“I may appreciate her presence, but I very much doubt she’ll take pleasure in mine.”
“The famous charm not working, eh?” asked the earl, with an ironic lift of his eyebrows.
“Whatever it is that draws the young ladies has no effect on Miss Anne Heriot, I assure you. And looking like an old granny last night did not help!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Charles with a laugh. “She seemed to appreciate the scene.”
“God, I did look ridiculous, didn’t I? Ah, well, maybe I’ll have to seek out another heiress in the spring,” he added, with an only half-humorous sigh.
* * * *
After breakfast, Jack wandered into the library, where Val was still examining the account books.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Val!”
“I know. That’s what Elspeth says. But I feel like I need to get a handle on the estate as quickly as possible. I promise I’ll be finished in half an hour, Jack.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find something to read.” Jack pulled down a volume of poetry and wandered out to the hall, where the kitchen smells were even more intense. He couldn’t help it; he had to follow his nose.
Elspeth and Anne were standing by a large copper basin, taking turns stirring the Christmas pudding.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“Jack, just what we need! Another arm to give it a stir,” said Elspeth with a welcoming smile.
“Have you put the charms in yet?”
“They are right here,” Elspeth told him, pointing her spoon at the little silver objects.
“Well, drop them in, Elspeth, and I’ll make sure they are thoroughly mixed,” said Jack, taking off his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Anne watched as the charms disappeared into the batter, and then her attention was drawn from the raisin-studded pudding to the strong arm mixing it. Lord Aldborough might be on the slender side, but his arms rippled with well-developed muscles as he stirred. Anne stepped back as she felt a warmth flood her that she suspected had less to do with her proximity to the stove and more with the closeness of that brown arm. She fussed with the copper bowl intended for cooking the pudding.
The cook returned just as Jack gave one last stir. “Na then, my lord, let me do the pouring,” she said as she shooed them away.
Jack shrugged his coat back on, and he and Elspeth went out, leaving Anne struggling with her apron strings.
“Tha can’t concentrate, eh, lass,” teased the cook. “I don’t blame tha, what with that handsome gentleman around.”
“It’s just tied too tight,” Anne replied. As she was folding the apron she saw the slim volume that Jack had left on the table. “Lord Aldborough must have brought this in,” she said.
“Well, tha had better return it, then, lass,” the cook told her with a wink.
Elspeth had wandered into the library to see if she could drag Val out, and Jack had just been heading into the drawing room to read when he realized that he’d left his book behind. He met Anne halfway down the corridor.
“I believe this is your book, Lord Aldborough,” she said.
“Ah, there is my book…”
They both spoke at the same time, and Anne gave a nervous little laugh.
“I was just about to take advantage of the fire in the drawing room, Miss Heriot. Would you care to join me while we wait for Elspeth to drag Val away from the accounts?”
Anne could hardly refuse the invitation, so she preceded him into the room.
“I was lucky to find a volume of verse in the library,” Jack told her politely once they were seated on either side of the fire. “You like poetry, then, my lord?”
“I do. And you also, I am sure. Most ladies do.”
“Not particularly,” Anne admitted. “I would rather deal with numbers than words any day. I know where I am with numbers.”
“And you don’t with words?”
“Some people’s words,” Anne replied with an edge to her voice. “Especially poets’ words. They’re always saying one thing and meaning another. Writing some exaggerated folderol about love.”
“You do not believe in love?” Jack lifted his eyebrows and gave her a mischievous glance. She wanted to lower her eyes but was determined not to give way to his attempts at roguish charm.
“Of course I do. I loved my father. I love my friends. I just don’t believe in that romantic twaddle the poets write about.”
“ ‘Folderol’ and ‘twaddle’! Let’s see if I can find a good example of either. This seems to be a collection of verse arranged historically.” Jack paged through the book from back to front. “Now, Miss Heriot, I cannot believe that you are immune to Lord Byron.”
“Completely, my lord,” Anne said briskly.
“ ‘She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies…’ ” Jack read the lines dramatically.
“There, you see what I mean! What does that mean, anyway?”
“I must confess I am not sure,” Jack admitted with a grin, “but it sounds beautiful.”
“Oh, aye, I’ll give you that.”
“ ‘She was a phantom of delight…’ ”
Anne giggled.
“Mr. Wordsworth does not impress you either, I see.”
Jack paged forward in the book. “Wait a minute, here is one… Uh, no, I think I will not read Andrew Marvell after all.”
“You had better not,” said Anne with a mischievous look in her eye. “They made sure at school that we did not have that poem.”
“So you have read it?”
“Well, you cannot forbid something and expect a lass not to seek it out, my lord.”
“Well, here is one, although I am sure you’ll have something against this one also:
It lies not in our power to love or hate
For will in us is overruled by fate.
…………
Where both deliberate, the love is slight.
Whoever loved, that loved not at first sight?
Anne gave him a superior smile. “I find Mr. Marlowe the most fatuous of all.”
“So you don’t believe in such instantaneous attraction, then?”
“I do not believe that such attraction is love, my lord. As usual, the poet exaggerates.”
“I think I must yield to your practicality, Miss Heriot. I confess myself to be more a romantic than you are after all.”
On the surface, their conversation was merely the sort of banter one used to pass the time, but Anne knew she had conveyed an unspoken message: “Don’t try your charms on me, my lord. Poetry will not convince me any more than your frankness did.”
Jack was by no means oblivious to Anne’s message. She was the most exasperating young woman he had ever encountered. On the other hand, there was a crackly tension in the air that he was sure did not emanate from him alone. He continued paging through the book until he was at the very beginning and without thinking, he read aloud the first lyric:
Western wind, when wilt thou blow?
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again!
Anne’s eyes met his in surprise for a split second, and then she lowered her gaze and blushed. “I have never heard that poem before,” she said softly.
“I suspect your teachers would not have approved of “Anonymous’ any more than they did of Marvell,” said Jack with a grin. “He is very plainspoken, though, Miss Heriot. No folderol here.”
“I must agree with you, my lord. But there is no proof, is there, that the author is a ‘he’? It may have been written by a woman.” The words were out of Anne’s mouth before she thought, and she couldn’t believe she had said them.
“I suppose it could have been,” Jack admitted. “Perhaps a woman like you, direct and plainspoken.”
Just then the door opened and Elspeth walked in. Anne had never in her life been so grateful to see another person.
“We were just reading some poetry, E
lspeth,” said Jack, his words innocent but his tone full of mischief.
“Poetry? I am surprised you did not put Anne to sleep. It was her least favorite subject at school.”
“So Miss Heriot informed me. I see you can’t pry Val loose.”
“He has promised me that he will be here at any minute.”
“And here I am, my darling wife,” said Val, coming in behind her. “Now, what are the plans for this afternoon?”
“I thought Anne and I might go for a ride. The snow was lighter than it looked. Does either of you wish to join us?”
“I have a few errands in the village,” Val said vaguely.
“And I want to give Sancho a day of rest,” said Jack.
“We could mount you easily, Jack,” Elspeth offered.
“I must confess I am giving myself a day to rest also.”
After the women left, the men settled in front of the fire.
“You don’t seem to be in a hurry to do your errands, Val. If you need a companion, I’d be happy to walk into Ripley with you.”
“I don’t have any errands, Jack. I have arranged a surprise for Elspeth, and I am waiting for them,” Val confessed with a smile.
“For them?”
“Yes. Her parents. I asked Ian to request an earlier leave. If it hadn’t been for the weather, I’d have expected them yesterday.”
“I am sure Elspeth will be very pleased.”
“I shouldn’t be saying anything, but Elspeth and I have an announcement to make tomorrow, and I wanted her parents here.”
“An announcement?”
“She is increasing,” said Val, with a sheepish look.
“Why, that is wonderful, Val! My God, you’ll be a father!”
“You had better have a believable look of surprise on your face tomorrow,” Val warned his friend.
“I will, I promise. What does it feel like?”
“Terrifying. I have no idea how to be a father, Jack, never having had one myself.”
“Charles came into your life rather late, didn’t he?”
“And I resented the hell out of him. We didn’t become close until Charlie died.”
“I am lucky. My father is a good man and spent more time with us than most parents. Speaking of fathers,” continued Jack, trying to sound casual, “what sort of father was Robert Heriot?”
Val gave his friend an amused glance. “From what Elspeth says, he loved his daughter but was not very good at showing it. Their most intimate moments were spent over the account books.”
“Perhaps that explains why Miss Heriot is such a relentlessly practical woman,” said Jack with a sigh.
“They’re two of a kind, Elspeth and Anne, two plainspoken lasses. But even the most practical woman has a romantic side. Don’t give up. Elspeth is sure you were made for each other.”
“So you’ve told me,” Jack said dryly. “Your wife is more of a dreamer than you think, Val, if she supposes Miss Heriot to be vulnerable to my wooing. Why, reading poetry to her only led to a discussion of how wrongheaded poets are about love!”
* * * *
The two men spent a comfortable half hour in front of the fire, and then they heard a muffled clattering in the drive.
“It must be the Gordons,” said Val. “They made it!”
It was indeed Elspeth’s parents, and Val and Jack hurried out to greet them.
“I am so glad to see you, sir,” Val exclaimed. “How were the roads?”
“Not that bad, Valentine. The snow squalls we had yesterday were deceptive. They looked worse than they were.”
“Unless you were riding in them,” said Val, gesturing at Jack, who was helping Mrs. Gordon down.
“So it’s Captain Belden! Or I should say, Lord Aldborough. You didn’t get enough of cold rides in the army, eh, lad?”
“Well, yesterday might have convinced me of the benefits of retirement, sir!”
“Oh, Yorkshire can be wild, and the storm was coming from the north…but nothing like Scotland, eh, Peggy?” said Major Gordon, pulling his wife close to him and dropping a kiss on the top of her head before letting her go.
That quick little gesture of affection touched something in Jack. He had friends who were engaged and a few who were in good marriages, like Val. But to see that the Gordons still expressed their love for one another so easily and spontaneously after all these years together moved him profoundly. For the first time, he imagined himself dropping a kiss so easily, leaning over to touch his lips to dark brown hair threaded with gray. He stood there for a moment as the others went inside, struck by the fact that the woman in his fantasy came up only to his chest. The woman in his vision of long-married bliss was Anne Heriot.
“Are you coming, Jack?”
Val’s voice brought him out of his reverie, but it occurred to him as he went in the door that he couldn’t replace Anne Heirot’s image with any of the women he’d been with over the years or any of the young ladies whose hearts he had unwittingly won.
* * * *
Anne and Elspeth were out for a good two hours, and when they returned Elspeth wondered aloud at the strange carriage.
“Who could be visiting us so late in the day, and on Christmas Eve? Whose carriage is this?” she asked their groom.
“I don’t really know, Mrs. Aston,” said the groom, who had been sworn to secrecy.
When Elspeth got to the house, she asked the butler and got a vague answer: “Someone on estate business, madame. Mr. Aston is closeted with them, er, him in the library.”
“Well, tell my husband I will be down shortly and remind him we are dining early because it is Christmas Eve.” Elspeth’s annoyance at Val’s obsessive concern with the estate accounts on a holiday eve was clear. “Come, Anne, we are going to dress for dinner, and then we are going to drag Val out of his cave!”
* * * *
When Elspeth and Anne came down half an hour later, there was no one in the library.
“Where on earth is he?” muttered Elspeth.
“I hear voices in the drawing room,” Anne told her.
“If he has invited this person to stay, I will be annoyed.”
Anne smiled. “Will be” was hardly accurate. Elspeth was very annoyed now, and she opened the door to the drawing room with an angry push, and then stopped so suddenly that Anne almost bumped into her.
“Valentine, how could you!”
Anne could tell from Elspeth’s tone that whatever Val had done, she was no longer annoyed.
Then all was a flurry of “Mama, Papa.” “There, there, ma wee lassie,” and “Darling, we are so happy to be here…” and Anne watched in amusement as Elspeth rested her head for a moment on her father’s shoulder and then turned to Val, her voice breaking.
“Oh, Val, how ever did you get them here and how did you know what a perfect Christmas present this would be?”
Anne stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the family reunion. Jack, who had been standing with his back toward her, suddenly turned and gave her a smile that lit his whole face and made her catch her breath. It was a smile one friend might give another. It conveyed his happiness for Elspeth, as well as his enjoyment at seeing her shaken out of her usual sangfroid.
It was also a smile that communicated more than just fellow-feeling. It held all of the charm that Jack Belden was famous for, and for the first time since she’d seen that charm, it had its effect on Anne. She had to take a deep breath to steady herself before she approached the Gordons.
“Why, there’s ma wee Yorkshire lass,” said Major Gordon, coming over and grabbing Anne’s hands in his.
“It is good to see you again, Major Gordon. I am pleased that you remember me.”
“Of course I remember you, Annie. It wasn’t that long ago, after all, and ye haven’t grown an inch!”
Everyone laughed. “Anne is the true ‘wee lass,’ Father, not me,” Elspeth said dryly. “Val, could we have some wine?”
“Samuels is on his way, Elspeth. In fact
, here he is. But with champagne, not sherry,” added Val, standing next to his wife and putting his arm around her waist.
“Champagne!” exclaimed Mrs. Gordon.
“It is Christmas Eve, Peggy,” said her husband, “and we’re all here together.”
“And Val and I have an announcement to make,” said Elspeth.
“First a toast!” said her father.
“Hush, Ian,” said Mrs. Gordon, a knowing gleam in her eye. “Elspeth has something to tell us.”
“Val and I are going to be parents,” announced Elspeth, her face pink with both pleasure and self-consciousness.
“Ye’re to be a mother!” exclaimed her father joyously. “When is my grandson expected?”
“Or granddaughter, Ian,” his wife reminded him.
“Sometime in June,” replied Val.
“Congratulations to both of you,” said Charles.
“What a lovely night for such an announcement,” Anne said after they had drunk their toast.
“I had been planning to tell you all over Christmas dinner, but I couldn’t wait, not after seeing Mother and Father.”
“Have you picked a name yet?” asked Major Gordon.
“We have talked about it already,” said Val. “It is to be Margaret if it is a girl,” he said, nodding at Elspeth’s mother.
“And if it is a boy?” Jack asked him.
Val looked over at his father. “Charles,” he said. “Perhaps ‘Charlie’ for short.”
“Thank you, Valentine,” his father said softly, but everyone could hear the emotion in his voice.
Just then a footman appeared in the doorway. “Supper is ready,” announced Elspeth.
* * * *
After a light supper, the carriages were brought ‘round to take them to church for Christmas Eve services. Anne was happy to see that the church, although beautifully decorated, was plain, and the service closer to her own chapel background than she had expected. The hymns were all the familiar carols, and as Anne lifted her voice on “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” she could hear Jack Belden’s resonant baritone behind her. He had a beautiful voice, she had to admit, and he sang with feeling.
The moon was almost full and though the night was cold, it had warmed up from the day before, so the parishioners lingered a little in the doorway, wishing one another a Merry Christmas.
Jack of Hearts Page 11