Emotions chased each other across her pure face, made more starkly beautiful in the moonlight. Finally he read the answer in her eyes.
“I must be mad!” she whispered, her hands clutching his fingers. “Which is no doubt the reason I can find no fault with your request, my lord. Speak to my aunt; your suit will find favor with both her and me.”
The strong strokes of his heart pounded against his ribs.
Victory in battle had never been as sweet as hearing her words.
“May I steal a kiss to seal our bargain, Serena?”
In answer, she closed her eyes tightly, tilting her face upwards toward him. Matt could see how stiffly she held her shoulders, as if bracing herself for the unknown.
Ever so gently he cupped them with his hands to reassure her. Leaning over, he brushed her soft, trembling lips, then lifted his mouth for a heartbeat, before pressing a brief kiss on the sweet lips once more. Slowly she opened her eyes, and even in the darkness, Matt was caught in the intense blaze of blue.
No matter what Long said, this was not his nature creating an ideal woman. It didn’t matter that they had known one another only a handful of days; Serena called to his heart as none had done before.
“We shall be well mated, Serena; I give you my word of honor,” he promised solemnly.
The union
“Serena, you sly puss!” Lavinia exclaimed, flying into the bedchamber to embrace her with marked enthusiasm. “Does your sainted father know what a remarkable child you truly are? You inspire such admiration, I’m nearly beside myself.” She stepped back to study her protégée from toes to curls.
“You have spoken to Lord Blackwood,” Serena calmly offered, masking an excitement every bit as marked as her aunt’s.
“Talked to him! My dear girl, he waits in the front parlor so he can do the pretty. I stopped on my way upstairs to send a footman posthaste to Market Weighton. Your father must arrive as soon as possible to seal the bargain. A wedding in three weeks! However will I manage it?” Her wide eyes almost filled her face above a satisfied smile.
She had spoken the truth to Blackwood; she had run mad! Parsons’ daughters do not throw their bonnets over the windmill in the matter of a few days, thereby forgetting every vestige of common sense they’d ever possessed. She had accused Blackwood of being in the clutches of a romantic vision. But she was no better. Yet in the midst of the wild, romantic thoughts swirling through Serena’s mind, there did exist a small center of calmness. Without haste she crossed to the mirror and retied the wide satin ribbon holding back her curls, then smoothed down the skirt of her lemon India muslin. Satisfied that her appearance was all it should be for this momentous occasion, she smiled at her aunt, who still stood in the middle of the room, her hands clasped together and an enraptured expression lighting her face.
“I shall see Lord Blackwood now.”
No one had ever fully explained how Serena should behave at this precise moment. Aunt Lavinia and Papa had simply informed her she must do her duty and try to be content in the bargain. Without siblings, and being the oldest of her friends, excepting the squire’s niece, who had not, to her knowledge, ever received an offer, she had no example to follow. For an instant she was struck with the same terror she’d felt when she was informed she was to be thrust willy-nilly into a Season, when she’d never even been in London. Of course, she knew of the ton, knew she was part of it, but it was so far away, so removed from the simple pattern of her days. London was another world peopled by glorious creatures who had little to do with Serena Fitzwater of Market Weighton. If she’d not been so bold as to take up her first novel, she would never have known what lay ahead of her. No doubt this was the source of the strange serenity at her core; she knew exactly what she should do. The novels told quite boldly what occurred when a young lady accepted an offer of marriage, and recently Serena had formed some ideas of her own.
As if she were the heroine of the story, she held herself stiffly erect and swept into the parlor.
When Lord Blackwood turned from the mantel, she gave him a small smile before seating herself on the green velvet settee. Just as she knew he would, he knelt on one knee before her.
“Your aunt has given me permission to speak. Serena, you know what I ask. Will you be my bride?” He reached boldly for her hand and raised it to his firm lips.
The sense of calmness began to ripple along its edges; his kisses affected her so. His chocolate eyes gazed at her with the same intensity they had when first they met. Now, like then, she felt the tiniest bit giddy, and clung to the calm, settling her world back on its axis. Lord Blackwood was quite simply the most handsome man she’d ever met. In his regimentals he was the very figure of every girl’s romantic dream. That he thought her his ideal was such heady stuff, it left her slightly breathless.