"Pay whatever you have to," Weymouth advised. "Estates as large as Shepherdston Hall can be difficult enough to manage when there aren't any quarrels with the neighbors and nearly impossible to manage when there are."
"I'll do my best," Jarrod promised as Weymouth's coach merged into traffic.
* * * * *
Less than an hour later, Jarrod sat at an inconspicuous table in the Cocoa Tree, a coffeehouse within comfortable walking distance from White's, and awaited the arrival of Reginald Blanchard, fourth Viscount Dunbridge. He'd never been introduced to the viscount, but he'd seen him on several occasions and was acquainted with a few of the men with whom the viscount associated. And he hadn't wasted the time he'd spent since leaving Lord Weymouth at the corner of Abchurch Lane and Lombard Street. Jarrod had used it to make discreet inquiries at Brooks's and Boodle's and White's.
As he watched the viscount approach, Jarrod wondered how much of what he'd been told and what he'd surmised about Dunbridge was true.
"I am pleased to accept your invitation to coffee, Lord Shepherdston," Dunbridge said, moments after he joined Jarrod at his table in the Cocoa Tree.
Jarrod didn't normally frequent the Cocoa Tree, but he'd chosen it because he knew it was a favorite meeting place for Dunbridge and his friends. "Thank you for coming, Lord Dunbridge." Jarrod shook hands with the viscount, then gestured toward the empty seat, inviting Dunbridge to sit down. "I was told the Cocoa Tree was a great favorite of yours," Jarrod said. "So I took the liberty of ordering your customary refreshments."
Jarrod studied the other man as a waiter brought a fresh pot of coffee and filled two cups with the strong, aromatic brew. The coffeehouse was beginning to fill up and the waiter set a plate of biscuits and crumpets and a crock of butter in the center of the table, then quickly turned his attention to his other customers.
A decade older than Jarrod, Reginald Blanchard, fourth Viscount Dunbridge, was a trim, fastidious man with regular features; dark, almost obsidian eyes; a receding hairline; soft, carefully manicured hands and a penchant for tightly fitted clothes, bold satin waistcoats, and lace cuffs. He was a devoted follower of Brummell and he spent most mornings styling his hair and fashioning his neckcloths and most afternoons at the Cocoa Tree drinking pot after pot of cognac-laced coffee while discussing the various methods of styling his hair and fashioning his neckcloths.
He had attended Eton and matriculated from Trinity College at Oxford with little fanfare. He'd been ordained into the clergy and had promptly turned his back on it by settling in London and pursuing a career as a dandy. Unfortunately, Blanchard hadn't been able to truly indulge his passion for clothes or his rakish lifestyle until his uncle, the third Viscount Dunbridge, had died without issue.
His inheritance of the title and the lands and income attached to it had enabled the fourth Lord Dunbridge to finally fulfill his ambition and become a member, albeit a minor member, of the prince regent's circle of friends.
Wealthy, indolent, and self-indulgent, Dunbridge had had every advantage and squandered most of them. As far as Jarrod was concerned, Dunbridge was the sort of gentleman who gave other gentlemen a bad name. He embodied the worst traits of the members of his class and Jarrod disliked him on sight.
"I must admit to some curiosity as to why you requested this meeting," Lord Dunbridge said as he settled onto his chair. He reached for a crumpet, then picked up his knife and carefully sliced it in half before slathering the top section in butter. "We've never seemed to have much in common and rarely move in the same circles."
Jarrod allowed himself a slight smile at the viscount's opening gambit. "It's true that I rarely move in your exalted circle, but we do have something in common."
"Oh?" Dunbridge took a bite of his crumpet and washed it down with coffee.
"We are both considerable property owners," Jarrod told him.
Dunbridge set his coffee cup down on his saucer and looked at Jarrod. "That's true of a great many gentlemen," he pointed out.
"I agree," Jarrod answered. "But not all gentlemen own adjoining properties in Bedfordshire."
"Have we a property or tenant dispute in Bedfordshire, Lord Shepherdston? Are we quarreling?"
"That depends."
"Upon what?" Dunbridge asked. "Because I must confess that I find real estate discussions rather tedious."
"Upon whether you intend to keep the living and the glebe attached to the rectory in the village of Helford Green."
"I see." Dunbridge narrowed his gaze at Jarrod. "Tell me, Lord Shepherdston, what business is it of yours?"
Jarrod clenched his teeth and a muscle began to tick in his jaw. "I wish to purchase it or secure a long-term lease for it if purchasing it is out of the question."
"Why would you wish to purchase the Helford Green benefice?"
"I have need of it," Jarrod answered succinctly. "And according to my sources, your primary holdings are in Somerset and here in London. The Helford Green benefice, which connects to my holdings, is your only Bedfordshire property."
"So you wish to own all of Bedfordshire instead of only the major portion of it," Dunbridge concluded.
"I don't own all of Bedfordshire," Jarrod drawled.
"You own all of Helford Green," Lord Dunbridge said. "Except the rectory, glebe, and village."
"Helford Green is a very small piece of Bedfordshire,"