Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  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?

  Chapter Five

  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.

  It was a cold morning and Ned’s coat was thin, but he was suddenly so furious that he didn’t feel the cold, only the heat of his anger.

  Ned was willing to admit that hard work as well as good fortune had made Robert Heriot successful. But Miss Anne Heriot had likely never done an hour’s work in her life and was rich enough to go off to London and buy herself a duke! His Nancy was up before dawn to feed and dress her brothers and sisters and get them off to work. He and Nancy themselves had been working in the mill since they were six, and all so Anne Heriot could loll her life away and then go off shopping for a husband.

  Ned was almost to the crossroads when his way was blocked by a milling flock of sheep. He heard a high whistle and saw an older man signaling to one of the two dogs that accompanied him. In an instant the dog circled the sheep and forced them into a tight bunch.

  “We’ll be out of tha way in a minute, lad,” called the old man as he climbed down a stile.

  “Tha dog is a reet good one.”

  “Oh, aye, couldn’t do anything without her. Th’art not from around here, lad?”

  “I’m from Shipton.”

  “Near t’mill, then.”

  “I work there.”

  “So, tha works with t’wool these silly buggers produce!” said the old man with a smile.

  “It would take a lot more of them to keep us in work!”

  “Aye, I know that. Mr. Heriot, he liked to have t’sheep around just to remind him where he’d coom from, and Miss Heriot’s kept them out. What are tha doing so far from home, lad?”

  “I came to see tha mistress, but I hear she’s gone to London.”

  “Aye, poor lass.”

  “Poor lass!”

  The old shepherd gave Ned an inquiring look. “Tha sounds angry, lad. Art foolish enough to think that money is t’only thing that can make tha rich?”

  “Maybe I am foolish, but that’s what I’ve always heard,” said Ned sarcastically.

  “Nay, all t’money in t’world won’t buy tha happiness or love.”

  “According to her footman, that’s exactly what it is going to buy Miss Heriot.”

  “She’s set off to get herself a husband, lad, but that does not mean she’ll be finding love. Does tha have soomone?”

  Ned nodded.

  “Then tha’rt richer than she is.”

  “My Nance just got turned off her job in t’mill because of Miss Heriot.”

  “How does tha figure that, lad?”

  “Nance were happy because we’d just got engaged t’night before. She forgot where she was and she started whistling. T’overseer reported her to Mr. Trantor, and she were turned out.”

  “And tha blames Miss Heriot?”

  “I blame Joseph Trantor, but Miss Heriot is t’owner of t’mill, and so she is responsible.”

  “Come back in a few weeks, lad, and see her. I’ll wager tha’ll get satisfaction.”

  “In three weeks, Nance and her family could be in t’workhouse,” Ned said bitterly.

  “I am sorry for tha troubles, lad.”

  The old shepherd was clearly sincere, and Ned was touched by his sympathy.

  “Thank tha, sir.”

  “Coom back in three weeks’ time, lad. T’weather will be changing soon; I can feel it in my old bones. Miss Heriot wants to be back before t’cold really sets in. How did tha get here?”

  “I walked partway and caught a ride for most of it.”

  “If tha goes down into town and calls at tavern, tha’ll find Josiah Croft. He be as regular as clockwork—has an ale and then drives into Shipton to visit his aunt of a Sunday. Tell him I sent tha. At least tha won’t have to walk home.”

  “Tha’rt reet kind.”

  “And here, lad,” said the old shepherd, rummaging in his coat pocket and handing Ned a few pennies, “buy thaself an ale!”

  * * * *

  Ned got back home by six o’clock and went directly to the Hart and Horn, where he knew he would find his brother.

  “Ah, there’s t’sprout,” Tom Gibson called out when he saw Ned come in. “Did tha make it to Heriot Hall, lad? Did tha see Miss Heriot? Did she give Nance her job back?” Tom’s tone grew more and more sardonic with each question.

  Ned slid onto a bench next to his brother. “I got there all reet, Tom. I didn’t even have to walk all t’way, going or coming. But I couldn’t see Miss Heriot.”

  “Tha means t’bitch wouldn’t see tha.”

  Ned looked over at his older brother. Tom’s face was red from too many ales, and his tone had turned ugly, as it did nowadays after his third drink. Ned sighed. He hated to see his brother like this. Once, Tom had been his hero, one of General Ludd’s followers, a man who fought for justice. But that was before he was jailed twice for “conspiring” under the Combination Acts and then lost his job at the mills. For the last two years he’d taken whatever odd jobs he could find, but his wife, Susan, had had to assume the support of their family, and the shame of that had driven him to drink more and more. Ned had had to intervene more than once when Tom had gone after Susan after a night of drinking. His brother was always ashamed in the morning, but by early afternoon he was drinking again.

  “Miss Heriot couldn’t see me because she wasn’t there, Tom. She’s in London, gone to find herself a husband,” he added with a grin, trying to lighten the tone of their conversation.

  “To buy herself one, tha means! Doesn’t it make tha angry, Ned, to think that she is buying herself a man with money she didn’t lift a finger to earn? That she lives in that big house, while we live in matchboxes? That she’ll come home, whistling all she wants over her engagement?”

  “Oh, aye, it makes me reet furious, Tom,” Ned admitted with a heavy sigh. “But there is little tha or I can do about it.”

  “Tha art reet about that, little brother,” Tom replied, his voice full of self-disgust. “We tried, but they sent out more troops against us than they did against Boney, or so it seemed.”

  “She’s coming back before t’holidays. At least that’s what her shepherd told me. A reet nice old man. He told me to coom back then to speak with her.”

  “It will take more than a pleasant conversation over a cup of tea to change things, Ned, and tha knows it. And in t’meantime, what is tha Nance going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Tom, I don’t know.”r />
  * * * *

  London

  “How did your encounter with Anne go the other morning, Jack?” Val asked his friend later that week at a supper dance.

  “I rushed in, Val, like a fool. I suspect that Leighton and Windham have been more careful. But then, I’ve never been mistaken for an angel!”

  Val laughed. “Nor for a fool. What did you do?”

  “I thought Miss Heriot might appreciate frankness, so I referred to our common search for a mate… You know, people are always going on about my damned charm, Valentine. I have no idea what it is! I am just myself with the young ladies, but whatever works with them clearly doesn’t with Miss Heriot.”

  “What works with them is that oh-so-mysterious self, Jack. And that brooding look, which changes so quickly to a smile.”

  “Oh, give over, Val. Truly, I don’t set out to win the young ladies, though I must admit I often enjoy doing so. I suppose that makes me as rakish as they say.” Jack groaned. “I had thought that for a practical woman like Miss Heriot, the direct approach would be best, perhaps even original,” he added with a grin.

  “Just because a woman is direct does not mean she doesn’t enjoy a little subtlety, or a little romance. I speak from experience. Anne and Elspeth became friends because they are very much alike in some ways. Elspeth is never afraid of speaking her mind.

  “Of course, she gets that from her father,” Val admitted. “And from what I’ve heard, Robert Heriot was as unlike Ian Gordon as any man could be.”

  “How so?”

  “There couldn’t be a warmer-hearted man than Elspeth’s father. So while he may be blunt, one always knows that he has the best intentions. Robert Heriot, from what I hear, was a much colder man. Anne doesn’t speak much of him. When she does, it is obvious that she holds him in high esteem. But from what Elspeth has told me, there was very little overt affection in Anne’s life. Her mother died when she was very young, you know…” Val was silent for a minute. “I know what that is like. And I know what it is like to have little affection in one’s life. It does not encourage one to show one’s deepest feelings.”