“Listen to me, young lady, before I go to meet my maker, I mean to see you safely wed, but how can I when you don’t do anything I ask?”
“Now what are you talking about? What did you ask of me?”
“You are supposed to be at the Harvest Festival, not here.”
Serena laughed and adjusted his quilt, which was sliding off the bed. “And you are supposed to be asleep.”
“You know, your laugh is like music … angelic—”
She cut him off with a tease. “Angelic is no way to describe anything about me.”
“Serena,” he continued as though she had not interrupted him, “with your beauty, your smile, that pretty laugh, you could have anyone … anyone at all. Choose one and be done,” he said softly, still very serious.
“I will choose one when the right one comes along. Now, you need to sleep, dearest, and keep up your strength.”
“Sleep? How can I sleep with all I’ve got to worry about?” he retorted cantankerously.
“Worry? Indeed, what do you have to worry about?” Serena frowned. “And don’t say you are worrying about me when you know how happy I am.”
“Your friends are all married …”
“Not all. Dear Amy has only just gotten betrothed, and Francine—”
“Ah bah, your closest friends are married, and I have seen you with them … your heads together talking about their marital bliss. I want that for you.” He frowned as she looked away from him. “Serena, why aren’t you at the Festival? You cannot give me a good reason, can you? Why, just look at you. Do not think you shall always have your pick, for beauty or not, decent dowry or not, you are three and twenty, and your choices will diminish,” he told her ruthlessly. “Some might even begin to call you an ‘old maid’. Tell me how it is that the most beautiful woman in all of Hampshire isn’t engaged yet? Look at yourself, Serena. Your hair is like dark spun gold … your eyes are like a mysterious canyon of onyx …”
She giggled. “Onyx canyon, eh?” She shook a finger at him. “You say my age as though it is a curse. You are quite talking nonsense now. I shall think you are delirious with fever. You must stop worrying about it—I shall marry one day, when I am ready.”
“I won’t last till then, brat. Damn, but I want to see you wed and raising brats of your own. ’Tis the natural order of things. I like order. I want to drink at your wedding, Serena … humor an old man. Pick one of the poor chaps forever dangling after you, and do the thing.”
She looked into his faded blue eyes and stroked his cheek sweetly. What he had said was all true. She could hear people call her an ‘old maid’ next year. Did she care? In a way, she did. She said, “Uncle, I would always wish to do what might please you. I can’t, however, get married at this time, because those chaps you speak of may be dangling after me, but I am not in love with any of them.”
“Hogwash!” her uncle snapped. “Why I daresay a dozen different fellows are forever paying you morning visits. This place is over-run with the lot of ’em. But forget all of the others—what of Warren? He has a way about him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Serena, and I don’t think you are indifferent to him either.”
“Warren Beverly is quite a wonderful and handsome charmer, and, yes, I do like him, and as you say there was a time … years and years ago when I fancied him, but …”
“But what, woman? I grant you that he has been in financial straits recently, but he would come around with your dowry, and he is most respectable. Besides that, I like him.”
She laughed. “It needs only that I like him enough to marry him, and although I do think he is a very good catch for someone else, he is not the one for me.”
“Serena, he can take care of you and I … I won’t always be here …”
“I don’t give a fig for such considerations. Take care of me, indeed. That is not what I am looking for, as I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I would not … could not be with a man I do not love. My hand must follow my heart.”
“Is it that boy? What the devil does he call himself, I can’t remember,” asked her uncle, pulling at his lower lip.
“Frederick?” she asked in surprise.
“Aye, that’s it, Frederick of Radburn. Is it him? It must be him. He is forever here, and you laugh a great deal in his company. He has asked me permission to court you, and I said to have at you.”
“Uncle! That is outrageous. As you say, he is a boy, nineteen to be exact, and I have already refused his offer twice.”
“Why? If he is nineteen, he’ll be twenty soon enough. Radburn is a good name. He is a baron and has a fortune to boot. I’m told he is a bruising rider to hounds, so you shall deal famously together. I was more than happy to give him permission to try and win your hand.” He sighed. “I did tell him it wasn’t me he should be applying to but you. Is it him?”
“Is it him? How can you ask? As though I w
ould keep him from school and rob the cradle?” Serena stood up from the bed, her hand going to her heart. “Faith, Uncle … no, it is not him.” She folded her hands into one another. “Freddie is infatuated with me … nothing more. I had hoped you would have nipped his infatuation in the bud and refused him permission to court me. That would have been the thing to do, as he is too young to know his own mind. He should be up at Oxford … not here, courting me.”
“Damn it, girl, you only have three years on him. What is that? Absurd to think you are robbing the cradle. He is old enough to know what he wants, and he wants you. Marry the boy and put him out of his misery and make an old man happy. I have a fancy to see you as Lady Radburn.”