Hardly a Husband

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  "What good did it do? Neither of them ever loved anything or anyone else," Jarrod said bitterly.

  "Honora did," Lord Rob said. "She loved someone very much."

  "Why the devil didn't she marry that person?"

  "Because I was married to her," Lord Rob answered.

  "Her sister?" Jarrod shuddered. He knew his mother had had nearly as many female lovers as male ones and the same was true of his father. They hadn't appeared to care about gender so long as the man or woman, or both, in their beds knew how to please them. But this… Please, God, Jarrod prayed. Believing their deaths had been caused by a jealous rage was bad enough, but incest… He took a deep breath. "She was in love with her sister?"

  "No," Lord Rob explained. "Not in that way. But she loved Serena. I think Serena was the only person Honora ever loved. And Serena loved her, but she loved your father more."

  "Not you?"

  Lord Rob shook his head. "I wanted her to, but by the time I met and married her, Serena was already in love with her sister's husband."

  Jarrod's head was reeling. "I had no idea…"

  "Unfortunately, neither did I at the time." Lord Rob sighed. "Serena was older than Honora by a year and should have married first. She was madly in love with your father, and everyone expected him to offer for her, but Wesley, recognizing a kindred spirit in Honora, offered for her instead."

  "Did he know Serena was in love with him?"

  "He knew, but Serena was high-strung and emotional and your father couldn't cope with that. He didn't care that she was in love with him. But Honora did. She married Wesley knowing that Serena wanted him, and Honora promised Serena that once she conceived the Shepherdston heir, Serena was welcome to Wesley. But I came along and unknowingly offered for Serena. Her father accepted my offer and Serena and I were wed. I didn't learn about her love for your father until much later, much too late to change the way things turned out. And you were just a boy away at school."

  "What did he do?" Jarrod asked, somehow knowing that his father had been the catalyst in the tragedy.

  Lord Rob took a deep breath. "They had an affair. I suppose I should be grateful that Serena and Wesley managed to delay the inevitable for as long as they did, but… " He paused. "She never stopped wanting him. I knew nothing about it, but at some point she crossed the line from wanting to doing. He must have been between women or finally decided to take pity on Serena or hurt your mother, but Wesley and Serena had an affair. And imagine my great pleasure when after years of failing to conceive, I learned that my wife was increasing…"

  "With my father's child."

  "I don't know," Lord Rob told him. "But whether it was his or mine made no difference to me. He or she would have been my child. My heir. But when Serena told your father about it, he broke off the affair and immediately took up with the housekeeper here at Richmond."

  "And Serena died from complications of the pregnancy." Jarrod knew his aunt, Lord Rob's wife, had died with child. He hadn't known it was his father's child.

  Lord Rob took another deep breath and debated on telling Jarrod the whole truth, then decided it was time the boy knew, time he understood that he was the only innocent in the entire scandalous mess.

  "Serena didn't die in childbirth. She took her own life and the life of her child." He paused a moment, then continued:

  "Your mother was away at the time. In Italy. I did my best to keep the news quiet." Lord Rob shuddered at the memory. He'd never seen so much blood in his life. The bathing tub had been filled with it. His wife had simply slit her wrists and bled out. By the time he found her, there was nothing anyone could have done to save her. "As a suicide, Serena couldn't be buried in consecrated ground, but the child she carried was innocent. I convinced the physician who attended her not to punish the innocent for the sins of its mother and I paid him to record her death as death by complications of pregnancy. Honora returned from Italy grief-stricken, but she seemed to be recovering, until she received the letter that had been mailed to her in Italy and had eventually found its way back to London. It was from Serena and in it, Serena had poured out her heart to your mother about her unbearable pain at Wesley's infidelity." Lord Rob raked his fingers through his hair. "Honora came to me with the letter on the pretense that she needed me to confirm that Serena had written it, but she knew Serena's handwriting as well as I did." He blew out a breath. "I think Honora simply wanted me to hurt as badly as she hurt. The letter was quite sad and quite melodramatic. Serena confessed her love for your father and said that having lain with him, and having held him in her arms, made losing him again so much more intolerable. I think Honora went a little mad at that. But I didn't see it then, didn't recognize it then. Only afterward. She seemed perfectly sane when she invited me to the house. I never suspected a thing. But I should have. I'd had Serena as an example. I should have realized that while Honora hadn't minded Wesley's infidelity to her, the fact that his infidelity to her sister caused Serena's death was unforgivable." He looked at Jarrod. "You know the rest."

  Jarrod nodded. He remembered the day all too vividly. It was a Wednesday, five months to the day following his aunt Serena's death. Jarrod had arrived at the Richmond house in a hired hack, home from school for the end of term. Because it was Wednesday and the household staff's half day off, there had been no one to greet him at the front door and Jarrod had no way of knowing that less than a quarter hour earlier, Honora Shepherdston had removed a loaded pistol and ammunition from her husband's display cabinet and carried it upstairs to the master suite. She'd entered her husband's bedchamber while he was quimming the housekeeper, walked up to the bed, placed the muzzle of the pistol against the housekeeper's head, and pulled the trigger. After calmly reloading, Honora pointed the pistol at her husband.

  Wesley tried to get away, but the soft feather mattresses and the weight of the housekeeper's body sprawled atop him had trapped him. Jarrod had entered the front door in time to hear his father begging for his life. But the fourth Marquess of Shepherdston's pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The pistol shot that killed him reverberated through the house as Jarrod raced up the stairs.

  Jarrod had thrown open the doors to his parents' suite and rushed to his father's bedchamber. His mother, covered with blood and gore, stood beside the bed, tugging at his father's lifeless right hand.

  Half of the housekeeper's face was missing and his father had no face at all. Jarrod clutched the doorframe for support, then choked, swallowed bile, and managed one word. "Mother?"

  Lady Honora finished reloading and turned at the sound of her son's voice, and Jarrod found himself facing the muzzle end of the weapon. "I planned this little celebration for your homecoming, Jarrod," she said quite calmly. "My own private little celebration of your inheritance of the title. Complete with fireworks." She smiled at her son. "I invited Robert and I waited as long as I could, but he's obviously been detained. So I decided to start the party without him." She moved a few steps closer, and Jarrod had seen the look in his mother's eyes and believed he was going to die. She'd surprised him by tossing the Marquess of Shepherdston's signet ring at him. Jarrod had reacted instinctively, catching the heavy gold ring against his chest, where it left a smear of crimson against his white shirtfront. Lady Honora glanced at her husband's body, then back at her son. "Congratulations, Jarrod. You've just become the fifth Marquess of Shepherdston. The fourth one was a selfish bastard. But you'll do better. You're nothing like the spoiled and selfish Shepherdstons. You take after my side of the family. You're all Blackheath…"

  "Mother!" He saw it in her eyes, seconds before she turned the muzzle of the gun to her chest, pressed it against her heart, and pulled the trigger.

  Jarrod squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't remember leaving the bedchamber, or opening the front door, but he must have, for suddenly Lord Rob was standing in the entrance hall. His uncle had taken one look at Jarrod's face and blood-splattered clothes and grasped the situation.

  "Where?" Lord Rob had asked.


  His uncle had expected Jarrod to point the way, but Jarrod had turned and retraced his steps up the stairs. Lord Mayhew had followed, hurrying to overtake Jarrod in an effort to prevent him from revisiting the horror, but Jarrod was already there. He stood frozen in the doorway, watching as a puddle of blood spread across the Turkey rug and flowed over the threshold, onto the floor of the sitting room.

  Lord Mayhew thought he'd experienced the worst when he'd found his wife lying in a bathing tub filled with her blood, but that horror didn't begin to compare with the horror of the scene that greeted him as he entered Wesley Shepherdston's bedchamber.

  The scene had haunted Jarrod for nearly sixteen years, waking him so often from his slumber that Jarrod did his utmost not to sleep. That nightmare of a memory had a way of taking him unawares, sneaking up on him when he least expected it, reminding him that he'd witnessed murder and madness and that the madness that had seized his mother flowed in his veins. She had proclaimed him all Blackheath, but she was wrong. He was Shepherdston and Blackheath and that had proved to be an extremely volatile and deadly mix. Jarrod lived in fear that the seeds of madness he carried within him could be propagated. He couldn't marry because marrying meant perpetuating his line and perpetuating his line carried the specter of madness. Jarrod broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of cursing an innocent child with those bloodlines.

  "You are the only innocent person in the whole mess," Lord Rob said sadly. "You and poor Serena's unborn child."

  "Poor Serena?" Jarrod asked. "You loved her in spite of everything?"

  "I loved her once," Lord Rob answered. "But by the time she died, all I felt was anger and pity."

  Jarrod understood. He had been angry and hurt and disgusted and grief-stricken at the time his parents died and bewildered by their complete self-destruction. And to his everlasting shame, Jarrod had loved them anyway. "I didn't… "

  "Yes, you did," Lord Rob contradicted. "I was there, too, remember? I saw the look on your face and the pain in your eyes when you saw them like that."

  But Lord Rob didn't know the whole of it. Jarrod had never revealed his mother's last words or the fact that he had seen the look in her eyes the instant before she'd decided not to kill her son and had turned the weapon on herself. It was a burden he bore alone. Something he couldn't share. For how could he describe the feeling of relief and guilt and pain and fear he'd felt when his mother had decided to spare him? "If I felt anything at all, it was relief that they couldn't hurt each other or anyone else ever again."

  "Especially you." Lord Rob reached out and put his hand on Jarrod's shoulder.

  "They didn't want or need my love," Jarrod said fiercely.

  "No," Lord Rob agreed. "They simply took it for granted." He looked Jarrod in the eye. "As you have done with Sarah Eckersley's."

  Jarrod opened his mouth to protest and realized there wasn't anything he could say to refute Lord Rob's words.

  "I hear you have an appointment at Lambeth Palace tomorrow morning," Lord Rob said.

  "I do," Jarrod said. "I'm to speak with His Grace about the benefice at Helford Green."

  "Forget about the benefice at Helford Green," Lord Rob advised. "And purchase a special license to marry."

  Jarrod closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

  "You gave Lady Dunbridge your word," Lord Rob reminded his nephew. "You promised that you would do the right thing by her niece if any untoward gossip results from tonight's visit to the folly."

  Jarrod arched his eyebrow. "Are you about to start untoward gossip, Lord Rob?"

  "I hadn't planned upon it," Lord Rob said. "But I will if that's what it takes to make you do the right thing," he promised. Recognizing the obstinate look on Jarrod's face, Lord Rob softened his tone. One thing his parents had given the boy was a double dose of stubbornness. "Unfortunately, I don't think it's going to be necessary for me to start the untoward gossip."

  Jarrod raked his fingers through his hair. "Have you heard anything?"

  "Other than the fact that you allowed Lord Dunbridge to record a wager between the two of you over Miss Eckersley's season-ending nuptials?"

  Jarrod groaned. He'd forgotten about the wager.

  "How long do you think that's going to remain a secret among gentlemen?" Lord Rob asked. "And how do you think Sarah is going to feel when she hears about it? Because someone is bound to tell her."

  He hadn't thought about that when he'd allowed that dandified fool Dunbridge to record their wager. "Bloody hell!"

  "Ask the girl to marry you, Jarrod. Give yourself a chance to love and be loved in return. Stop living in fear of being hurt again. Life is messy, my boy, but it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Do yourself a favor and try living it. Take a gigantic leap of faith and allow yourself to reach your full potential by putting all this sordidness behind you and becoming happy and whole and free."

  "Free?" Jarrod scoffed.

  "Yes, free," Lord Rob said. "Because loving the right person and being loved by the right person doesn't hold you back. It sets you free."

  "Shepherdstons have traditionally never been very good at monogamy and marriage, Lord Rob," Jarrod persisted.

  "Then break tradition, my boy, and excel at it." He clamped Jarrod on the shoulder. "And do it now while you're young enough to truly appreciate it."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Five

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  What dire offense from amorous causes springs,

  What mighty contests rise from trivial things!

  — Alexander Pope, 1688-1744

  "May I have the honor of a dance, Miss Eckersley?"

  Sarah looked up to find Reginald Blanchard, Lord Dunbridge, standing before her.

  "No, Lord Dunbridge." She shook her head. "I think not."

  "You cannot use your mourning as an excuse," Lord Dunbridge said. "You danced earlier. I saw you."

  "I don't intend to make any excuses," she said. "I danced with my escort, who sought permission from my aunt and our hostess in order that I might do so." She stared at the man who had turned her out of the rectory. "I haven't danced with anyone else all evening."

  "You will, of course, make an exception for me." He adjusted his gaudy red and purple waistcoat, preening like a peacock before her. "Your betrothed. Just as you made an exception for your escort, Lord Shepherdston."

  Sarah frowned. "You, Lord Dunbridge, are laboring under a misconception if you suppose that I am your betrothed or that you are mine."

  "Of course we're betrothed," Lord Dunbridge told her. "When Brummell suggested I take a wife who would suit me perfectly, I chose you. I approached your father before he died and asked for your hand in marriage."

  Sarah shuddered at the idea. "My father refused to take your suit seriously and so did I."

  "Why not?" Lord Dunbridge asked. "For I am serious about marrying you. And you may trust that everything is in order. Come, my dear, don't be shy. I'll not have it said that I neglected my betrothed." He reached for her hand to pull her out of her chair.

  Sarah snatched her hand back, then jumped to her feet. She turned to escape and ran right into Jarrod's chest.

  "Good evening, Lord Dunbridge," Jarrod said as he slipped his arm around Sarah's waist to steady her. He reached down to her wrist and opened her dance card. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I believe Miss Eckersley promised me this waltz."

  "You cannot dance with her twice in one evening," Lord Dunbridge said. "People will talk."

  "People in the ton will talk whether we dance one dance or a hundred," Lord Shepherdston told him. "That is the nature of the beast and the curse with which we live."

  "I'll not have you make me a laughingstock, Lord Shepherdston, by dancing two dances with my betrothed."

  "You don't need me to make you a laughingstock, Lord Dunbridge," Jarrod told him, eyeing his loud purple and red waistcoat. "You do that quite well on your own. Now, if you will excuse us, Dunbridge, Miss Eckersley and I have
an appointment."

  Jarrod was moving to usher Sarah past Lord Dunbridge, when the older man suddenly removed his glove and slapped Jarrod across the face with it.

  The crowd of people surrounding them gasped en masse.

  "Bloody hell!" Griffin saw the commotion from his vantage point across the room near the terrace doors, where he and Alyssa and Colin and Gillian and the Garrisons were conversing. "Who let him in?"

  "Who?" Alyssa asked.

  "Christ! It's Dunbridge." Colin followed Griffin's line of sight and answered for him.

  Alyssa turned to her sister. "Was he invited?"

  "His name was on the guest list," Anne replied. "Lord Shepherdston didn't suggest that you remove it?" Colin asked.

  "No," Lady Garrison answered. "Lord Shepherdston would never do that."

  "No, he wouldn't," Colin said. "Because that would have been too easy."

  "Damn," Griffin swore again, "Jarrod had hoped Dunbridge would give the ladies wide berth."

  "Why?" Lady Garrison was curious.

  "Because they asked Lord Shepherdston to keep Lord Dunbridge away from them." Griffin shook his head. "But it seems even Dunbridge is determined to make something of his visit here tonight — if only more bad memories."

  "Why? How?" Lord Garrison demanded.

  But Griffin had already left the group and was striding across the ballroom, ignoring the ache in his injured thigh. Colin followed close behind him. Lord Garrison was slower off the mark, but he soon followed as well.

  * * * * *

  Alyssa clucked her tongue as the three women stood and watched their husbands cross the ballroom. The crowd had parted like the Red Sea before Moses when Griffin began crossing the floor and now Alyssa, Anne, and Gillian had a clear view of the edge of the dance floor where Lord Shepherdston and Lord Dunbridge stood facing each other like two dogs squabbling over a bone and with Sarah Eckersley caught in the middle. "This doesn't bode well for Miss Eckersley."