Jack of Hearts (13 page)

“Let me get some warm water, Jack. Sit down on the bench and take your boots off. Charles, Val, help him, please. The last thing we need is a guest with frostbite.”

“You are an amazing woman, Elspeth,” said Jack appreciatively.

“Quite,” declared Charles with a quiet irony as he and Val pulled at the boots.

“Here, this should be big enough for you to stand in,” announced Elspeth, as she and a footman came in with a roasting pan from the kitchen and a pitcher of water. “Take his cloak, Samuel. And here, Jack, take my shawl,” she added, pulling the plaid wool off her shoulders and wrapping it around him.

* * * *

Anne had heard the pounding as she was getting dressed. When she came down the stairs, she was greeted by the sight of Jack Belden standing in the front hall, his feet in a roasting pan, his shoulders draped in plaid wool, and his face turning from livid white to beet red as he warmed up.

Anne was so struck by the absurdity of the scene that she sank down on the third step from the bottom and gave herself over to laughter.

All four turned to her in surprise.

“Oh, dear, I am sorry, Elspeth, Lord Aldborough, but you look so…” She went off into another gale of laughter.

It took only a moment before they were all howling with her, Jack included.

Finally their hysteria subsided and after catching her breath, Elspeth asked, “How are your feet, Jack?”

“Burning like the devil.”

“Good. That means you won’t lose anything. Not that you don’t deserve to! Whatever made you do something so foolish?”

“Don’t ask, my dear. I thought I could outride the weather.”

“Well, you are here and safe and that is the important thing. Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous!”

“Why don’t we be very informal tonight, Elspeth?” said Val, his eyes twinkling. “We can have a small table set up in the drawing room and that way we can have Jack’s…er…roasting pan with us.”

“Oh, God, don’t start me laughing again,” complained Jack. “Enough of me is hurting as it is. And I think my feet are thawed enough to leave the pan behind. Just give me some stockings from my bag and I’ll hobble into the dining room.”

* * * *

After her uncharacteristic loss of control, Anne felt very self-conscious. She didn’t know Jack Belden well, and she had never laughed at anyone before. Though she hadn’t been disposed to like him very much, one thing she had to admit was that he had one quality to recommend him—the ability to laugh at himself.

But what on earth would make a man want to ride in this weather? Surely it was not sensible to risk your life on a routine peacetime journey. One did not expect someone who looked like a Spanish saint to be setting off on irrational adventures.

After supper they all returned to the drawing room, where Elspeth had port and biscuits sent in.

“When did you decide to ride, Jack?” asked Val.

Jack, who had settled himself into a comfortable armchair, looked over at his friend. “Don’t you ever get bored, Val? Do you never miss riding out on reconnaissance?”

Val gave him a quick grin. “There
is
something about constant danger that makes one feel more alive, I have to admit.”

The combination of a full stomach, the warm fire, and the port were having a strange effect on Jack. He felt like he was floating above himself and able to say anything. “I needed to move. I needed a purpose. And I didn’t have the damned money for the coaching inns,” he added with a sleepy grin.

Elspeth and Val traded quick, concerned glances.

“If you are in need, Jack, you have only to ask.”

“No, no, ‘tis only that I am at the end of the quarter. The estate still brings in a little income.”

There was an embarrassed silence, then Anne turned to Elspeth. “Where are your parents this Christmas, Elspeth?”

“Still in Spain, I’m afraid. They will be here next month. I would have loved to see them at Christmas, though. Especially this Christmas,” she added, giving Val a little smile. “So I am particularly happy to have you and Charles. And Jack.”

When there was not even a polite murmur from Jack, they all looked at him, then exchanged smiles with each other. Jack’s eyes were closed and his head slumped back against the chair.

“I’m not surprised,” said Val. “He must be exhausted.”

“Shall I wake him?” asked Elspeth.

“No, let him sleep. He’ll probably awake later. I’ll have a footman on duty to show him up to his room.”

“Well, I am about ready for bed myself,” said Charles.

“And I,” Anne agreed.

Elspeth pulled a small throw off the sofa and tucked it over Jack’s knees.

Anne stood there watching her. No, the truth was, she was gazing at Jack Belden. The combination of shawl and coverlet should have made him look ridiculous again, but somehow it did not. There was something in the bones of his face, in the long, slender fingers that rested on the arm of the chair; there was a tension in the air around him, despite his apparently relaxed state. She could imagine him as a soldier or a buccaneer—asleep, but with some part of him vigilant. She supposed it would take a long while for a soldier to lose that vigilance.

“He is one of a kind,” murmured Elspeth. “And a very handsome one to boot,” she added, as they left him there by the fire. “It is a shame you don’t find him attractive, Anne.”

“Isn’t it?” murmured Anne with a light touch of irony in her voice. She gave Elspeth a good night and made her way upstairs.

But later, as she settled herself in bed, the image of Jack sleeping came back to her, and she felt an overwhelming urge to touch those long, sensitive fingers.

* * * *

When Jack awoke the next morning, he found himself in what was presumably his room with no memory of how he had gotten there. The late morning sun was pouring through the half-opened curtains and he got up, grimacing at his stiffness, and walked over to the window. The snow had left a sparkling blanket on the trees and lawn. It was not as deep as he had expected, however, which surprised him, given his struggles of yesterday.

He looked down at his feet. They were intact, thank God. He had been lucky to reach the house when he did. And lucky that Elspeth was so quick with her roasting pan of warm water. He had looked ridiculous. No wonder Anne Heriot had gone off into gales of laughter. So much for getting her to fall for his charms these next few weeks. If she hadn’t responded to him in London, then she certainly would not after seeing him last night.

He still had on his shirt, but someone had stripped off his breeches. He trailed his fingers in the basin of water on the washstand. The water was warm, and he took his time washing and shaving. Someone had been by this morning, for his maroon jacket was hanging in the wardrobe, brushed and pressed, and his corduroys were folded over the chair. He dressed quickly and glanced in the pier glass. He still looked a bit travel-worn, but other than that, he saw no reason that Miss Heriot should find him amusing!

If Jack had not known it was Christmas Eve, he would have guessed it from the delectable spicy smells coming from the kitchen, which started his stomach grumbling. He found his way into the breakfast room, where Val’s father was still seated.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Jack. Are you recovered from your ride?”

“Almost. My legs are still protesting. I haven’t spent three days in the saddle for a while,” Jack admitted with a rueful grin.

“Val is in the library. He told me to tell you he’d be free at lunchtime. Elspeth and Anne are in the kitchen, helping the cook stir the Christmas pudding.”

“The smell reminds me of when I was a boy. I can’t remember my last Christmas in England.”

“Yes, it is wonderful to have ‘peace on earth’ become a reality and have…all of you home.”

Jack knew from the slightly hesitant and wistful tone that the earl was thinking of one who hadn’t made it home.

“You must especially miss Charlie at this time of year, Charles,” he said, with quiet sympathy.

“I do, Jack, I do. I will never get used to his loss. But I am very grateful to have had my oldest son spared to me.”

Jack helped himself to a generous plate of ham and eggs.

“Coffee or tea, Jack?”

“Tea, please. God, there is nothing better than to sit down to a good breakfast after a long march.”

“You miss the army?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack said with a confused smile. “I do miss the challenge and the sense of purpose, and even sometimes the danger. Everyday life feels somewhat like a letdown, although I know that sounds absurd and ungrateful.”

“No, I think I can understand.”

“There are few people who do. And my war was a very different one from that of the everyday soldier. Val is one of the few who knows what it was like, which is why it is so good to be here.”

“Not to mention the pleasure of Miss Heriot’s company,” Charles added teasingly.

“I may appreciate her presence, but I very much doubt she’ll take pleasure in mine.”

“The famous charm not working, eh?” asked the earl, with an ironic lift of his eyebrows.

“Whatever it is that draws the young ladies has no effect on Miss Anne Heriot, I assure you. And looking like an old granny last night did not help!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Charles with a laugh. “She seemed to appreciate the scene.”

“God, I did look ridiculous, didn’t I? Ah, well, maybe I’ll have to seek out another heiress in the spring,” he added, with an only half-humorous sigh.

* * * *

After breakfast, Jack wandered into the library, where Val was still examining the account books.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Val!”

“I know. That’s what Elspeth says. But I feel like I need to get a handle on the estate as quickly as possible. I promise I’ll be finished in half an hour, Jack.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find something to read.” Jack pulled down a volume of poetry and wandered out to the hall, where the kitchen smells were even more intense. He couldn’t help it; he had to follow his nose.

Elspeth and Anne were standing by a large copper basin, taking turns stirring the Christmas pudding.

“Good morning, ladies.”

“Jack, just what we need! Another arm to give it a stir,” said Elspeth with a welcoming smile.

“Have you put the charms in yet?”

“They are right here,” Elspeth told him, pointing her spoon at the little silver objects.

“Well, drop them in, Elspeth, and I’ll make sure they are thoroughly mixed,” said Jack, taking off his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

Anne watched as the charms disappeared into the batter, and then her attention was drawn from the raisin-studded pudding to the strong arm mixing it. Lord Aldborough might be on the slender side, but his arms rippled with well-developed muscles as he stirred. Anne stepped back as she felt a warmth flood her that she suspected had less to do with her proximity to the stove and more with the closeness of that brown arm. She fussed with the copper bowl intended for cooking the pudding.

The cook returned just as Jack gave one last stir. “Na then, my lord, let me do the pouring,” she said as she shooed them away.

Jack shrugged his coat back on, and he and Elspeth went out, leaving Anne struggling with her apron strings.

“Tha can’t concentrate, eh, lass,” teased the cook. “I don’t blame tha, what with that handsome gentleman around.”

“It’s just tied too tight,” Anne replied. As she was folding the apron she saw the slim volume that Jack had left on the table. “Lord Aldborough must have brought this in,” she said.

“Well, tha had better return it, then, lass,” the cook told her with a wink.

Elspeth had wandered into the library to see if she could drag Val out, and Jack had just been heading into the drawing room to read when he realized that he’d left his book behind. He met Anne halfway down the corridor.

“I believe this is your book, Lord Aldborough,” she said.

“Ah, there is my book…”

They both spoke at the same time, and Anne gave a nervous little laugh.

“I was just about to take advantage of the fire in the drawing room, Miss Heriot. Would you care to join me while we wait for Elspeth to drag Val away from the accounts?”

Anne could hardly refuse the invitation, so she preceded him into the room.

“I was lucky to find a volume of verse in the library,” Jack told her politely once they were seated on either side of the fire. “You like poetry, then, my lord?”

“I do. And you also, I am sure. Most ladies do.”

“Not particularly,” Anne admitted. “I would rather deal with numbers than words any day. I know where I am with numbers.”

“And you don’t with words?”

“
Some
people’s words,” Anne replied with an edge to her voice. “Especially poets’ words. They’re always saying one thing and meaning another. Writing some exaggerated folderol about love.”

“You do not believe in love?” Jack lifted his eyebrows and gave her a mischievous glance. She wanted to lower her eyes but was determined not to give way to his attempts at roguish charm.

“Of course I do. I loved my father. I love my friends. I just don’t believe in that romantic twaddle the poets write about.”

“ ‘Folderol’ and ‘twaddle’! Let’s see if I can find a good example of either. This seems to be a collection of verse arranged historically.” Jack paged through the book from back to front. “Now, Miss Heriot, I cannot believe that you are immune to Lord Byron.”

“Completely, my lord,” Anne said briskly.

“ ‘She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies…’ ” Jack read the lines dramatically.

“There, you see what I mean! What does that
mean
, anyway?”

“I must confess I am not sure,” Jack admitted with a grin, “but it sounds beautiful.”

“Oh, aye, I’ll give you that.”

“ ‘She was a phantom of delight…’ ”

Anne giggled.

“Mr. Wordsworth does not impress you either, I see.”

Jack paged forward in the book. “Wait a minute, here is one… Uh, no, I think I will not read Andrew Marvell after all.”

“You had better not,” said Anne with a mischievous look in her eye. “They made sure at school that we did not have that poem.”