Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  “Here you are, then,” said Blaine, pouring them both a glass and taking a seat across from her. “I was very sad to hear about your father’s death, and I apologize again for not making his funeral.”

  Anne’s face clouded over for a minute. “He went very suddenly and unexpectedly, Mr. Blaine, and the weather kept many away. But your letter of condolence was greatly appreciated.”

  “I meant every word. Your father and I have known…knew each other for many years, and it was always a pleasure to see him when he was in town. A fine man, Robert Heriot,” said Blaine, shaking his head sadly. “But enough…what business brings you to London?”

  “An unfinished piece of my father’s business. I believe you and he had talked of my marriage,” she added matter-of-factly.

  Mr. Blaine’s eyes widened and his face grew pink. “Why, yes, he had told me of his thoughts in that direction.”

  Anne’s eyes twinkled. “I am a Yorkshire lass, Mr. Blaine, and tha knows we don’t beat around the bush in Yorkshire. My father and I had no secrets, I assure you. I am here in London to follow out the plans that were interrupted by his untimely death.”

  “He told me you were a practical young woman, Miss Heriot. But I thought you might reconsider your cousin, rather than pursue this course without your father’s guidance.”

  “My father and I were in complete agreement, I assure you. He never planned to choose my husband for me, but to provide me with appropriate choices. I hope you will agree to do the same?”

  “Of course, Miss Heriot.”

  “Thank you,” Anne said, giving him her warmest smile. “I am here in London for a part of the Little Season to survey the field, as it were. Once I have narrowed down the choices, I will make my final decision in the spring. Now what I need from you is a list of all the titled gentlemen who are in need of my fortune!”

  “That would make a very long list!”

  “We will make it shorter by eliminating all the inveterate gamblers, drinkers, and hardened fortune hunters, my dear sir.”

  Mr. Blaine went to his desk and pulled out a piece of paper from a leather folder. “I started just such a list more than a year ago for your father,” he said, handing it to Anne. “But there are some we will have to eliminate. George Brett has married, James Trevor died of a fever, and two others fled to America. And there are a few names I could now add to the list.”

  “Who is the Baron Leighton?” asked Anne, pointing to an underlined name.

  “A good choice, I think. He holds an old title, but the estate is very poor. He is a widower of about thirty-seven, I believe. A pleasant man…”

  “But you hesitate?”

  “He has a daughter, about fifteen years old.”

  “I like children, Mr. Blaine. That is one of the main reasons I wish to marry, to have a family of my own.”

  “Then we will put the baron on our preferred list.”

  “What about Lord Beresford?” Anne pointed to another highlighted name.

  “Married the daughter of a steel manufacturer in Sheffield just last month.” Mr. Blaine hesitated and then said, “There are two others not yet on the list.”

  Anne’s eyebrow lifted inquiringly.

  “Richard Farrar, the earl of Windham, is a delightful young man. He just came into the title. The late earl made some very hard decisions at the time of Waterloo. Sold all his stocks before final news of the victory came through and then went into the woods and shot himself.”

  “How sad. So Windham was landed with all his father’s debts?”

  “Yes. He is, as far as I can tell, a very responsible man with a highly developed sense of honor.” Blaine smiled. “And young and handsome to boot, Miss Heriot.”

  “That is not my primary requirement, but it would certainly sweeten a bargain, wouldn’t it,” Anne responded with a grin.

  “Then there is Jack Belden. Viscount Aldborough. He just inherited his maternal uncle’s estate in Suffolk. He recently sold his commission…” Mr. Blaine’s voice trailed off.

  “Is there a problem? I promise you I do not require a husband to be young and handsome.”

  “Jack Belden is twenty-eight, and though he is not handsome in the way Windham is, his looks seem to appeal to many young ladies.”

  “Is he a rake, Mr. Blaine? That would not do for me either.”

  “No, no,” Blaine reassured her. “Although it is true that before he joined the army he was known as Jack of Hearts, there seems to be no real harm in him. It is just that he is charming to young women. Evidently, each one is convinced that she and she alone holds his attention. I believe that a few of the more susceptible young ladies had their hearts bruised, but he is careful not to promise anything, from what I understand.”

  “Let’s eliminate him,” said Anne. “If there is anything I despise, it is a professional charmer.”

  “I may have painted him too black, Miss Heriot. And the stories I have heard are all from a few years ago. War changes men.”

  “Not always for the better.”

  “No, but Lord Aldborough is not a gambler or drinker or confirmed fortune hunter. In fact, you might regard him as a hero. He was one of Wellington’s reconnaissance officers.”

  “Oh, all right, you may put him down. But I will only consider him if the others prove disappointing in some way.”

  “Good. Then you have three excellent candidates!”

  “Yes,” said Anne with a satisfied smile. “Now I must set about meeting them.”

  “Do you have an entree into Society, then, Miss Heriot? It would be far better if you make your own choice before I open any preliminary negotiations.”

  “My old school friend is Mrs. Valentine Aston and has offered to introduce me.”

  “Aston?”

  “She is married to the earl of Faringdon’s son.”

  “Oh, yes. That will do very well for you. You won’t get a voucher for Almack’s due to Aston’s, er…”

  “Illegitimacy?”

  Blaine blushed. “Yes, that is what I meant. But the earl has done a good job of making it clear that he would make Aston his heir if he were able to. Mrs. Aston can introduce you to most of the ton, and you will have every chance to meet all three men.”

  “I am sure there will be gossip about my presence in London, Mr. Blaine. But I do not want you to make any approaches to any of the men before I make my decision.”

  “Of course not.”

  Anne got up and held out her hand. “Thank you so much. It will be a pleasure to continue to do business with you, Mr. Blaine.”

  * * * *

  After Anne left, Blaine knocked on his partner’s door, opening it even before he heard a “Come in.”

  “What did the Heriot heiress want, George?”

  “A husband, to put it as bluntly as she did! She is as forthright as her father and of the same practical bent.”

  “Vulgar?”

  “Not at all,” Blaine protested. “Would you expect Robert Heriot’s daughter to be? There was not a vulgar bone in the man’s body. No, she is a very attractive young lady who knows exactly what she wants. I liked her very much. Any one of her candidates would be a lucky man to have her to wife.”

  “So you’ve made a list, have you? Who are they?”

  “Windham, Leighton, and Aldborough.”

  “Well done, George. Any one of those should suit.”

  “They all meet her criteria, but I would like her to find some happiness in this bargain. I have a few reservations—not that I told her, of course. If she doesn’t want a drunkard or a gambler, then they really are her best choices, but…”

  “To take on Leighton’s daughter could be difficult?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And Windham?”

  “I stressed his sense of honor. But I did not tell her it led him to break off his engagement with Lady Julia Lovett.”

  “Was his heart given, do you know?”

  “I am not sure, and it has been almost a year.”<
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  “And then there’s Belden,” said Smythe dryly.

  “Yes, and then there’s Belden,” Blaine sighed. “If Miss Heriot is out to buy herself a husband, then some might say we ought to pin a sign on Belden—Caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware!”

  Chapter Two

  “So it is marriage or bankruptcy, Stebbins? My cousins out to beg and me God knows where?”

  “I am afraid so, my lord.”

  Every time someone addressed him as “my lord,” Jack Belden almost looked to see who had just walked in the room. He had been Viscount Aldborough for five months now, but five years wouldn’t be long enough to get used to it. Damn his uncle for getting pneumonia, and double-damn him for producing only girls.

  “I’m not ready to set up my nursery, Stebbins,” he complained.

  “Even so, my lord…” That Jack Belden was not ready to be leg-shackled was no surprise to Joshua Stebbins. His client was notorious for his charm and address, but although he readily bestowed them upon one young lady and then another, he had been very careful never to go so far as to place his own heart or hand in any danger. Word was that before he left for Spain, he had become persona non grata in many a mother’s eyes, no matter how their daughters lit up when he entered a ballroom. But then, what could you expect from someone a quarter Spanish? mused Stebbins. Had his mother been Spanish, rather than his grandmother, he might well have qualified for Don Juan. Given his uncle’s debts and his reputation, he would never find a bride among the nobility now.

  “No sensible father will give me his daughter’s hand, no matter what sort of dowry she has.”

  “Not among the nobility, my lord. But a man in trade…”

  “A Cit’s daughter! I don’t want to marry some vulgar offspring of a jumped-up unknown, Stebbins.”

  “It is the only solution I can see, my lord.”

  Jack groaned, “Unless I could raise a stake and win at vingt-et-un every night, I suppose you are right.”

  “Perhaps it does not have to be as bad as you think, my lord. I had dinner with an old friend of mine last night, who acts as a solicitor for the Heriot family.”

  “Robert Heriot? Isn’t he the cloth manufacturer from Yorkshire? He was most generous in supplying Wellington with funds, I believe. If it hadn’t been for Rothschild and a few like him and Heriot, the army would have starved!”

  “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 Pa
ge’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.