Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  “Jack?” asked Anne, trying to remember if some cousin or other had been mentioned as a guest.

  Elspeth gave her husband an exasperated look. “Jack Belden. Lord Aldborough. His parents are away, and we extended him a last-minute invitation. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” Anne replied evenly. What could she say? The Astons certainly had the right to invite any guests they chose, and Aldborough was a friend of Val’s, as she was a friend of Elspeth’s. It shouldn’t feel like a conspiracy…but it did. For a moment she felt very disappointed. Then she rallied. Tha will not let tha Christmas be spoiled by that man, Anne Heriot, she told herself firmly.

  “When do they arrive?” she asked brightly.

  “My father will be here tomorrow, and we expect Jack by Christmas Eve.”

  “I am sorry Sarah did not come,” added Elspeth. “She would have evened out our numbers. Charles very much enjoyed her company in London. Was she feeling ill?”

  “No, but London tired her out,” Anne replied. “I made her promise to have Sergeant Gillen drive her over if she felt lonely.”

  “Well, she would have plenty of time to rest here, for we are planning a very quiet Christmas,” Elspeth told her friend apologetically. “We are not well acquainted with our neighbors yet, although, we have received a few invitations for the holidays. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. This is only the second Christmas I have spent without my father, and I am happy just to be with good friends.”

  * * * *

  As Anne got ready for bed, however, she hoped they would attend some local parties, for a quiet holiday with Val and Elspeth was one thing, but an intimate Christmas with Jack Belden was quite another.

  Chapter Eight

  “You are sure you don’t want to use the chaise, my lord? The wind is blowing from the northeast, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we had snow by Christmas.”

  “I’m sure,” Jack told his groom. “I am quite used to long, cold rides, you know.”

  “Then I’ll have Sancho ready for you early tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  “But why you want to ride in this weather is beyond me,” muttered his groom as Jack left the stables. “You’d think three years in Portugal and Spain would have been enough for you!”

  * * * *

  Jack could have given him a reason or two, had he asked. First, it would be much cheaper. Taking the chaise would mean changing teams and patronizing larger inns, those that could handle the carriage trade. Riding meant he could stop at the smaller taverns.

  God, it was depressing to be constantly worried about funds. He hadn’t needed much money in the army. And he hadn’t spent any of his pay, except to treat Sanchez and his men to wine every now and then. It seemed that all he’d thought about, worried about, since he’d returned to England was money, or rather the lack of it.

  And coming here to Aldborough, he’d had to face his uncle’s wife and her hesitant, apologetic questions about the two girls, who would be coming home from school for the holidays but didn’t know if they would be returning?

  Thank God, his aunt and cousins were going to her family in Surrey. And thank God for Val’s invitation, or he might have been tempted to run off and reenlist, the title be damned. The thought of sitting here for two weeks, worrying about the three women who depended upon him and his marriage for their future… He had to move, he had to ride; he had to do something or he’d fall into a black hole of despair again.

  * * * *

  Jack was up early the next morning, feeling more like himself than he had in a long time.

  “It’s good to be on the road again, eh, Sancho,” he’d said as his gelding gave a happy shake of his head and almost danced down the drive. “We may not be after the Frogs, but we do have an important mission to convince one reluctant Yorkshire lass that marriage to yours truly would be far preferable than to any of her other suitors. Surely winning Miss Anne Heriot can’t be any more difficult than defeating Boney!”

  By the end of the first day on the road, the temperature had dropped, and Jack was very happy to see the light of a small tavern winking out at him. He settled Sancho himself and then happily joined the other customers around the taproom fire. He was wearing an old military cape that he’d wrapped around him many a cold night in Spain, so the men around the fire saw only a returned soldier. It was wonderful to let the title slip from his shoulders. In fact, it was so good not to be Lord Aldborough that Jack drank a little more hot punch than he had planned to and woke late, with the kind of head one gets after drinking cheap liquor. It took several cups of strong coffee before he was ready to leave.

  By now, the wind was blowing directly into his face and his pace was slower. He wrapped his long wool muffler around his face, but by late afternoon the bones in his forehead were aching from the cold, and his hands, despite sheepskin gloves, were stiff.

  It took much longer to get to the next town where he had planned to lodge, and by the time he arrived he was frozen through, thoroughly miserable and thoroughly happy. He had been right not to take the chaise. This was exactly what he needed—to push himself, to keep moving despite cold or discomfort until he got to that place where one existed only in the present moment, in the next breath, the next gust of wind, the cramping of the fingers, the air so cold that the nostrils stuck together with each breath. All else was forgotten in the need to go on.

  And then, of course, when one stopped and found shelter and warmth and light, there was such a sensation of calm, of floating in the moment rather than struggling through the moment. Every bit of consciousness became focused on the now, and all else fell away.

  The way to climb out of that black hole, thought Jack, as he fell asleep on his lumpy bed, is to keep moving, to distract from the mind’s discomfort by providing the body with some.

  It was snowing when he started out the next morning, large crystal flakes that fell softly and silently at first, glittering like diamonds in the early-morning sun. But by noon the wind was up, the sun was completely gone, and the flakes had shrunk to stinging pellets. Sancho’s head was down as he picked his way carefully over the road that soon became a narrow path over a corner of the moor.

  They were very close to Ripley, but these last few miles would be the most difficult, Jack realized, as the sky grew darker and the snow was driven into their faces. He finally dismounted so he could lead Sancho and feel for the path himself. Thank God he was one of those men who had something like an inner compass, a sense of direction that rarely failed him, or he would have been worried.

  He was worried a little later when he realized that a “moment’s rest” had turned into a quarter hour of dozing against Sancho’s shoulder. It would be ironic to have survived years of winter in the Pyrenees only to sleep himself to death in West Riding! He clapped his hands together and stamped his feet and, pulling at Sancho, forced them both into a quicker pace.

  “We should be very close,” he told the gelding half an hour later. His face was so stiff he could hardly talk. But for the next fifteen minutes he began to doubt himself. And curse himself. “You’re a bloody fool, Jack Belden. Soy loco, verdad, Sancho?”

  And then in the whirling whiteness, he saw a light and then another. At first he wondered if he was imagining things, but then a recognizable shape formed.

  “Gracias a Dios,” he whispered fervently. “Somos aqui!”

  He went right up to the front door and began pounding.

  * * * *

  “Who on earth could that be in this weather?” Elspeth exclaimed. She and Val and Charles were in the drawing room, waiting for Anne to come down before they went in for supper.

  “If I were a betting man, I’d say Jack. But even he couldn’t be so mad as to set out in this.”

  “We were expecting him today,” Elspeth told Charles. “But we assumed he would be a day or two behind schedule because of the weather. No carriage could have made it through the snow.”r />
  The door sounded again. “I am too curious to wait, Val,” said Elspeth, so they all trooped out into the hall.

  The door opened on an apparition in blue and white.

  “Are you going to keep me standing out here in the cold, then, Val, because I’m a few hours late?” Jack could feel the joy bubbling up from deep inside. He was here! He was alive!

  “My God, you are a madman!” exclaimed Val, “How ever did your carriage get through?”

  “I didn’t drive. I rode, and I need to take care of Sancho before I do anything else.”

  “Summers, get Bob out here immediately to take care of Lord Aldborough’s horse.”

  Jack protested, but Val just grabbed his friend and pulled him in. “Get in here, Jack. You must be near frozen.”

  “I am frozen,” laughed Jack. “I’ll have to thaw off here in the hall, or I’ll ruin the furniture,” he added as he stamped his feet. “I apologize, Elspeth, but they are blocks of ice.”

  “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!

  Chapter Nine

  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.