The Jacobite's Return (The Georgian Rebel Series) (8 page)

“There is one thing that puzzles me above all others.” That piercing look was back in Lady Harpenden’s eyes. “My duty is to the Sheridan name, and I am grateful to have you as part of our prestigious family, my dear. But I am at a loss to understand what motivated you to wed my nephew.”

Chapter
Seven

Rosie regarded the unexpected visitor with undisguised bewilderment. It was surprising enough that Lady Kendall had chosen to pay Lady Drummond a morning visit—they were hardly kindred spirits—but when her ladyship’s mission emerged, it became even more astonishing.

“I have come to crave the indulgence of your company on a riding expedition I am organising to the countryside on the morrow, Lady Sheridan.” Something of Rosie’s thoughts must have shown on her face, because Lady Kendall gave a tinkling laugh. “I do declare, you look quite confounded. I have the sweetest little mare called Firefly, who does not get enough exercise. You will be doing me the greatest favour if you will ride her for me, and I vow ’twill be the most delightful jaunt imaginable.”

Rosie tried to disguise her horror at the prospect. She could not conceive of anything worse than a day spent in the company of Jack’s mistress. And probably Jack himself. “Your ladyship is too kind, but I already have plans.” How easily the lie sprang to her lips. Having once killed a man and been forced to flee from justice, getting out of a social occasion with a woman she disliked was an easy task in comparison.

Or so she thought. She had not bargained on Lady Drummond’s interference. “Have you, my dear? I am surprised you did not mention them to me, because I distinctly remember asking you and you said you had no engagements tomorrow.”

Lady Kendall’s smile remained in place, but her eyes probed Rosie’s countenance. Anything less than diplomacy and acceptance now would mean committing one the greatest sins of the polite world…rudeness. “You are right, of course, Lady Drummond.” She pinned her best smile on her face and turned back to Lady Kendall. “Your ladyship must forgive me. My days are so busy lately, my wits appear to have gone begging. I am confusing the events of the morrow with those of the day after. I will be delighted to join you.”

If there was a hint of gritted teeth about Rosie’s response, Lady Kendall appeared not to notice it. Once she had secured Rosie’s agreement, she stayed only another ten minutes, talking of the merest commonplaces. Then, with a swish of chintz, she was gone, only the lingering musk of her perfume remaining to remind her stunned hosts that she had been there at all.

“Good heavens.” Lady Drummond was, for once, at a loss for any other words.

“Should I cry off, ma’am? If you think I should not go, I will not do so.” Rosie hoped her voice did not reveal her desperate eagerness to refuse the invitation. No matter how much she wanted to see Jack, the prospect of encountering him in Lady Kendall’s company was unbearable. “I thought her ladyship was not, perhaps, a proper person with whom to keep company?”

“Lud, child! Louisa Kendall may be a wanton, but she is received everywhere and ’twould not do to offend her. No, you must join her on this expedition. She is famous for her skill in the saddle.” Lady Drummond giggled naughtily. “If that is what it is called these days. Now, let us consider, will you wear the lavender habit? I do think, my dear, that perhaps we should purchase some new ribbon for your straw bonnet, that flowered lilac does not enhance your pretty face as it should…”

Rosie was able to switch off from her ladyship’s chatter while she contemplated the forthcoming jaunt. Jaunt? Torture, more like. Had Jack discussed her with Lady Kendall? Was this an elaborate way of showing her he had moved on? Or was it Lady Kendall’s way of showing a rival how deeply enamoured he was of his new mistress? She didn’t think the disreputable Lady Lou was that insecure. And she knew for a fact Jack hadn’t moved on. The kiss they had shared the other day had told her that more powerfully than words ever could.
He might be sleeping with her, but he still loves me.
The thought made her shiver, saddening and delighting her at the same time. Or perhaps she was overthinking things, and it really was as simple as a horse called Firefly needing more exercise.

On the following day, any hopes Rosie might have harboured of the weather thwarting Lady Kendall’s plans were put swiftly to flight when, as the housemaid opened her bedchamber curtains, a beautiful sunny day greeted her. With a sigh, Rosie sat up in bed and gloomily sipped her hot chocolate.

Lady Kendall sent a carriage for her so she could join the party at the agreed meeting point on Clapham Common at noon. When Rosie arrived Jack was already there, seated astride a glossy, black horse. He turned to observe Rosie’s arrival as Perry hurried forward to hand her down from the carriage. Jack’s frown of annoyance did not escape her notice, even as she smiled up at his friend. She watched as he threw Lady Kendall a questioning glance. Clearly, he had been unaware that Rosie was to form one of the party.

Rosie noted with surprise that the expedition—which had sounded so grand—consisted only of six people: Lady Kendall, Rosie, Jack and Perry, together with two competing admirers of Lady Kendall’s. Initially, it was impossible to ride more than two abreast, and Rosie was content to ride with Perry, while Jack and Lady Kendall rode ahead of them and the two men reluctantly brought up the rear.

Perry was, as always, delightful company. He proceeded to devote himself to Rosie’s entertainment by maintaining a steady stream of flirtatious nonsense. He did this so successfully that she soon forgot her initial dismay at Jack’s apparent irritation at her inclusion in the party. By the time they had travelled a few miles, Rosie was laughing at Perry’s outrageous comments.

Before long the road widened and they were able to ride in a group. Lady Kendall was quick to introduce the gossip that was taking London by storm.

“Have you heard the latest news? A reward of twenty thousand pounds has been offered for information leading to the arrest of the Falcon.” Her eyes held an excited sparkle that reminded Rosie of Harry’s expression when he spoke of the legendary outlaw. “Why, ’tis close to the amount offered for Bonnie Prince Charlie himself. Do you not think, Lady Sheridan, that there is something prodigiously appealing about this masked hero who has evaded capture for so long?”

Before Rosie could answer, one of the admirers cut across the conversation, his voice dripping disapproval. “I see very little to admire in a traitor, Lady Lou. His Grace of Cumberland did a fine job of quelling the rebellious Scots. This plaguey blackguard who calls himself the Falcon is naught but a damned attention seeker.”

Lady Kendall’s smile was alight with mischief. “A man such as he can have my undivided attention any time he wants it, Sir Anthony.”

“So let me understand you…all a man has to do to win your heart is harangue the English soldiers who occupy the highlands, rescue hundreds of Scots lawbreakers from the gallows and generally thumb his nose at the Crown?”

“Let us just say I would like to know such a man better.” There was a general ripple of laughter. “So if any of you”— Lady Kendall cast a glance under her lashes in Jack’s direction—“happen to know his identity, do put in a good word for me, won’t you? I am quite determined to become acquainted with him.”

Perry nudged his horse forward so that it was alongside Lady Kendall’s. “Is there to be no hope for the rest of us, Lady Lou? Must we be cast into the shade by this dastardly lawbreaker?”

“How could I fail to be interested in such a man? Look around you at the next London gathering and tell me if you see a single real man among the peacocks and popinjays. Such men bore me to the point of despair.”

“Your words wound me.” Perry placed his hand over his heart.

They rode off together, still bantering. Sir Anthony and his rival, sensing they had been outmanoeuvred, set off in pursuit. Rosie, left alone with Jack, experienced the strangest sensation. It felt a lot like shyness brought on by a lingering reminder of the explosion of passion between them at their last meeting. Even so, the thought almost made her laugh aloud. How could she possibly feel shy with
Jack
?

“We seem to have been abandoned.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice. He was right. Their companions were nowhere to be seen. “Shall we cut across the fields?”

Rosie cast a longing glance towards the open countryside. She missed her own dear horse Cleo and her daily rides in the Derbyshire countryside dreadfully. The dawdling pace of town life and riding along narrow lanes did not suit her. “Oh, yes, I should like that above all things.”

Jack spurred his horse into a gallop, and Rosie followed close behind. Although he stayed slightly ahead of her, she sensed he remained mindful of her whereabouts throughout the ride.
Taking care of me.
The thought brought a lump to her throat. It was what he had once promised to do forever.

Rosie was reminded of a similar ride on their way to Scotland, when they had paused and viewed Jack’s beautiful Northumberland country house. With their horses side by side, he had slid an arm about her waist, and they had dreamed of the day when their lives were no longer ruled by the ambitions of princes. Even such a simple matter as a ride in the country was a reminder of all they had lost. Shaking away the memories, she tried to concentrate simply on the enjoyment of the ride.

When they reined in, Rosie was flushed and breathless, and for the first time in a long time, she knew her eyes shone with pleasure. Slower now, they rode across verdant farmland, and a group of labourers doffed their caps at them, reminding Rosie painfully of her home.

“Will you tell me something, Rosie?” She stiffened. If this was about Clive… He shook his head in answer to the expression on her face. “’Tis a simple enough question. One you will be able to answer easily.”

“Then of course I will answer you.”

“How old is your son?”

He’d caught her unawares. Perhaps Rosie started nervously. Or possibly Firefly shied at the field of sheep. Whatever happened, Rosie—her grip on the reins loosened and her concentration on Jack and the intent look in his eyes as he asked the one question she had dreaded hearing from his lips—tumbled from the saddle and landed hard on the grass.

Leaping from his horse, Jack was at her side in a flash. He slid an arm about her waist, holding her against him while he removed her bonnet and brushed her hair back from her forehead. His face was ashen, and Rosie, more shaken by the tenderness in his expression than by her fall, leaned her cheek gratefully against the unyielding muscle of his shoulder.

A young farmhand, running over and acting with remarkable speed, went to Firefly’s head and calmed her. Jack’s horse viewed the scene with a superior eye, bending his head to snatch a few mouthfuls of grass. Before long, a small group of interested onlookers had gathered around them. The spectacle of a well-to-do young couple, together with the drama of an accident, proved to be more of an attraction than labouring in the fields. Several felt the need to offer advice.

“You want to rub mustard on the bruising, sir.” This was the advice of an elderly woman who sported a lone tooth at the front of her wide mouth.

“Where are you hurt?”

Glowing scarlet with embarrassment, she whispered so that only he could hear. “My backside. And I do
not
want any mustard rubbed on it, thank you.”

“No indeed. From what I remember, it is far too pretty to be accorded such treatment.” The reminiscent smile in his eyes made Rosie gasp, her injuries momentarily forgotten. “Can you stand or shall I carry you?”

“I can stand.” The memory of that kiss was too fresh. Any further proximity, for whatever reason, was best avoided.

Supported by Jack’s arm, she got slowly to her feet. When she was fully upright, however, she staggered slightly, and Jack, ignoring her protests, swept her up into his arms. The observers seemed to consider this action a cause for congratulation. A spontaneous ripple of applause broke out, with one rather exuberant gentleman going so far as to shout out, “Give ’er a kiss, guv’nor!”

The old woman—who, it emerged later, was the mother-in-law of the farmer—gestured helpfully towards the farmhouse. Jack followed her, ignoring Rosie’s objections that she really could walk unaided. When they arrived, the farmer’s wife was somewhat overawed at the invasion into her kitchen of a gentleman of obvious quality, bearing in his arms an elegantly dressed young lady. Her spouse, who had come to investigate the cause of the commotion, touched his forelock deferentially and muttered something unintelligible before swiftly disappearing back to his fields.

“Lady Sheridan is hurt, she needs to rest.” Jack ignored Rosie’s murmured protests and carried her up the shallow staircase after Mary Scoggins, as the lady of the house introduced herself. Mrs. Scoggins made her bedchamber available for her unexpected guest. Rosie was relieved to note that, although somewhat basic, it was clean and comfortable. Backing out of the room while dropping a series of curtsies, Mrs. Scoggins left them alone, and Jack placed Rosie on the bed.

“Indeed, there is no need for this fuss,” she assured him, trying to sit up, but biting her lip as she did.

Jack pushed her back down again easily. “You are going to rest here for an hour. I will remain downstairs while you do.”

“Yes, nurse,” she replied with a trace of mischief in her voice. She was instantly transported back to Jack’s convalescence and the laughing conversations they had engaged in as Rosie nursed him back to health. He had called her “nurse” then. If Jack was remembering it too, he gave no sign, but there was a warm light in his eyes as he helped her remove her shoes and bonnet and drew the coverlet over her.

Resting
was not exactly the word Rosie would have used to describe what she did for the next hour. She was uncomfortable because of the bruising to her posterior, worried about how she would get home, and concerned to think Xander might be missing his mama. These cares faded to nothing when compared to the shock of Jack’s question.
How old is your son?
When she first knew Jack was alive, she had braced herself for it. Because it was uppermost in her mind, it was almost as if Jack couldn’t
not
be thinking of it too. When the question didn’t come, she had foolishly relaxed.