Hardly a Husband (Free Fellows League 3)

"Why should you?" Sarah demanded, cutting him off. "You didn't bother to renew our acquaintance after our dance last season. Or pay Papa or me a call. Why should you notice his death?"

Her accusation stung. He had purposely refrained from paying Sarah Eckersley and her father a call after their dance last season because Jarrod hadn't wanted Sarah to think he meant to court her after one dance — no matter how much he enjoyed it. And Jarrod couldn't pay a call on the reverend without Sarah assuming he might be willing to offer her more than friendship. And Jarrod knew that was out of the question. He would never marry and he couldn't offer Sarah anything less.

"Rectors in villages much the size of Helford Green don't rate notice in the London papers," she continued, blinking back the hot rush of tears burning her eyes as she related the bitter facts. Her father had spent his adult life serving his fellow men, teaching God's word, and bringing goodness and hope and light into the lives of everyone around him. His death had gone all but unnoticed except to his parishioners, while a ne'er-do-well member of the ton could overturn a phaeton and be memorialized in every rag in London. "Especially when compared to an outstanding young peer like Lord Brinson."

Jarrod had been away from London on a mission two months ago and although he'd caught up on the news and the gossip when he returned, Jarrod had to search his memory for a connection. "Lord Brinson? Lord Peter Brinson? The young fool who bet that he could make three circles around the park in under five minutes? That Lord Brinson?"

Sarah nodded.

"Peter Brinson hasn't had a sober moment since he reached his majority," Jarrod told her. "What has he to do with your father?"

"He died the same day Papa died," Sarah answered in a tone of voice flavored with bitterness.

"I see." Although Sarah's father wouldn't have minded the quiet anonymity of his death, it was galling to realize that an irresponsible young peer who had never done a day's work — either good or bad — and who had died while racing his phaeton around Hyde Park in response to a dare had had his passing recognized and his brief life gloriously recounted for the entire population of London while the Reverend Eckersley's life and work had gone largely unnoticed.

"Everyone who was anyone in the ton attended Lord Brinson's funeral," Sarah replied, pinning Jarrod with an accusing look.

"I wasn't one of them." Jarrod met her gaze without flinching. "I was in Scotland when your father died. Had I known of his passing, I would have gone to Helford Green to pay my last respects."

"Would you?" she challenged.

"Of course I would have," he snapped. "And you know it. I was very fond of your father and, what's more, I respected him. He was a good man and there are far too few truly good men." Jarrod looked at Sarah. "And I don't intend to dishonor his memory by compromising his daughter. You're in mourning, Sarah. You shouldn't be in London or at Ibbetson's and you certainly shouldn't be here. It isn't proper."

It wasn't and Sarah knew it as well as he did, but Jarrod's censure stung and try as she might, Sarah couldn't hold her tongue. "You are in no position to lecture me on propriety, Jays. I'm a rector's daughte

r. I've always followed the rules. I've always done what was right and proper, while you've always done exactly as you pleased."

Jarrod bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling. "Your memory is faulty, Sarah. As I recall, you were a little hoyden who sneaked out of the rectory every chance you got. You couldn't have always done what was right and proper because you followed me everywhere I went whenever I was at Shepherdston Hall. You were everywhere I turned. I was amazed by your tenacity. And I distinctly remember taking to horseback whenever I wanted to escape you." He had been thirteen at the time and perpetually annoyed at having a girl of five shadowing his every move.

"You were only at Shepherdston Hall twice a year — at Easter and Christmas," she informed him. "That meant that the rest of the year, I was a proper young lady." Sarah fought the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

"Because you had a father and an aunt who loved you enough to set rules and to see that you followed them."

"Because there was no alternative," she corrected. "We lived a quiet country life in a quiet country village where the rector's daughter had to be above reproach. I had never been to London until my first season."

"Which was what?" Jarrod asked. "Two or three seasons ago?"

"Five," she replied, ever so sweetly. "I made my curtsy along with Adelaide and Alyssa Carrollton."

"Adelaide and Alyssa Carrollton are well married," Jarrod said. "As are their sisters, Anne and Amelia." Adelaide had married Lord Hastings. Anne had married Lord Garrison. Amelia wed Lord Brookestone. And Alyssa, the youngest Carrollton sister, had married Griffin Abernathy, founding member of the Free Fellows League and one of Jarrod's closest friends. "Yes, I know," Sarah said.

"As a veteran of five campaigns, I would have thought that you would have snagged a rich peer by now and have an heir and a spare to show for it."

"I would have thought the same of you," Sarah parried. "Except that I happen to know that…"

"I'm not in the market for a marchioness," he concluded.

"That you would rather take a lover than take a wife." She contradicted, meeting his steady brown-eyed gaze.

"I have my reasons, Sarah." Jarrod turned his back to her and walked to the fireplace.

"So do I," she replied, softly.

"And you're wrong, you know." Jarrod stared into the fire, mesmerized by the blue and orange flames licking at the coal. "I've never done exactly as I pleased," he said, at last. "It may have seemed that way to you, but that was only because I was born to parents who didn't care what I did or where I went so long as I stayed out of their way. I would have given anything to have what you had. Now, forget about this harebrained scheme." Jarrod turned away from the fire and began to pace the width of carpet in front of it. "Take your aunt and go home and mourn your father."

"Would that I could," Sarah retorted, "but I no longer have a home to — " She broke off abruptly, clamping her teeth down on her wayward tongue, appalled that she'd admitted so much.

Jarrod stopped his pacing and turned to face her. "What happened to the rectory?"