Read Online Jack of Hearts by Marjorie Farrell - Free Book Online

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