode away.