As the door clicked shut, Kendall ran his fingers through his sandy curls. “Longford sounds a bit reckless today.”
“Long is never reckless. He’s simply bored. He shall win his race, never fear.” Matt shrugged into his coat, flicking a speck of lint from the arm. He didn’t want Kendall to know how deeply Long’s words had pierced him. He was not a saint, nor a martyr. He simply chose to see the best in those around him. He expected excellence, and his men gave him just that; it was as much as any soldier could ask.
Clasping Kendall’s shoulder, he smiled, letting this slight blemish on his contentment fade away. “Come, I don’t wish to be late for Lady Sefton’s ball. Tonight is the night, Kendall. There are only four weeks left before we return to the Peninsula. Barely enough time for the banns to be read and a honeymoon at Avalon Landing.”
The light sprinkle of freckles across Kendall’s patrician nose stood out starkly as he paled. “Matt! Leg-shackled? Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Never more so. Come. My destiny waits!”
To Matt, it seemed she was waiting. For the instant he crossed Lady Sefton’s threshold, despite the flower-festooned ballroom, despite the crush of the aristocracy at play, despite the flickering candlelight, he saw her immediately. Their eyes met and locked.
Tonight she was more beautiful than ever; her ebony curls cascaded over one bare shoulder. Her gown was not as demure as she was used to wearing, for its shimmering beauty made each of her movements appear to be touched by stardust.
Leaving Kendall without a thought, Matt made his way to Serena’s side. She greeted him with her usual sweet smile.
“Good evening, Miss Fitzwater.” He bowed, resisting the urge to press her fingers to his lips. “Your beauty is beyond words tonight.”
His flattery brought the telltale rosy flush to her cheeks and an indulgent chuckle from Lady Charlesworth.
“Lord Blackwood, you have arrived in the nick of time. My dear niece is pining to dance this waltz.”
The roses in Serena’s cheeks darkened to scarlet. Lady Charlesworth was complaisant in her assumptions, but for once, he didn’t mind being outguessed.
With a bow, he took Serena into his arms for the waltz. They fit perfectly, as he knew they would. Each time they were together reaffirmed his belief that she was exactly the woman he’d always dreamed about. Long thought him an idealist, and perhaps he was; but since he was fortunate enough to find his ideal in Serena, why should he waste any more time?
A good soldier knew when to bring matters to a head, so after their second dance, he led her out into Lady Sefton’s perennial garden. Other couples could be seen walking along the torchlit crushed-rock paths.
“Shall we stroll, Miss Fitzwater?” He offered his arm, and confidently, or so it seemed to him, she placed her hand, allowing him to guide her through the shadows between the pools of light cast down by the high torches. Strains of a waltz floated through the open French doors and were carried by a breeze to where they stood near a reflection pool. The moment he had been waiting for was at hand.
“May I have this dance, Miss Fitzwater?” His voice softened to a mere whisper.
“Here? Now?” she questioned with a timid smile.
“What could be more perfect than you in the moonlight?”
After a slight hesitation, she nodded. For the first time she leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest, the magic of the moment apparently affecting his proper English flower as much as it did him. Boldly he settled her even closer, going so far as to rest his lips against the top of her soft, fragrant hair.
“Miss Fitzwater, why are you so quiet this evening?”
Tilting her head back, she gazed up at him. “I’ve been thinking. It can’t be long until you return to the Peninsula.”
“Four weeks.” He spoke quietly, vaguely noticing the music had stopped, but unwilling to release her from his arms.
“I shall miss you when you are gone,” she said with her simple honesty.
“And I you. But I shall leave my heart here in your keeping, for I speak to your aunt tomorrow.”
Startled, she stepped away from him. “My lord, you move too quickly!”
“I told you nearly from the first night that I wished you for my bride.” Remembering her timid response that his hopes were safe with her, he took her hands. They were trembling. “There’s so little time left, Serena, we can’t waste it.”
Matt’s confidence began to fray about the edges as she continued to stare up at him, the silence between them lengthening. He’d had his share of ladybirds and even a brief passionate affair with a Spanish contessa when first he arrived on the Peninsula. But Jeffries had spoken true; he’d never dallied with the young girls of the ton. He knew what he wanted and had patiently waited to find her. Now that he had, he would cherish Serena always, if she gave him that right.