Jack of Hearts (7 page)

“That was rather high-handed of you, Valentine!”

“Shall I leave you two to fi—figure this out?” asked Lord Faringdon dryly.

“No, stay, Charles,” Elspeth reassured him.

“I thought you favored Jack,” explained Val, “And he has not had any opportunities to spend time with Anne. She is always with her other two candidates.”

“Don’t whine, Val. It does not become you,” Elspeth told him tartly, but she softened her words with a smile. “I
did
think Jack would be a good choice, but now that I have seen Anne with the other two men, I am not so sure. She certainly doesn’t seem to like Jack very much.” Elspeth hesitated. “On the other hand, I don’t think she has given him very much time. It isn’t a bad idea, but I will feel like I am betraying my old friend, Val.”

“Not betraying, Elspeth. Merely giving her an opportunity to, er…make a more informed decision.”

Elspeth smiled. “I suppose it is not so awful. And I confess, as much as I like Lord Windham, I can’t help wondering if he has conquered his feelings for Lady Julia. And none of us has met the baron’s daughter. All right, I’ll send Anne a note.”

* * * *

Anne opened Elspeth’s note before dinner.

“Will you cancel your ride?” Sarah asked when she heard the reason for Anne’s disappointed sigh.

“Of course not. I like to ride before the crowds.”

“Do you want me to accompany you?”

“That is very kind of you, my dear,” said Anne, her overly sweet tone cut by the look of amusement on her face.

“Oh, all right, I admit I have never been an early riser!”

“I will have Patrick, so there is no reason for you to get up early.”

* * * *

“Good morning, Patrick. It will just be you and me this morning,” Anne said with a smile as Patrick gave her a leg up.

“Mrs. Aston will not be joining you, then?”

“No, she wasn’t feeling well and wished to sleep in.”

They rode down the street, their horses’ hooves adding to the clatter of the London morning. When they reached the entrance to the park, Anne motioned Patrick up next to her.

“You need not hang behind, Patrick. I’d appreciate the company while we let the horses warm up.”

“Thank ye, miss.”

After a brisk walk and trot and then a slow canter, Anne reined her mare in.

“She has such lovely gaits. It is like being in a rocking chair. You have a good eye for a horse, Patrick. Did you raise them in Ireland?”

“Me, miss? Raise horses!” Patrick gave something between a snort and a laugh. “Why, an Irishman couldn’t even own a horse worth more than five pounds until recently, Miss Heriot.”

“I didn’t realize that, Patrick.”

“I know horses because my father was head groom at Lord Blount’s stable before I joined the army.”

“Well, you are a natural with them, Patrick.”

“Thank ye, Miss Heriot.”

“Why didn’t you go back home when you were discharged?”

“Nothing to go home for. Me ma died when I was five. Me da and me sisters and brothers died in 1807.”

“I am so sorry.” Anne could think of nothing else to say, but without thinking, she reached out and rested her hand on his for a moment.

“Was there no one else to go back to?”

“You mean a woman? No, Mary O’Byrne’s father sold her to a rich widower.”

Anne was quiet, trying to imagine what it would be like to lose everything that made life worth living. She was so intent on Patrick’s story that she didn’t notice the approaching rider until he was directly in front of them.

“Good morning, Miss Heriot. What a delightful surprise!”

What an annoying man, thought Anne. He always manages to make it sound like the delight should be mine. “You’re up early, Lord Aldborough. And after such a busy evening last night, dancing with all the young ladies.”

“Not any busier than yours, Miss Heriot. And not
all
the young ladies. Your dance card was full, as I recall. May I join you now?”

Anne gave Patrick a grateful glance as he kept his gelding next to hers while Lord Aldborough fell in on her other side.

“Will you introduce me to your companion, Miss Heriot? I don’t think we have met, Mr.…?”

“Gillen. Patrick Gillen, sor.”

“Patrick is my groom, Lord Aldborough.”

“But he hasn’t always been a groom, I would guess—the army?”

“Former sergeant Gillen of the Gonnaught Rangers, sor.”

“A fine regiment. I was not there, but I heard you and your fellow rangers were splendid at Talavera.”

“Thank ye, sor.”

Now he was charming Patrick! The man was incorrigible!

“Were you in any battles, Lord Aldborough?” she asked.

Her slight emphasis on “any” infuriated Jack, who had met with that attitude often enough. While some members of Society saw him as a dashing and romantic reconnaissance officer, their adulation more often went to those who had been at Talavera or Badajoz. God knows, he didn’t need their adulation, nor did any veterans of those bloodbaths. But the attitude that only Wellington and the British troops had anything to do with defeating Napoleon was an insult to all his Spanish
compadres
.

“Only Waterloo, and there I was only a dispatch officer.”

“But I have heard that you were with Sanchez, sor,” interjected Patrick.

“I was.”

“Then Lord Aldborough would have seen many a small skirmish, Miss Heriot. We were most grateful to ye, sor, for keeping the Frogs occupied! Those
guerilleros
were much more helpful than any of the regular Spanish troops I ever encountered!”

“Indeed, Sergeant Gillen,” Jack agreed with such similar disdain that they both looked at each other and laughed.

“Well, ‘tis an honor to meet ye, sor,” said Patrick, and he gently reined his horse behind Anne’s mare.

“You are a traitor, Patrick,” she muttered to herself.

“Did you say something, Miss Heriot?” asked Jack, his eyes dancing.

“It seems I have been ignorant about who won the war. Like everyone, I thought it was Wellington. Now I find I am mistaken.”

“Lord Wellington is a brilliant commander, Miss Heriot,” Jack told her warmly, “but the one thing the British public doesn’t seem to understand is how important it was that Sanchez and Mina and their men kept the French troops busy. Wellington would have been outnumbered otherwise.”

Lord Aldborough’s voice was calm, but Anne could hear that he was keeping his emotions in check. And from what both he and Patrick had said, the Spanish had played an important role, one for which they received no recognition. She had also heard disparaging comments from time to time about Lord Aldborough’s Spanish background, and she felt a sudden onrush of sympathy.

“I apologize, my lord. I had no right to talk about the war, given my complete ignorance of military strategy.”

Jack was touched by her obvious sincerity. “Thank you, Miss Heriot Perhaps I wouldn’t be so sensitive if it were not for my Spanish blood.”

“I know a little of what it is like to be treated dismissively because of one’s birth, my lord,” she said sympathetically.

“So we do have something in common, Miss Heriot,” said Jack, giving her his most charming smile. He hesitated and then spoke again. “In fact, I believe we have more than one thing in common.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “And what is that, my lord?”

Sometimes, thought Jack, once one had reconnoitered and found one’s quarry, a head-on attack was the best tactic. He threw caution to the winds. “We are both in search of a spouse.”

“You surprise me, Lord Aldborough. I would have expected you to be more romantic in your approach.” Anne tried to keep her tone light, but she was irritated all over again. She certainly had no romantic illusions about what she was doing, but she appreciated the tact and sensitivity of Lord Windham and Lord Leighton, and she had to admit she felt insulted that the so-called Jack of Hearts was not even going to try to add her to his roster of romantic conquests.

“Sometimes a direct attack…er…approach is best, Miss Heriot. And from what I have seen and heard, you are a very practical woman. You know something of my predicament?”

“I know that you’ve inherited a bankrupt estate and the care of an aunt and two cousins, my lord,” Anne admitted stiffly.

“I need a wife with money, Miss Heriot, and I understand that you are looking for a husband with a title.”

“You’re correct, my lord. But you’re by no means the only man in London with a title and no money!”

“Oh, I know that all too well, Miss Heriot,” Jack replied with a grin. “I realized I’d better let you know that I am as interested in the position as Windham and Leighton are.”

“Position! You speak as if I were looking for a servant.”

“Well, it
is
you doing the ‘hiring,’ as it were, Miss Heriot.”

“I am doing nowt in London this fall but becoming acquainted with the
ton
and any, er, possibilities that may present themselves, Lord Aldborough,” said Anne, stung into a Yorkshirism.

“An admirable strategy, Miss Heriot, to survey the ground before moving in.”

It
was
what she was doing, and a sensible thing too. Surely there was nothing wrong in making a considered choice in something that would determine the rest of her life! Yet he was making it sound as though she was unwomanly.

“Since it will be a lifetime bond, I think choosing a husband an important enough decision to take my time over, Lord Aldborough. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to return home. Patrick?”

Patrick reined up to her, forcing Jack to move away.

“Good day, then, Miss Heriot.”

“Good day, my lord.”

* * * *

That’s torn it, thought Jack. But damn it, it shouldn’t have been a disaster. Anne Heriot was a straightforward young lady. She should have appreciated a direct approach, given what she’d set out to do. She
was
shopping for a husband, and since he was selling himself, it seemed stupid not to advertise the goods, as it were. But where was his famous charm when he needed it?

Yorkshire—November 1815

“Hall is about two miles down t’road.”

Ned Gibson jumped down from the farmer’s cart. “I thank tha, sir. Tha saved me a bit of walking!”

“ ‘Twas nowt. Good luck to tha.”

Ned stood there and looked around. He had left Shipton early that morning and after a three-mile walk had been lucky to hitch a ride with a farmer who was going almost all the way to Wetherby. Despite the bumpiness of the ride and the turnips rolling around in the back of the cart, he had slept part of the way. Now here he was, in a long green valley with sheep-studded hills rising on either side. Shipton was not a large town, but the factory dominated it and made one forget that not very far away were the grassy hills that fed the animals that provided the town’s livelihood.

He set off down the left fork of the road, feeling hopeful for the first time in months. He was here hours earlier than he had expected, which meant that even if he had to walk home, he might get some sleep before work in the morning. And he felt more and more confident as he took in the fresh air and watched the frost melt, turning the grass from silver to green. Surely Miss Heriot would listen to him. Surely he could convince her to rehire Nancy. And perhaps he could even get her to consider replacing Peter Brill, that tyrannous bastard who made all their lives miserable.

Heriot Hall faced east, and as it came in sight, Ned watched the morning sun turn the windows gold. He had never seen anything larger than the local squire’s house, and he was amazed at the size of the hall. So this was the country house Robert Heriot had purchased from an impoverished London family. He stood in the drive for a few minutes, trying to take in the size of the house, the sculptured shrubbery, and the stables to the left, which themselves looked palatial.

He had intended to go right up to the front door, but he was ashamed to confess that he was too intimidated now, so he made his way around to the kitchen entrance and gave the door a few hard knocks to restore his confidence. He waited for a moment and was just lifting his hand again when the door opened.

“We don’t feed beggars here,” said the young footman who had opened the door, looking Ned up and down distastefully.

“I am no beggar. I’m an employee of Miss Heriot’s coom to speak with her. Could tha tell her that Ned Gibson from Shipton mill has coom to call.”

The footman laughed. “A mill worker, are you? Why would you think Miss Heriot would see the likes of you?”

Ned’s hands clenched,
and
he had to fight an urge to reach out and shake the overdressed little toad in front of him. “Mr. Heriot was willing to listen to us. I would think that his daughter would do the same.”

“Well, she might, she might not.”

“Then why doesn’t tha ask her and let her decide for herself?” The mincing little bastard, whose only job was to open doors and serve meals and polish silver, was testing Ned’s self-control.

“I would ask her if I could. But she’s not here.”

“I’ll wait then till she cooms back.”

“You’d wait for a long time,” the footman told him with a smile, “for she’s in London.”

“In London?” Ned was too disappointed to react to the footman’s obvious satisfaction.

‘Aye. She is there to shop for a husband. Hopes to get herself a marquess or a duke, does our Miss Heriot.”

“When is she expected back?”

“Sometime in the next fortnight. I know she intends to travel before the weather turn too bad.”

“Then I’ll be back,” Ned told him, trying not to let his desperation show. He needn’t have worried, for the footman had already started to close the door.

Ned walked around the house and stood in the drive, gazing at the shining windows and the spacious symmetry of the hall. He’d been predisposed to like Anne Heriot, but that was just wishful thinking, he now realized. He’d conjured up a sympathetic young woman in his imagination.

But there was no kind young woman here, he decided—and not just because she was gone from home! Any woman who would take herself off to London to buy herself a title could only be hardhearted and mercenary. She wouldn’t be the sort to sympathize with the problems of the likes of Ned Gibson and his fiancée.