A Soldier's Heart (14 page)

She had to confront him with all that lay between them: all the misunderstandings and misconceptions, all the words they should have said but had never spoken to one another.

Buckle’s sweet calmness was their salvation as Longford drove them relentlessly to the coast, where the yacht waited to cross the Channel to Belgium.

They arrived at Lady Charlesworth’s in the early hours of a warm June morning. The entire household went into an uproar.

After promising to send Matt as soon as he found him, Longford practically dumped them on the doorstep with all their luggage and left to go to allied headquarters. The butler, a very superior little man, appeared scandalized, but the three women were so exhausted, they couldn’t have cared less.

“All I wish for is a bed,” Cecily moaned, closing her eyes, leaning against Buckle’s shoulder.

“And that you shall have,” Buckle promised in the tone Serena vaguely remembered from the nursery.

By the time a maid roused Aunt Lavinia from her slumber, Buckle had them settled in a small parlor and went to the kitchen to fetch hot chocolate herself.

“You’re here!” Aunt Lavinia gasped, her owl eyes slitted in weighed fatigue. “Who brought you? Surely Mrs. Buckle wasn’t your only chaperon,” she demanded, falling into a chair.

Mrs. Buckle promptly placed a cup in her limp hands.

“Drink this, Lady Charlesworth. It should restore you. The Marquess of Longford escorted us here.”

“Longford here, too! Is he also to be my houseguest?”

Although fatigue was making her so dull that every time she blinked, her lids opened increasingly slower, Serena forced her eyes wide to confront her aunt.

“I assumed your kind offer that there was always room for me was heartfelt. And would surely extend to my family.”

“Serena, you sound like your sainted papa,” Aunt Lavinia yawned, pushing herself to her feet. “Of course you’re all welcome. Longford, too, if he chooses. For a rental, the house is snug. You and Cecily can have the two rooms across from mine. Mrs. Buckle will take the room allocated for the governess. Should I call a footman to carry the child?”

Shaking her head, Serena nudged Cecily awake. She opened her eyes, and allowed Serena and Buckle to help her to stand, swaying with fatigue between them.

“Best get her to bed,” Aunt Lavinia commanded. “I suggest you all get some rest. You shall want to look your best for the Duchess of Richmond’s ball tonight. Everyone who’s anyone shall be in attendance.”

Matt would be there. If Longford didn’t bring him sooner, Serena would see him at the ball. Perhaps he could explain to her so she could understand why he continued this thing that had caused him so much pain and loss. And in turn she would tell him what she’d never said aloud before.

That thought kept her going, making her exhausted slumber sweeter with dreams.

With Buckle’s help, they left for the Duchess of Richmond’s ball confident they looked their best, Cecily in a demure white gown with a deep ruffle at the hem, and Serena in her favorite cornflower blue with matching ribbons threaded through her curls.

The duchess greeted them warmly at her rented house in the Rue de la Blanchisserie. “It seems all of the
ton
is in Brussels. For this Season, soldiers are the fashion.”

Soldiers. Their striking red jackets and gold epaulets stood out starkly in the ground-floor ballroom hung with the royal colors of crimson, gold, and black.

Even though Aunt Lavina swiftly made her way through the throng, Serena, with Cecily at her side, moved slowly, her gaze searching for just one dark-haired soldier with deep, unfathomable eyes.

Finally taking a position near a pillar wreathed in ribbons, bows, and flowers, Serena had an excellent view of the wide, rectangular doors so she could miss none who entered.

The wail of the bagpipes filled the room as the Highlanders performed the fling. Something in the mournful quality of the pipes brought such sadness, Serena had to swallow back a lump in her throat.

Then the musicians in the gallery above broke into his music an instant before Wellington himself appeared and the Duchess of Richmond quickly crossed the floor to greet him.

Serena’s heartbeat was so loud and painful, she had to take deep, even breaths to calm it. Where was Matt? She must see him! There was something in the very air that demanded desperate action. It was like a wild summer storm brewing all around them. She could feel its power, but was powerless herself to stop whatever might come.

Cecily had been oddly quiet, refusing to dance, until at last Kendall appeared in the doorway, candlelight turning his crisp, sandy curls to copper. She moved a step forward, but his eyes found her and he quickly made his way to them.

“Couldn’t believe it when Longford tracked me down and told me you were here!” Bowing, he took Serena’s hand, squeezing it. “Sorry Matt isn’t with me. The duke sent him out early this morning to discover what’s happened to his usually excellent secret service. Haven’t heard from the scouts in days.”

Serena froze with bitter disappointment, but forced her lips into a smile. “I shall simply have to be patient. But we are delighted to see you, Kendall.”

“Yes, delighted,” Cecily breathed, extending both her hands.

With bright dancing eyes, Kendall lifted them to his lips. “If you’ll excuse us, Serena, I believe this is my waltz with Lady Cecily.”

Cecily had never looked more beautiful than when Kendall swept her into his arms and they twirled around the room. It was almost painful to watch the adoration on her innocent face.

Serena now understood what war could mean; she’d heard it in Matt’s nightmares and seen it on his face when he told her of his loss. The excitement growing all around struck terror in her heart. If, as Longford predicted, there must be one great confrontation, many men in this room would not return from it. Even Kendall. Or Matt.

Trembling with sick terror, Serena stared blindly around, blocking out everything, willing Matt to appear.

Finally the whispers that began with an officer in Prussian black rushing into the ballroom, the dust of travel still clinging to him, penetrated even through her numbness.

“…Napoleon has crossed the border with his entire army at Charleroi … two hundred thousand men … one million men … Picton to march to Quatre Bras…” The whispers grew louder and louder as dancers began to leave the floor. A large crowd formed around the duke, who remained almost stoically calm.

Swiftly Kendall brought Cecily back to her. “I must go. Don’t worry. We’ll rout Boney once and for all this time.” He grinned with a confidence that brought the ache of tears to Serena’s eyes.

“Lord Kendall, do you remember kissing me when I was fourteen?” Cecily asked, a thread of desperation in her voice.

Kendall’s dancing eyes widened. “Lady Cecily, surely not!” he gasped in mock horror. Another slow grin curved his mouth. “Now that I think of it, I have a very vague memory of your pigtail. Quite charming if I recall.”

“Then I shall have to give you an even clearer memory to take with you.”

With that, she stood on tiptoes and pressed a firm kiss on Kendall’s mouth. Hastily Cecily stepped back, her face scarlet, her lips quivering in a smile. “So you won’t forget me.”

The green eyes were suddenly very serious as Kendall lifted Cecily’s hand and placed a kiss in her palm.

“I assure you, Lady Cecily, to forget you is impossible.”

He spun on his heels, disappearing into the stream of red flowing out the door.

The storm was breaking all around them. Reaching out, Serena tightly clasped Cecily’s hand.

“What does it mean?” Cecily asked with tears running down her cheeks.

With a certainty that burned her insides like acid, Serena knew she wouldn’t have the moment with Matt Cecily had just stolen with Kendall, for there was no time left, for any of them.

“It has begun,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the pain.

It had begun and they should have known, but didn’t, Matt raged, driving his horse faster to reach Wellington with the news his secret service had failed utterly. Instead of attacking around his right to cut him off from the sea, Bonaparte had chosen to march through Belgium and attempt to drive a wedge between the British and Dutch troops and the Prussians.

“Napoleon has humbugged me, by God!” Wellington remarked.

Matt stood at attention, hardly daring to move when the commander was in this mood.

“Blackwood, you must ride out again.” Opening his ever-present portfolio of pen, ink, and paper, he scribbled orders. “Deliver this to Picton. We can’t take the French at Quatre Bras. But we must hold them as long as possible.”

A fresh horse eager beneath him, Matt spared a moment of gratitude to his brother for procuring him such fine horseflesh. With thoughts of home came Serena’s parting words to haunt him. He shook his head, rejecting everything but what lay ahead.

Quatre Bras must not be taken.

He presented the orders to Picton, who, cursing, rammed his black top hat more firmly upon his head. “Ney attacked at two while we shilly-shallied around cooking breakfast; the day was almost lost. But we’re here, by God! And we’ll hold. Blackwood, inform the infantry they must stand to a man.”

Riding between the infantry squares, Matt shouted orders. When he couldn’t be heard, he gestured, making sure the men understood. At the second cavalry charge his horse was shot from under him. Rolling off to safety, he scrambled to his feet and ran, dodging bullets, to where a French cavalry horse stood, his rider dead, tangled in the reins at his forelock.

He shoved the body aside and leapt on. He dug his spurs sharply into the horse’s sides, for he had the most forward regiment to alert. Thank God it was Kendall’s so they recognized him even on a horse with French insignia. The front rank lowered their bayonets and the second rank ducked as he jumped over them into the shrinking center. Inside the square the stench of powder and burnt cartridge paper was overpowering. Piles of dead littered the ground and the field doctor labored over an officer whose blood soaked into the grass around him.

Realizing it was Kendall, Matt ran to kneel beside him.

The merry green eyes were dull with pain. “Matt, thank God you’re here,” Kendall gasped. Weak fingers covered with blood grasped Matt’s sleeve. “My juniors all dead. Don’t let my men lose heart, Matt.”

“They will stand, Kendall, I promise.” He squeezed his friend’s hand, and with a sigh, Kendall closed his eyes.

Matt stood and glared at the doctor. “Do not let Lord Kendall die!”

The blood-and dirt-streaked face stared back at him. “His wounds are grievous, my lord.”

“He will live, do you understand!” Matt commanded.

Finally the doctor nodded. “Yes, my lord. I will do my best.”

For a heartbeat Matt was back at Fort McHenry with Jeffries dying, his body protecting Matt from the enemy; Higgens rising up with his last breath to rally the men; his men moaning in death all around him. For what purpose? He understood now, for Serena had helped him find his way. Serena. There was so much left unsaid.

Holding the thought of Serena, he rallied the men with cries of home, bolstering their courage.

As each man fell, the square tightened, leaving no place open. The front rank knelt, the butt of their muskets on the ground, bayonets in place to slash at the cavalry horses; the two ranks behind with muskets poised and loaded, ready to fire and reload alternately, had already thinned out. Matt urged the front man to reload for the man behind him.

The cavalry charged a third time, but Picton’s regulars held. By nightfall Quatre Bras was declared a stalemate. Matt didn’t question the grievous loss. He knew its purpose. They had delayed just long enough to take the wind out of ol’ Boney’s sneak attack and allow the duke to find his ground.

Kendall lived still, although his gray color beneath the bloody sandy curls sent cold dread to coil tightly around Matt’s heart.

“I won’t let you die, Kendall,” he promised, but his friend couldn’t hear him.

The doctor, however, did. “If you wish Lord Kendall to survive, we must get him to Brussels immediately.”

“Keep him safe,” Matt demanded. “I shall return.”

Wellington had set up headquarters at Genappe between Quatre Bras and La Haye Sainte. It was there Matt presented his report and stood with Uxbridge as Wellington spread out the map.

“Picton must fall back from Quatre Bras because Blücher and the Prussians have retreated eighteen miles to Wavre. We will have to stop the French here.” With a pen he circled a spot beyond Mont St. Jean called Waterloo. “Here is where we shall meet,” he declared. “Blackwood, notify Picton to fall back. He won’t be pleased.”

“I shall leave as soon as a fresh mount can be saddled. However, I request a wagon. Kendall has fallen. I want him sent back to Brussels without delay.”

Wellington shook his head, the piercing eyes studying Matt’s face. “Kendall down! A good man. He’ll be missed. Take what you need. Enter!” he barked to a knock at the door.

Shock rooted Matt to the spot as his brother strode into the room. “Long, what do you here!”

“Sorry, Blackwood, forgot to tell you the marquess brought dispatches from London for me. Could use your services a bit more, Longford. Seems my communication system has broken down. Need a swift, steady rider along the right flank tomorrow. Think your brother can handle it, Blackwood? Not a soldier, after all.”

Matt stared at Long’s impassive face. “My brother is the finest horseman in all of England.” “I know.” The duke laughed, slapping Longford soundly on the back. “I’ve won a monkey half a dozen times myself on you at White’s.”

“Then Your Grace must be aware the betting book at White’s predicts I shall meet my end on one of my wild horses,” Long drawled, flicking the duke a hooded glance.

“You must hoodwink them, Longford. For tomorrow I shall need every good man I can find. Now, Blackwood, you have your orders.”

“Your Grace, since Longford won’t be needed until tomorrow, he could transport Kendall back to Brussels.”

“See to it,” the duke barked, striding from the room.