“I can go wherever I likewithout any call on my time. No parliament, no bending the knee toKing George and his set.”
“Some might care aboutthose things.”
“Well, it’s a good thing Idon’t. Nothing can change it, can it?”
“You’re accepted insociety, Jack. People like you.”
“Some do. Maybe some justliked my father.”
Scattering fallen leaves, the hearseapproached Stamford village churchyard where, hunkered down in thecold, villagers waited to see off a popular duke.
“What do you intend to donext?” Harry asked. “Continue with your rooms in Town?”
“No. I’m going totravel.”
“Really? No desire for it.Saw enough during the war.”
“Not the Continent. TheBritish Isles. And not as a well-heeled gentleman.” The plan formedin Jack’s mind. “I’ll travel light like we did in the army. Just asmall portmanteau, and Arion, my faithful stallion. I’ve seenlittle of my own country.”
Harry shuddered and murmured somethingderogatory about how badly dressed he’d be, as the horses pulledthe hearse to a halt before the family’s enormous stonemausoleum.
Jack, with a deep anguished breath,took his place with the other pall bearers to carry his father’scoffin inside the stone edifice.
Jack and Harry continuedtheir conversation hours later in a tavern where two other friendsjoined them, Miles Hawkeswood, second son of the Marquess ofSterling, and Baron Waddington’s heir, Timothy Scott. In their midto late twenties, the four had formed firm friendships when theyfought with the 7thHussars during the Peninsular campaign andacquitted themselves well at the Battle of Waterloo.
Miles drew his eyebrows together, hisblue eyes rendered thoughtful by Jack’s declaration. “You’re notwaiting for the reading of the will?”
“I shan’t be missed.Everything goes to Cousin Grant. And the duchess’ relations will bethere hoping to be remembered. Can’t abide any of ’em.”
“Well I think it’s a madidea.” Miles raised his voice above the ruckus from a table in thecorner where a drunken fellow had made a clumsy attempt to pull theserving wench down onto his lap. “Traveling rough on English roadsin our foul weather sounds downright uncomfortable. Had enough ofthat in Spain where it was hot at least.”
“Couldn’t agree more,”Harry said. “Dangerous too. You could be robbed and murdered beforeyou get twenty miles from London.”
“I doubt that,” Timinterjected. “Jack was the best marksman in our regiment. He’smighty handy with his fists too. Might have been a pugilist. Justlook at him. Is anyone going to take him on?”
Jack grinned and shook his head, thendrank deeply of his ale.
Tim perched a large booted foot on hisknee and cast an eye over the breadth of Jack’s shoulders. “None ofus are short, bar Harry, and Jack towers over all ofus.”
“Dash it all, I object!”Harry thumped Tim on his arm. “I would be considered a reasonableheight if I chose a new set of friends. The ladies have nocomplaints, I might add.”
Jack pushed back his black hair fromhis brow. “I’ll carry a pistol, but I’m not looking to use itunless I have to. An adventure appeals to me. To roam about thecountry without an identity. That’s true freedom. I consideredre-enlisting, but after the war ended army life was more tediousthan exciting.”
Tim gave a dismissive wave of hishand. “And when you’ve seen as much as you care to, whatthen?”
Unable to supply an answer, Jackshrugged. “Then, I shall embark on something else.”
“Marriage? And the ladywill be of your choosing,” Harry said gloomily, his fingers rakinghis chestnut hair, his brown eyes somber. “Father has picked out abride for me. Daughter of a friend of his. He’s corresponding withher father as we speak.”
It was the first Jack had heard of it.The first of them to marry. “Who is the lady?”
“Lady ErinaRountree.”
“What’s wrong with Erina?”Jack brought the lady’s visage to mind. Abundant mahogany hair andfine green eyes. He’d danced with her at her ball when she’dentered society. Tall and slim, her gaze had challenged him, andshe’d made him laugh when she’d complained about the crick in herneck she got from talking to him. One of the few men tall enough tohave achieved that she had said. “She’s pretty. Smarttoo.”
“All right for you, no oneis pushing you to marry,” Harry said.
“No, nor is marriage partof my plans.” He didn’t want to care about anyone. “You’re a luckyfellow. Don’t know what you’re complaining about.”
