Jack of Hearts (3 page)

“Robert Heriot died last year, my lord. But his daughter, Anne, is in London for the Little Season.”

“Looking to buy a husband?”

“I understand that you are on her shopping list,” Stebbins announced with a wry grin. “She will have none of your gamesters or drunkards, I hear.”

“So Miss Heriot is choosy,” Jack said sarcastically.

“Should she just fall all over the first wastrel lord who needs her money, my lord?” Stebbins said sharply.

“Why should she, indeed? You are right, of course, Stebbins. So I’m to feel flattered?”

“I think so, although there are a few others under consideration. At any rate, she will be here for the fall and then back again in the spring. I would recommend that you have yourself presented to her. And I understand that you are most charming with the young ladies, my lord,” Stebbins added with subtle irony.

“I haven’t felt much in the mood for charming anyone since I have been back, Stebbins. But ‘needs must if the devil drives,’ as they say. I promise you I will do my best.”

“I think Miss Heriot would be very suitable for your needs.”

“But will I be suitable for hers? Well, thank you, Stebbins.”

“Good day, my lord.”

* * * *

After his man of business left, Jack Belden let himself relax his devil-may-care posture. He sat there on the sofa, his shoulders slumped, staring blindly at the carpet.

How had his life changed so drastically in only a few months? In the spring, he had been Major Jack Belden, newly attached to Wellington’s army after three years in the mountains of Spain with Julian Sanchez. He had survived
guerrillero
warfare, as well as the hell of Waterloo, only to return home and find himself embroiled in another sort of battle, one he couldn’t seem to win. He had had no time to adjust to the change in circumstances, for his mother’s brother had left him a bankrupt estate, his widow, and two daughters to assume responsibility for.

When he came to London, instead of setting himself up in bachelor rooms, he had had to move into the Aldborough town house, which had been uninhabited for more than a year. There were still holland covers on much of the furniture, and Jack had not had the energy or the desire to have them removed. Instead of celebrating Boney’s final defeat with his fellow officers, he was involved in an ongoing struggle to find enough money from here or there to hold off the most insistent of his uncle’s creditors. His money from selling out of the army was steadily disappearing. And instead of setting out to charm the young ladies or to proposition a willing widow, he was being forced to contemplate marriage with some vulgar chit who most likely spoke such broad Yorkshire he wouldn’t even understand her when she proposed to him!

He got up and paced the room restlessly. He had craved activity ever since he had landed back in England. Perhaps it was a blessing that he had been thrust into the business of rescuing his uncle’s…no,
his
estate, for as depressing as the task had been, it did keep him occupied. He needed to
move
in order to escape the dark mood that threatened him every time he sat down.

There was a small, ornate mirror on the wall of the morning room, and he stopped for a moment to stare at himself in the glass. He had the look of a Spanish grandee or an El Greco saint, with black hair and brown eyes so dark they appeared black. His face was long, which lent him a pensive or melancholy look. It was that look that attracted the young ladies, he knew, as he lifted an eyebrow at himself. They all set out to lift his apparent melancholy, and when he smiled, each felt personally responsible. He could laugh and dance and charm the hearts right out of their breasts, or so it seemed to them, and then a few days or a few weeks later he would appear at a ball looking just as beset by the blue devils as before.

His grandmother had once told him that he was a true Spaniard—and born under Mercury’s sign to boot. “You have the same bit of darkness in you that I do and your mother does,” she had warned him. “Do not think you can outrun it, Juan.”

Perhaps he had been running from it all his life, sighed Jack. He had thrown himself into sports in school to overcome the stigma of being part Spanish and so different in appearance from all the other boys. He had thrown himself into the social whirl in the same way, always moving, never resting and never admitting to himself that he might be searching for a place to rest, a place where he could be loved for his darkness as well as his light. He had thrown himself into the army and brought himself to Wellington’s attention early on. Living among the
guerrilleros
had meant he was always moving.

It was so hard to be
still
, he thought as he resumed his pacing. He had enjoyed the predawn rides and even the hardship of camping out in the desolate Spanish mountains.

Now that was all done with. The adventures were over, and he was faced with the necessity to settle down. It was not that he was an irresponsible man, he told himself. God knew he had taken on enough responsibility in the army. But the everydayness of what he had taken on weighed him down. As he circled the sofa again, he sat down on the edge and this time, gave way to despair. Dear God, he was going to have to charm Miss Anne Heriot into choosing him above whoever else she had singled out. And if he succeeded, he was going to have to live with her for the rest of his life, marooned somewhere in the Pennine hills. How on earth would he outrun the darkness there?

* * * *

“Oh, how delightful!”

“What is it, my dear?”

“Anne Heriot has arrived in London, Charles.”

Lord Faringdon gave his daughter-in-law a fond look. “Heriot? The name is familiar…”

“She is my old schoolmate from Miss Page’s, though that probably isn’t the reason the name sounds familiar to you, Charles. You probably knew of her father, Robert Heriot.”

“Ah, yes, the Yorkshire cloth maker. Richer than the Golden Ball, or so rumor has it.”

“Mr. Heriot died last year. Anne is out of mourning now and in London on the business of finding herself a husband.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. “A most daunting female.”

“Elspeth, daunting?” Val Aston asked as he entered the breakfast room and took a plate from the sideboard. “Intrepid, perhaps, but not daunting.”

“I was speaking of a schoolmate of hers, Miss Anne Heriot.”

Val dropped a kiss on the top of his wife’s head and sat down next to her. “Ah, yes, the Yorkshire heiress.”

“Yes, and my best friend at school. We stood out like two sore thumbs there, me being army and Anne coming from trade.”

“So she has come to London as she promised?”

“I hope it is for longer than a few weeks, for I would dearly love her companionship for the Little Season. I have been away for so long that I fear I have forgotten everything I know about being fashionable, and that wasn’t very much to begin with,” Elspeth confessed with a laugh.

* * * *

Anne looked up from the piece of vellum and said with quiet delight, “Elspeth insists I come to dinner tonight, Sarah.”

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. “Then that means she will take you under her wing this fall.”

“I am sure of it.”

“Thank goodness, for your alternative plan would not have done at all. Interviewing your candidates as though for a position in your household!”

“Well, a husband is that in a way,” teased Anne. “But do me justice, Sarah. That was my plan of
very
last resort. I knew Elspeth would come through. Now, what should I wear?”

Since the two women had spent the last week shopping at the most fashionable milliners and dressmakers, the question was not an idle one. Anne’s wardrobe was full to overflowing, and now she who was used to wearing serviceable merinos and muslins was daunted by the prospect of selecting from among the silks and lawns and gauze confections they had bought.

“Something quietly elegant. The apricot silk.”

Anne nodded. “Thank you, Sarah. You always know just the thing. And what will you be wearing?”

“Surely I am not invited?”

“Not formally, because Elspeth was unaware that you are here with me. But a respectable young lady doesn’t go anywhere without a companion. And besides, you are also my friend and I want you to meet Elspeth. I’ll send her a note telling her you are coming. You must wear the lilac wool. It makes your eyes look violet.”

Sarah blushed. “You were very generous with my own wardrobe, Anne.”

“Nonsense. We must both look our best.”

It was worth the hours of standing still while the dressmaker had tucked and hemmed, thought Anne when she saw the look of approval in Lord Faringdon’s eyes as Elspeth introduced them.

“I would like you to meet my dear friend, Anne Heriot, Charles.”

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Heriot.”

“And I you, my lord.”

“And this is Val, Anne.”

The words might have been simple, but the pride and love in Elspeth’s voice brought home to Anne, as Sarah’s words had not, just what she would be missing in a marriage of convenience. But Elspeth was lucky. Most marriages were business arrangements, she reminded herself as she smiled at Valentine Aston.

“I have heard a lot about you, Miss Heriot. I understand you made Miss Page’s Academy more bearable for Elspeth.”

“As she did for me, Mr. Aston.”

“Please call me Val.”

“Then you must call me Anne.” Oh, dear, she thought wryly as she stole a glance at Val Aston’s hawk-like profile, I do hope none of my candidates is quite so good-looking or I will be hard-pressed to remain rational. She could well understand why Elspeth had overlooked the circumstances of her husband’s birth.

“How long will you be in London?” Lord Faringdon asked.

“Six weeks or so,” Anne replied. “I don’t want to risk icy weather on my journey home,” she added.

“We must see that you enjoy yourself while you are here. Elspeth was very happy to hear you had arrived,” Val told her warmly. “The social whirl is rather foreign to both of us.”

“Just where in Yorkshire are you from, Anne?” asked Charles.

“Heriot Hall, is just on the outskirts of Wetherby.”

“Why, that isn’t very far from us, is it, Val?” Elspeth asked.

“Perhaps fifteen or twenty miles. No more than a day’s ride.”

Elspeth turned to Anne. “I don’t think I told you, Anne, but Val will be taking over one of his father’s estates. We hope to be there by the beginning of December. I never realized that we would be neighbors.”

“For a while, at least,” said Anne with an answering smile.

“So you are still determined to buy yourself a husband?”

“Elspeth!” chided Val. He turned to Anne with an apologetic smile. “You must forgive her outspokenness. If you had ever met my father-in-law, Major Gordon, you would know where it came from.”

Anne laughed. “Tha must know it is not only the Scots who are plainspoken. In Yorkshire we don’t believe in gilding over plain metal. We all know that I am here to find a husband.”

“I gather, then, that this Little Season is to be given over to reconnaissance work,” Charles commented dryly. “Valentine might be able to help with that.”

“I already have a few eligible suitors picked out, and I will appreciate any advice you have for me as I get to know them,” Anne said matter-of-factly.

Sarah, who had been trying to make herself invisible, as she believed a good companion should, said without thinking, “Oh, Anne, you are incorrigible!” with a despairing sigh.

“But we are all friends here, Miss Wheeler,” said Charles.

“Oh, it is not so much Anne’s plain-speaking I mind, my lord. And Mrs. Aston opened the subject, after all. It is her willingness to settle for a business arrangement rather than… But I am speaking out of turn,” said Sarah, feeling terribly uncomfortable. It was one thing to speak frankly with Anne, who made it so easy to forget they were employer and employee. It was quite another to speak as an equal in a social setting, no matter that these were Anne’s friends.

“So you believe in romance, do you, Miss Wheeler?”

“I am not a Marianne Dashwood, if that is what you mean, my lord,” Sarah replied, thinking that she might as well be hung for a sheep as well as a lamb. “ ‘I know how full of briars is this working-day world,’ ” she added.

“And that ‘men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love’?” Charles counter-quoted.

Sarah smiled. “Yes, I know one does not die from love. But I do think it should play a part in marriage.”

“I would have to agree with you, Miss Wheeler,” Lord Faringdon said approvingly.

“Love and affection are luxuries,” Anne said flatly. “It would be lovely to have them, but they are not necessities.”

“I can see you are determined, Anne,” said Val. “But we will do our best to guide you to someone with whom there would be some possibility of affection.”

“And I would be happy with that,” Anne replied.

* * * *

Later in the evening, after their guests had left, the Astons and Lord Faringdon shared a glass of port in the parlor.

“What did you think of Anne, Val?” Elspeth asked.

“I can understand why you two became fast friends. She is as refreshingly blunt as you, my dear wife!”

“And you, Charles?”

“I would have to agree with Val. She is a very bright, attractive, and down-to-earth young woman.”

“By ‘down-to-earth,’ I hope you do not mean vulgar, Charles,” Elspeth said defensively.

“Not at all. ‘Gilding plain metal’ would be vulgar,” the earl said with a smile. “Anne Heriot is very comfortable with who she is and very realistic about her situation. I admire her, but whether she was a young lady of the
ton
or a farmer’s daughter, I would still wish her some affection in marriage.”

“It is not impossible that it can develop,” Val interjected. “After all, you came to love Helen very much, Charles,” he added.

“I did. But Anne Heriot will be starting with a greater disadvantage, for she is the one taking the initiative. It is unusual for a woman to do that. She will hold the purse strings and therefore some power in her marriage. She will not be the one who is vulnerable. And one must allow oneself to be vulnerable if one is to find love…or even everyday affection. I think Miss Wheeler knows that better than her employer.”