Free The Jacobite's Return (The Georgian Rebel Series) by Jane Godman Page A

“I did not dare hope I might see you.”
    “A great deal has happened since we were last together at Delacourt Grange,” Jack remarked as they fell into step together.
    Beau, deciding his young master was safe with this man whom he recognised as a friend, darted into the foliage in search of game. He emerged occasionally to check on them, his plumy tail waving and his tongue—inevitably—protruding from the corner of his mouth.
    “You must permit me to tell you, Harry, how saddened I was to hear of the death of your father.”
    “Thank you.” Harry bit his lip but maintained control of his emotions.
    “He was very proud of you, you know.” Jack was surprised to see his words provoke a flash of anger in Harry’s grey eyes.
    “He had no reason to be! I let him down—” Harry stopped abruptly, shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts.
    “I know that is not true,” Jack said, his eyes probing the boy’s face. He felt certain there was something deeper troubling Harry than the grief he felt for his father. There was anger and wretchedness as well as sadness in his expression.
    Harry appeared to search around for a change of subject. “How do Fraser and my cousin Martha fare these days?”
    “Both well. I’m sure you know that they have a son, a fine young gentleman who is my namesake.” Jack told him some of the news from Lachlan.
    “Rosie told me the king had granted you a pardon. I heard that those who were rescued from the battlefield were taken to France by the Falcon.” With a feeling of resignation, Jack parried a series of eager questions about the man who had become a folk hero on both sides of the border. Knowing the Falcon as he did, he bit back a smile as he pictured that gentleman’s self-mockery at being viewed in such a light.
    They reached the end of the path and turned to retrace their steps. Harry whistled, and Beau, with the air of one torn from urgent business, rushed up to them and then dashed away again. He repeated this action several times, to the annoyance of an elderly gentleman who happened to be in his path.
    “How you must miss your adventures with the Jacobites.” There was a touch of envy in Harry’s sigh.
    Jack opened his lips to deny it, then, with a grudging laugh, agreed. “I suppose I do, but it would not be wise to admit to such a thing here in London!”
    Harry proceeded to bombard him with questions about the aftermath of Culloden. The fantastic story of the prince’s escape to the Isle of Skye, disguised as Flora MacDonald’s maid; whether he thought the Jacobites would be able to rise again; and if they did, would Jack rejoin them?
    They were approaching the gates of the park now, and Jack experienced an unexpected pang of disappointment that he must part from this engaging lad. Some inner evil genius prompted him to ask a question he should have left alone. “Are you pleased with your sister’s choice of husband?”
    Harry’s young, open face hardened. “No, I am not,” he replied shortly. “That man is the worst kind of cur imaginable! When I think of what he did, how he informed against you and Fraser, bringing the redcoats to our door that night. And then the way he coerced”—he broke off at the intent look on Jack’s face, and finished lamely—“Rosie into moving to Suffolk when she would rather have stayed in Derbyshire. Things were difficult enough, what with Xander being born early.”
    “Xander?” Jack was aware that he spoke the name harshly.
    Harry blinked. “Alexander. Rosie’s son.”
    Jack’s own name was John Alexander Lindsey. Of course he had wondered. As soon as he heard that Rosie had a child, the thought had crossed his mind. She thought I was dead, yet she still named our son after me. Something inside him swelled and threatened to break. Not now. This is not a matter to be rushed.
    Jack cast a searching look at Harry’s averted profile. “Yet you were not speaking of Rosie when you said Sheridan had coerced