Little sandwiches and biscuits and cakes were always available at Jarrod's houses, but he'd always had to ask for them. No one in his male-dominated households ever thought to provide the tiny comforts that Colin and Griffin now took for granted.
Jarrod entered the study and stood staring at the tray of coffee and sandwiches on the butler's table beside Gillian.
"Hello, Lord Shepherdston." Gillian looked up from the cipher table she was adjusting and saw Jarrod looking forlorn and out of place.
Colin looked up as well. "Come in, Jarrod, and get warm." It had begun to rain and the evening air was damp and chilly. "Gilly had Britton bring in some coffee."
"Yes, please, Lord Shepherdston, won't you come in and make yourself comfortable?" She motioned him toward a leather chair near the fire. A pretty embroidered pillow in a Scottish thistle design rested in the seat. "I'm working on a series of Scottish-themed designs," she explained when she noticed him eyeing the pillow. "And Colin likes to show off my needlework, but if pillows bother you, just push it aside or set it on the floor."
"Leave it where it is and sit down," Colin instructed. "Try it. I never noticed how uncomfortable those chairs were until Gilly started putting pillows in them to lean against. Makes all the difference in the world. Especially if you prop your feet on the ottoman."
Jarrod sat down and put his feet on the ottoman. Those pillows did make the chair more comfortable.
"Are you hungry?" Gillian asked. Lord Shepherdston hadn't said a word since he'd entered the study.
Suddenly realizing he hadn't eaten anything since early afternoon, Jarrod put his feet down and leaned forward.
"No." Gillian waved him back into his seat. "Stay where you are. I'll make you a plate. Would you like roast beef or chicken or cucumber?" When he didn't sit back or answer her polite query, she lifted a small plate from the table and filled it with two of each, then added a small scone and a wedge of gingerbread. "Would you like coffee or something stronger?" She looked from Jarrod to her husband and back again. "Colin," she said softly, "something's wrong with Lord Shepherdston."
Colin came around the table in two strides. "Jarrod, are you all right?"
Jarrod looked up at him. "Why didn't we ever have vases of flowers and bowls filled with the dried pieces all over the house?" he demanded.
Colin blinked. He and Griffin had rented a London town house together until Griff married. Then Colin had moved into Jarrod's London town house. He'd kept a suite of rooms in Jarrod's London house and at Shepherdston Hall until he'd married Gillian. "I don't know," he replied. "I never noticed the lack or thought about them until I married Gillian."
Jarrod glanced at Gillian. "They're nice."
"Thank you, Lord Shepherdston." Gillian handed him the plate of food and was gratified to see him wolf the sandwiches down.
"And the pillows you made and the sandwiches that always come with the coffee and whatever it is you do to make Colin's shirts smell good…"
"I tuck clove and sandalwood sachets in his linen drawer," Gillian answered.
"That's nice, too."
"Thank you, again." Gillian smiled.
Jarrod nodded toward the pillow. "Sewing a design like that probably takes a long time, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Gillian answered. "When you're first learning it takes quite a bit of time to do it right, but once you master the stitches, the degree of difficulty depends on the detail of the design."
"Why do you do it?" Jarrod asked. "When it isn't necessary?"
"It's a way of showing I care," she said. "My mother calls them 'loving touches' — all these little extra things we do to make our houses and the people we care about more comfortable."
Her mother. Jarrod often forgot that his friends had mothers who cared about them. He had been without one so long. And had never had one who cared about him. It seemed impossible that a good many people still did.
Gillian smiled at Colin as she continued her explanation. "When Colin puts on his shirts and smells the sachets, it's a reminder that I love him and care about his comfort. When guests enter our home and see vases of flowers, they know I love my husband and home enough to welcome our friends."
Jarrod closed his eyes and groaned. "Christ!" He thought back to all the times Sarah had followed him around the grounds at Shepherdston Hall, all the times she'd tagged after him between the village and Shepherdston Hall, when she'd bring him a lunch or share hers with him. How she'd always offer him a biscuit or a piece of gingerbread and how she gifted him with sticks of peppermint and carefully embroidered handkerchiefs bearing his initials or family motto or tiny stitched replicas of his family crest every Boxing Day.
He had taken the tokens for granted, considering them the gifts of a girl trying to curry favor. When all the time, she was trying to show him how much she cared in the only way she could.
And in all the time he'd known her, Jarrod had never once given her anything in return.
"What is it, Jarrod?" Colin asked.
"She did love me," he replied in wonder.
"Your mother?"
"No." Jarrod shook his head. "Sarah."
"Of course she loves you," Gillian said. "One has only to look at her when you're in the room to see it."
"She did love me," Jarrod repeated, "but I'm afraid I killed it."
"How?" Colin demanded.
"By always taking," Jarrod said. "And never trusting her enough to give her my heart." He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands. "I've never given her a thing."
"Then it's time you began," Griffin said from the doorway. "And you'll be getting a very early start on a very busy day, Lord Shepherdston, unless Dunbridge has withdrawn his challenge and gifted you with a couple of hours of additional sleep…"
"He hasn't," Colin replied.
Griff shook his head. "Then you have a duel at dawn." He turned to Jarrod. "Since we haven't heard from Dunbridge's seconds, I'll supply the dueling pieces. I know you dislike firearms, but the choice is ours and you're an excellent shot. Dunbridge isn't." He held up his hand when Jarrod would have interrupted. "Take it from me, sword cuts hurt like the very devil and take forever to heal. You have a better chance of surviving unharmed with a pistol, and it goes without saying that we want you unharmed for myriad reasons, including the fact that you've a breakfast at White's, a meeting at Whitehall at eight, a meeting with the archbishop of Canterbury at nine, and a great deal of shopping to do."
"Shopping?"
Griffin nodded. "You love the girl, don't you?" Jarrod looked bewildered.
"Is the world a better place when you're with her?" Griffin asked.
"Do you find yourself laughing and smiling and thinking of things you'd like to tell her at the oddest moments?" Colin added.
"Does she make you feel there's nothing in the world you can't accomplish if you put your mind to it?" Griffin asked. "Even when you're trembling in your boots at the idea of attempting it?"
Colin reached for Gillian's hand and squeezed it. "Do you find yourself looking forward to evenings at home alone with her? Or thinking about the sexes and names of your unborn children? Can you envision your life without her?"
"Do you want to give her the moon and stars?" Gillian asked.
"My heart," Jarrod burst out. "I want to give her my heart."
"Give her your heart after you give her a cartload of gifts," Griffin advised. "After what happened tonight and what's likely to happen when the morning newspapers hit the stands, her reputation is ruined. You're going to do a great deal of groveling before you can expect to marry the girl; otherwise, she may try to cut your heart out with a spoon…"
"In other words," Colin said, "shopping. And if I were you, I'd start with a ring."
"And now that that's settled," Griffin drawled, "let's let Gillian tell us what she's discovered…"
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Contents - Prev | Next
Without hope, we liv
e in desire.
— Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321
"She's asleep at last." Lady Dunbridge tiptoed out of the bedchamber she shared with Sarah and into the tiny sitting room where Lord Mayhew waited.
Lord Mayhew shouldn't have been there at all. But the fact that he had carried Sarah up the stairs, into the room, and placed her on the bed had allowed him entrance, and now he was loath to leave. "A good night's sleep will do her a world of good," he said. "She'll see things in a better light in the morning."
"I hope so," Lady Dunbridge said. "I thought my heart would break. I've never seen anyone look so hurt and lost as Sarah did when all her lovely dreams came crashing down around her, and I could have cheerfully strangled Shepherdston with my bare hands for hurting her." She turned to Lord Mayhew. "I don't know if I dare leave her alone long enough to meet you at Ackermann's in the morning."
Lord Mayhew smiled at her. "This morning, my love. And there's no need to meet me at Ackermann's. I'll simply wait for you to complete your morning ablutions and escort you to Lambeth Palace. I can purchase a special license and we can be married there or in any church that takes your fancy along the way back."
"I had planned to ask Sarah to walk Precious for me in the park while I slipped out to meet you." She nodded toward her King Charles spaniel sleeping peacefully on Lord Mayhew's foot. "But now, I don't know that I should…" She bit her bottom lip and frowned.
"We could postpone it another day or two," Lord Mayhew said. "But I've already waited twenty years to marry you and I hate the thought of adding to it."
"What about Lord Shepherdston?" Lady Dunbridge asked. "Will he really face Reggie in a duel?"
Lord Mayhew snorted. "Jarrod will be there. He was publicly challenged. He has to show up or risk losing his honor. Especially since Dunbridge also recorded that ridiculous wager and Sarah's name in the betting books at White's…"
Lady Dunbridge looked at him in sudden dread. "What ridiculous wager?"
"Dunbridge wagered a thousand pounds that he would marry Miss Sarah Eckersley at season's end. Jarrod wagered that wouldn't be the case."
"Good heavens!" Lady Dunbridge exclaimed. "But Reggie has turned out to be worse than I thought. Imagine evicting a girl from her home and dragging her reputation through the mud in order to force her to marry him. How could he believe it would work?"
"How could it not work?" Lord Mayhew posed the question for the sake of argument. "When you look at it from Dunbridge's point of view? Sarah was the daughter of the late rector. Why wouldn't she want to marry a wealthy viscount?"
"Because he's Reggie Blanchard and she's in love with Jarrod Shepherdston."
"But Shepherdston has made his aversion to marriage quite clear. Dunbridge knows that all he has to do is force the issue. Once he has Sarah at his mercy, who is going to stand in his way? Especially since he's a wealthy viscount and an excellent catch for a rector's daughter? Most other girls would have crawled to Dunbridge on their knees and begged him to save them." Lord Mayhew smiled. "But our rector's daughter took a different approach. She refused to settle for Dunbridge so long as there was a chance she might have the man she loves. It was really quite extraordinary." He looked at Henrietta. "When you think about it, Dunbridge has done us a favor. He's forced Jarrod's hand, so you and I don't have to. The question at hand is whether Dunbridge has the courage to make an appearance at Wimbledon Downs."
"He issued the challenge."
"Yes, he did," Lord Mayhew agreed. "In the heat of the moment in order to avoid further embarrassment. Still, Jarrod gave him a dozen excuses to withdraw. Let's hope he's smart enough to make use of them."
"I don't know," Lady Dunbridge said. "When I think of the hell he's put us through these last few days and the fact that he's responsible for shredding Sarah's good name, having Lord Shepherdston skewer him might prove very satisfactory."
"I believe swords are passe," Lord Mayhew said. "Dueling pistols are the thing nowadays."
"A shot through the heart would be equally satisfying," Lady Dunbridge said with relish.
"To you, perhaps, my darling, but not for Jarrod. He's been involved in far too many scandals and seen too much destruction."
"I'd forgotten about that," Lady Dunbridge said. "I was living in Helford Green by then, and although there were a few whispers when the bodies were brought back for burial in the family plot, most everyone in the village simply let the dead stay dead for Lord Shepherdston's sake."
"Would that it was so simple for the rest of us," Lord Mayhew breathed.
"Oh, Robert, I'm so sorry," Lady Dunbridge whispered. "It was such a tragedy for Lord Shepherdston and for you. They were part of your family and you had only recently lost your wife."
Lord Mayhew sighed. "My wife's death caused it."
Lady Dunbridge covered his hand with hers. "I didn't know."
"No one did," he told her. "Not even Jarrod. Until I told him tonight."
"Oh, no."
He nodded. "I feel responsible for what happened between him and Sarah. If I hadn't just told him the truth about his parents' deaths, he might have been better able to handle hearing Sarah's declaration of love."
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," Lady Dunbridge quoted wistfully. "Sarah's love for him has never been a secret to Lord Shepherdston; he simply didn't realize the depths of it. He's frightened by the responsibility of loving her in return. Marriage is the least of it."
"No," Lord Mayhew disagreed. "Marriage is the heart of it. And it may seem silly to us, but we didn't grow up the way he did. I saw the destruction wrought in the name of marriage, but I was an adult. I can't imagine how he must have felt as a child…"
"Living at Helford Green, with Shepherdston Hall right down the way, we heard the rumors of wild parties and other antics, but I never dreamed it could be as bad as they made it out to be." Lady Dunbridge moved closer to Lord Mayhew.
"Oh, Henrietta," he said, "it was every bit as bad as the rumors and worse." Taking a deep breath, Lord Mayhew told the story of what happened to Jarrod's parents for the second time in one night, promising himself that once he was done, he'd never breathe a word of it again for as long as he lived. "Jarrod found his parents. His mother murdered his father and the housekeeper before killing herself. And the scene has fueled Jarrod's nightmares and mine ever since. It was a scene no human being should ever have to witness, least of all a boy of sixteen who should have been left with some illusions about his parents, a boy who should have been allowed some innocence…"
In the next room, Sarah, who had pretended to sleep so that Aunt Etta wouldn't worry, now lay awake listening as Lord Mayhew revealed the whole horrible story. And when he finished telling Aunt Etta about the tragedy Jarrod had endured, Sarah discovered she loved Jarrod all the more for having become the man he was.
For if ever there was a little boy who had reason to distrust, it was the boy she'd known as Jays. And if ever a man had reason to prefer the veracity of physical desire and to question the abstract of love, it was the fifth Marquess of Shepherdston, for he had known too much of one and not enough of the other.
It didn't excuse his behavior. It only explained it. Everyone Jarrod had ever loved had let him down except Lord Mayhew and the Free Fellows. And he'd clung to them because they were the only people he trusted, the only people he knew who accepted him as he was.
Because the mighty Marquess of Shepherdston was terrified of loving and being hurt. Terrified of being alone and abandoned.
Sarah understood.
She'd loved and lost. She knew the fear of being alone. She knew the pain of feeling abandoned, first when her mother died and later, when she'd lost her father. But she had never really been alone or abandoned. She had always had Aunt Etta and Jarrod.
Aunt Etta was about to marry Lord Mayhew. And Sarah was happy for her aunt, thrilled that Aunt Etta had found love with the man she'd dreamed about after all these years.
Now, it was time for Sarah to do the same.
* * * * *
Jarrod waited in his coach at the dueling oak as the sun began its ascent into the eastern sky. He stamped his feet to ward off the chill and sipped at the flask of whisky-laced coffee Colin had brought along.
Griff had brought along a pair of beautifully balanced dueling pistols and Jarrod fervently hoped he didn't have to use them. Unlike Griff or Colin, Jarrod had never killed another human being and hoped he never would. He'd been fortunate that his part in the war had primarily been spent in financially supporting the numerous clandestine activities in which the Free Fellows engaged. Oh, he'd been on smuggling runs and had been fired upon a time or two, but he'd never shot anyone with the intent to wound or kill and he'd never had to dispatch a man with a sword or knife as Colin and Griff had been forced to do.
Jarrod didn't doubt that he could kill if he was forced to do so, but an imagined slight like the one Dunbridge had accused him of seemed a silly reason to contemplate killing a man. Dunbridge wasn't protecting Sarah's honor any more than he was. They were quarreling like children over a favorite toy and the fact that he had allowed Dunbridge to maneuver him into this position infuriated him.
"Do you think he's coming?" Colin asked, shifting into a more comfortable position.
"I haven't heard otherwise," Jarrod replied, stamping his feet again.
"Did you stop by your house and check for messages?" Griff asked. "I've heard that dueling participants often back out at the last moment and when that happens, it's up to the other participant to decide if they wish to continue the matter or let it go."
"I roused Henderson from his bed," Jarrod said. "Dunbridge hasn't sent a message."