Dunbridge laughed and reached for another crumpet. "You can't expect that I should know all the rumors going about town. Or be able to verify them."
"You'll be able to verify the answer to this one," Jarrod told him, well aware that the game of cat and mouse was about to begin in earnest. "I heard the name of the man you've chosen as the new rector is a Reverend Phillip Tinsley."
"That's correct," Dunbridge confirmed.
"What do you know about him?" Jarrod asked.
"What do you mean what do I know about him?" Dunbridge answered Jarrod's question with a question.
"I mean, what do you know about him? You chose him for some reason. What do you know about him? What sort of man is he?" Jarrod demanded.
"He's a devoted man of the cloth."
Jarrod gave an exaggerated sigh. "That's a relief."
"How so?" Dunbridge demanded.
Jarrod smiled. "I heard he was looking for a governess."
Dunbridge shrugged his shoulders. "That's to be expected. After all, Reverend Tinsley is a family man with a wife and three children. Two boys and a girl, I believe."
"Two girls and a boy," Jarrod corrected. "Polly, Pippa, and Paul. Ages seven, five, and three."
"You've already made their acquaintance." Dunbridge widened his eyes in surprise. "Have you a candidate I may present as governess to Reverend Tinsley's family?"
"No, I have not," Jarrod answered. "I simply wanted to know the manner of the man before I inquired about available governesses on his behalf."
"Then you're extremely well informed," Dunbridge remarked, "for Reverend Tinsley and his family only just arrived."
"Oh?" Jarrod lifted his eyebrow. "I was given to understand that the reverend and his family have already settled into the rectory and that he had already been inducted to the living."
Lord Dunbridge inclined his head. "Once again, I commend your sources, Lord Shepherdston, on the accuracy of their information." He smiled thinly at Jarrod. "There doesn't appear to be a thing that I can tell you that you don't already know."
"You might try telling me what's become of the former residents of the rectory," Jarrod suggested. "Reverend Eckersley was a dear friend and teacher and I would like to know what's become of his daughter and his sister-in-law."
Lord Dunbridge smirked. "Didn't your sources tell you? Congratulations are in order. Miss Eckersley is engaged to be married."
"To whom?" Jarrod fought to veil his hostility.
"To me, of course!" Dunbridge exclaimed.
Jarrod half-expected Dunbridge to thump his chest like a male gorilla displaying dominance or hop onto the table and crow like a bantam rooster or flaunt his magnificent plumage like a male peacock.
"She and Lady Dunbridge — my aunt by marriage — are making their home with me at my town house." Dunbridge leaned closer to Jarrod and giggled like a schoolgirl as he confided, "I'll wager your sources didn't mention a word about that."
"No," Jarrod agreed, "they didn't." Nor did they mention Dunbridge's fantastic imagination or his ability to switch from hostile adversary to girlish confidant in the space of a heartbeat.
"Oh, it's all quite proper," the viscount confided. "After all, she is my betrothed and Lady Dunbridge is there to chaperone — at least until we're wed."
"And then?"
"I'll pension Aunt Henrietta off and into a home of her own. Can't have the relations butting in on the honeymoon or telling us how to five our lives."
"Quite right," Jarrod said. "So, when's the happy day?"
"At the end of the season."
"The end of the season?" Jarrod gritted his teeth. "Why not the beginning? What's the delay?"
"She's in mourning for her father," Dunbridge replied. "And Brummell declared that a society wedding of the magnitude of my wedding to Miss Eckersley simply couldn't take place before six months had passed."
"You consulted with Brummell about the wedding?" Jarrod was stunned by the extent of the viscount's fantasy.
"Of course," Dunbridge told him. "Brummell is the one who suggested it. He said I should marry and get myself an heir before I got too set in my ways. He remarked upon it again just last week."
"Again?"
"Yes," Lord Dunbridge confided. "He first remarked upon my need for a bucolic bride several months ago. He declared it should be a nice little nobody who would look up to me and be a satisfactory ornament upon my arm when we were out among the ton, but who would be most happy rusticating alone in the country."
"Did he, now?" Jarrod had never understood the fascination Brummell held for the prince regent and most of the other members of the ton. As far as Jarrod was concerned, George — nicknamed Beau — Brummell was a fastidious manipulator who used his wit and elegant taste to dupe those in the ton who had neither.
"But when I approached Reverend Eckersley with the matter, he informed me that he didn't feel his daughter and I would suit because Miss Eckersley had her heart set upon marrying someone else." Lord Dunbridge shrugged his shoulders. "I, of course, determined to set my cap for someone else until I realized that I would be doing Miss Eckersley a favor by sparing her the embarrassment of wearing her heart on her sleeve for someone who did not return her affections." Lord Dunbridge studied Jarrod, gauging his reaction. "And when Reverend Eckersley died suddenly, shortly after our conversation, I considered it a good omen and a sign that mine was the best course of action. I determined to press my suit with Miss Eckersley and, to my great delight, she accepted."
Jarrod fought to maintain his friendly facade a bit longer. "Have you consulted Brummell since Miss Eckersley accepted your proposal?"
"Of course," Dunbridge affirmed. "Brummell knows all there is to know about good taste and fashion and he is the regent's dearest friend. It's our hope that His Grace, the archbishop of Canterbury, will perform the ceremony and that the prince regent will stand in for Miss Eckersley's father and give the bride away."
"That would be quite an honor," Jarrod said.
"If it can be arranged," Dunbridge continued spinning his Banbury tale, "for we wish to be married in London and have our hearts set on Westminster and as you know, Prinny does so love to spend the end of the season at Brighton."
"Will you go to Brighton?"
"Oh, no." Dunbridge shook his head. "If Prinny and the archbishop cannot do the honors, then Bishop Fulton has agreed to perform the ceremony and Squire Perkins, the magistrate, has agreed to act in Reverend Eckersley's stead and give the bride away." He gave Jarrod a speculative look. "I don't suppose you'd care to attend…"
"Miss Eckersley's wedding?" Jarrod grinned broadly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world! Just name the day and time. I'll be there with bells on."
"Then I shall see you there, Lord Shepherdston," Dunbridge said. "Just as soon as Brummell settles on the date. Provided, of course, that he decides you should be invited."
"Why shouldn't I be invited?" Jarrod asked.
"It's my understanding that Brummell doesn't particularly care for you, Lord Shepherdston. It seems you've made a point of slighting him."
Slighting him? Jarrod frowned. He barely paid attention to the man. But, of course, Brummell demanded attention whenever he entered a room and would surely consider Jarrod's lack of interest in his comings and goings a slight.
"Of course an apology just might be the thing," Dunbridge suggested. "After all, Beau Brummell is the arbiter of everything fashionable in London," he reminded Jarrod. "It doesn't do to get on his bad side."
"No, of course not," Jarrod answered in as conciliatory a tone as he could manage. "You're exactly right, Lord Dunbridge. And since I would truly like to be present when Miss Eckersley weds, I'll do my utmost to make it happen."
"That's very smart of you, Lord Shepherdston, because the Beau will do his utmost to ensure that hers is a most spectacular wedding. He's very good to those in his set. And I'm quite certain that once you've made your apology, he'll be delighted to have you as a guest." Dunbridge talked as if he'd rather
marry George Brummell than Sarah Eckersley. "Once everything between the two of you is resolved, I'll see that you're made aware of the day." He smiled at Jarrod. "I'll wager Brummell already has an idea which day will prove to be the best day for a wedding."
"Let's hope he has an idea for a better groom," Jarrod replied. "Because I'll wager that if Miss Eckersley decides to accompany any man down the aisle at the end of the season, it won't be you."
Dunbridge glared at Jarrod. "I'll take that wager, Lord Shepherdston. Because I've no doubt that Miss Sarah Eckersley will marry me at the end of the season. She has no choice. She's in mourning. The doors of the ton are closed to her for another four months. And I've already let it be known that she belongs to me. Who would dare challenge my right to her — especially when she comes with no dowry and an aging aunt in tow? I'll send you notice to mark your calendar when the time comes. And as you know so much about me, you ought to know that I never leave anything to chance." He pushed back his chair and stood up. "What would make a suitable wedding present, I wonder?" He tapped his finger against his cheek, pretending to give the matter serious thought. "Shall we make it official and say five hundred pounds?"
Jarrod shrugged his shoulders. "Why not make it official and say a thousand pounds?"
"Done," Dunbridge replied. "Thank you for the coffee and refreshments, Lord Shepherdston, and forgive me for taking such delight in the moment, but it's not every day that one gets the best of the Marquess of Shepherdston. Brummell was right in advising me that I should refuse to do business with you. It has been a pleasure."
"One hasn't gotten the better of the Marquess of Shepherdston," Jarrod retaliated. "And I don't care a twopenny damn about Brummell's advice."
"I still own the Helford Green living," Dunbridge crowed. "And whoever owns the living at Helford Green owns Miss Eckersley. I own both."
"Do you?" Jarrod asked. "For I was told that you had ceded the living back to the Church."
"That arrangement is temporary."
"Indeed it is," Jarrod informed him. "As temporary as your alleged betrothal to Miss Eckersley. Because my representatives are negotiating the sale of the Helford Green living with His Grace, the archbishop of Canterbury, even as we speak."
"Bishop Fulton…" Dunbridge began.
"Bishop Fulton desperately desires a new addition to the cathedral in Bath. I was delighted to be able to fund it in exchange for his recommendation that the Church sell the Helford Green benefice and glebe to me." Jarrod was bluffing, but Lord Dunbridge didn't know that.
"He wouldn't…"
"He is," Jarrod countered.
"I'll lodge a protest with the ecclesiastical courts," Dunbridge promised.
"Be my guest." Jarrod smiled.
"And I'll hold you to our wager. It will be duly recorded in the betting books at White's for everyone to see. And when Miss Eckersley and I are wed, I'll expect to collect my thousand pounds."
"You are welcome to expect whatever you like," Jarrod said. "So write legibly and spell my name correctly. Shepherdston. No a. Two e's. You may have been ordained, but according to my sources, you failed to take a first at Trinity College because you couldn't spell 'cat' without assistance."
"You can have the Helford Green living and the glebe." Dunbridge rose from his chair. "And be damned. It served its purpose. I've got what I wanted. I've got Miss Eckersley."
Jarrod narrowed his gaze at the viscount. "You've got a vivid imagination, a packet of lies, and a vulgar waistcoat," he said. "Nothing more."
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
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I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon.
— Oliver Goldsmith, 1728-1744
"That's the fourth dress you've discarded," Lady Dunbridge commented dryly. "It's not like you to be so indecisive, Sarah."
"Then you decide." Standing arms akimbo in a long chemise, black short corset, and black stockings, Sarah replied, "Which one should I wear?"
Lady Dunbridge stared at the discarded dresses. All four were black. Two were black muslin. One was black silk and the other a lightweight black merino.
Dear Simon had only been dead two months and it wasn't at all proper for them to be in London for the season at all. But then, they had had little choice in the matter. It was London or Helford Green and they couldn't remain in Helford Green after the scene at the rectory. So, London it was. It should have been the ideal place for Sarah to find a husband other than horrid Reggie Blanchard, who had his mind set on having her for a wife. And someone other than Jarrod Shepherdston, the perennial bachelor, on whom Sarah had long ago set her heart. But they were in deep mourning and none of their friends or acquaintances were likely to invite them to take part in the "at homes," teas, soirees, musicales, or balls to which they would normally have been invited. Nor would they receive vouchers to Almack's.
Lady Dunbridge sighed. Simon Eckersley had been one of the most accommodating men ever born. It was most unfortunate that a man so accommodating in life had taken ill and died just before the early season commenced. His death and their state of mourning made their present predicament so much more difficult.
"There was nothing wrong with the one you had on before, my dear," Lady Dunbridge said at last.
"I couldn't wear that one to breakfast," Sarah told her. "It's so… so… plain. And black."
"All your day dresses and all your afternoon dresses are black." Lady Dunbridge looked down at her own black dress.
They'd dyed everything black upon Simon's passing, except one day dress and one afternoon dress apiece, two nightgowns, two sets of underthings, and their ball gowns. And the only reason those garments had escaped the dye vat was because Henrietta couldn't bear the thought of ruining Sarah's entire wardrobe. She wouldn't stay in mourning forever and she'd need something to look forward to when she despaired of ever wearing color again.
Sarah glanced at the clock, then pulled another black dress out of the wardrobe and looked over at her aunt. "I know they're all black, but they are all cut differently and made up in different fabrics. I want to look my best when we go downstairs to meet Jays."
Lady Dunbridge took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. "We aren't meeting Jays downstairs."
"Why not?" Sarah dropped the dress on the bed as she whirled around to face her aunt.
"I'm meeting him," Lady Dunbridge clarified. "Alone."
"Oh, but Aunt Etta… " Sarah began. She had dreamed of Jarrod's kisses, dreamed of seeing him again and receiving another of his kissing lessons. She hadn't expected him to give her another kissing lesson at breakfast, but she had expected to be able to see him.
"I've already acknowledged his invitation and sent word of my acceptance." She took pity on her niece. "Sarah, my dear, I know you want to see your young man. I know you're disappointed that you won't be able to share a table with him and bask in his company, but I've given this matter a great deal of thought since we received young Shepherdston's note and I think it's time for a change in strategy. And it's best that I initiate the change."
Sara frowned. "I don't understand."
"You've been chasing him since you were a little girl," Lady Dunbridge explained. "And that was fine when you were a child. But you're a grown woman now and it's time you spurred him into doing the chasing."
"I tried that last night," Sarah admitted as she began tidying the mess she'd made. "But it didn't work. Jays has never chased anyone."
"Because he's never had to chase anyone," Lady Dunbridge answered. "He's a young, handsome, rich, unmarried marquess who has always attracted attention and women who flock around him."
"That's not likely to change."
Lady Dunbridge smiled a knowing smile. "You'd be surprised how much a man is willing to change when he's motivated to do so."
"He wasn't motivated to change when I approached him," Sarah reminded her.
"Because you approached him," Lady Dunbridge said. "Because he didn't want to be the instrume
nt of your downfall. He didn't want to be the man to dishonor you or betray your father's trust. But I'll wager our marquess is more possessive than he knows."
"Jays isn't possessive at all," Sarah argued. "He offered to help me find a husband and if that failed, he offered to purchase one for me."
Aunt Etta lifted one elegantly arched eyebrow. "Did he now? How interesting."
"How humiliating." Sarah sighed. "As if I couldn't find one on my own if I wanted to."
"Beginning today, you do want to," Aunt Etta told her, putting the finishing touches on her hair before smoothing invisible creases from her skirts.
"But…"
"Don't you see, my dear? You've made it too easy for him. Just like nearly everything else in his life. Lord Shepherdston has never really had to work for anything he wanted. It's all been handed to him. He didn't take your threat seriously because he knows you've adored him since childhood. He knows you will never follow through with your plan to become a courtesan because that would make him unhappy and your adoration of him has never wavered. He knows he can count on it whenever he needs it."
"He's never needed it," Sarah answered.
Lady Dunbridge smiled another of her mysterious smiles. "He's taken it for granted, but he's always counted on having your unwavering adoration. The problem is that he's never done anything to earn it except breathe the same air you breathe. It's time we changed that. It's time we made him earn your affection — or at the very least, worry about losing it to someone else."
"Like Lord Mayhew," Sarah muttered.
"Like whom?" Lady Dunbridge's ears seemed to prick up at the mention of Lord Mayhew's name.
"Lord Mayhew," Sarah repeated.
"Lord Robert Mayhew?"
Sarah nodded.
"What about him?" Lady Dunbridge glanced in the mirror once again.
"He's Lord Shepherdston's godfather," Sarah explained. "And Jays suggested that a man like Lord Mayhew might be a better protector for me than a younger man."
"I'm sure Lord Mayhew would make an excellent protector for any woman. Young or old."
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