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kidneys, poached eggs, and toast laden with marmalade. Returning to her father’s side, she gave him a smile, hopeful it would soften the sternness of his thin lips.
    “Serena, my dear, are you avoiding my questions? I cannot agree to this union unless I am convinced it is in your best interest.”
    The idea this new romantic state might disappear as quickly as it had descended brought her up sharply.
    “Papa, you sent me here for the sole purpose of making a marriage. That I have accomplished this in a shorter time than you thought possible shouldn’t be of import.” Realizing the tone of her voice was not felicitous, she stopped, set her plate down, and started again. “Papa, it is my fondest hope you will agree to my becoming Lord Blackwood’s bride.”
    Her chest ached until she realized she was holding her breath as her father studied her over the rim of his glasses. Only when he nodded could she inhale regularly.
    “So be it, my dear. You shall have my blessing.”
    He opened his arms and she went into them gratefully. Now her wonderful romantic dream was safe.
    “Can’t hardly believe it, laddie. A betrothal party this night, a wedding in a week. Indecent. Aye, it is,” Jeffries grumbled, the cloth in his gnarled hands working over Matt’s Hessians.
    “Jeffries, you’re wearing the leather to a nub. Already I can see myself in the things.” Matt laughed, too content to let anything unsettle him.
    “What’s to do when we’re off fightin’ the Frenchies?” Jeffries barked, with the familiarity of a trusted servant. He rose to his feet, his bowlegs parted, folded his arms across his chest, and thrust his red, stubby beard in the air. “Aye, that’s a wee rub, isn’t it, laddie? You’re a soldier through and through. Heart and soul. When we finish with these Frenchies we’ll have those uppity colonists to contend with, mark my words.”
    Matt spared one glance into the small mirror over the washstand to check his cravat before turning to his batman. “Don’t worry, Jeffries, I don’t plan to desert my country. I shall always be a soldier; now I shall also have a wife and family. Lots of men are married. We fight not only for honor but to keep our cherished ones safe at home.”
    “You don’t ken. That’s the problem wi’ young ones…” Jeffries shook his head in despair and glared at him through bushy brows. “Aye, the marquess is a right one. That great noble head of yours is in the clouds!”
    “Dare I believe my ears, Jeffries? You haven’t agreed with me since I bought that chestnut mare when I was twenty,” Longford drawled, making his presence known. He leaned against the bedchamber doorframe, obviously disapproving.
    Recognizing the look in Long’s hooded eyes, Matt resigned himself to another lecture. “Come to wish me happy, Long? If you wish to ring a peal over me like Jeffries, go away.”
    “Nonsense. I’ve come to tell you I’ve horses at the side entrance and the yacht waiting at the coast. They say Greece is lovely this time of year. In a word, I’m here to offer escape before it’s too late.”
    “Too late for what?” Kendall asked, striding purposefully through the doorway, a bottle of port in one hand, glasses clutched in the other. “Not too late to have a final drink to Matt’s lost freedom before facing the fracas downstairs.”
    “Kendall, I’m not wed till next week.” Matt laughed, taking the bottle to a small table.
    “You’re well and truly in parson’s mousetrap.” Kendall shook his head, one sandy curl falling over his bright green eyes. “A betrothal party in your parents’ home with the entire
ton
crushed in to wish you happy means no retreat, Matt. Legshackled! Never thought I’d see the day.”
    When Jeffries handed them each a glass of port, Kendall leaned against the doorframe opposite Longford and raised his glass. “My condolences to Matt. May Longford and I be more fortunate.”
    “Charming as always, William.”
    Both Kendall