Hardly a Husband (Free Fellows League 3)

"I can't," Jarrod snapped. He was dead on his feet and running almost entirely on nervous energy. If he stopped now, he'd be no good to anyone until he managed to get some sleep.

"No doubt a result of too much coffee."

Jarrod cracked a smile at Henderson's dry wit. "I do seem to have had more than my share this morning." He nodded toward his stained clothing.

"You've been without sleep for over twenty-four hours," Henderson reminded him.

"And getting an early start hasn't helped at all," Jarrod joked. "I've been running late all morning and I've no wish to perpetuate that state of affairs."

Henderson was astonished by Lord Shepherdston's admission. His lordship had grown up with the notion that punctuality was the politeness of kings. It had been instilled upon him almost from the cradle that gentlemen never kept other gentlemen waiting and, as a consequence, Lord Shepherdston was never late. "I beg your pardon, sir," Henderson apologized as he deftly executed the final loop on Lord Shepherdston's four-in-hand. "For I've no wish for that state of affairs to continue either. After all…"

"L'exactitude est la politesse des rois," Jarrod quoted. "Punctuality is the politeness of kings." He buttoned his waistcoat, then splashed a small amount of his favorite wood spice scent on to eliminate the lingering aroma of Dunbridge's coffee. Jarrod wished he had time for a full bath, but that was out of the question. He'd barely make it as it was and could only hope that Sarah and her aunt, like most women of his acquaintance, were perpetually tardy. He gave the clock a final glance. "You can reach me at the main dining salon in Ibbetson's Hotel," Jarrod told him. "Send word immediately if you hear anything about our King Arthur."

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you for your assistance, Henderson. I was afraid I'd be late again. But I'm ready with eight minutes to spare."

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

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Punctuality is the politeness of kings.

— Louis XVIII, 1755-1824

He was late.

Lady Dunbridge smoothed her palms down the front of her dress and shifted her weight from side to side on the massively uncomfortable chair. And the chair constituted a mere fraction of the discomfort she felt at being on the receiving end of so many pointed looks as she'd crossed the sitting area and entered the dining room unescorted.

The dining salon might welcome unescorted ladies during the two hours designated as the ladies' breakfast, but the same could not be said of the gentlemen occupying the sitting area she'd had to cross. They appeared to frown upon having unescorted ladies anywhere on the premises.

Lady Dunbridge tapped her foot against the floor in an impatient staccato, then glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. It was ten minutes past the hour of one. Exactly two minutes since she'd last looked at it.

In his invitation, the Marquess of Shepherdston had requested that she and Sarah be prompt and she'd complied.

He had kept her waiting ten minutes.

Lady Dunbridge lifted her hand, signaled the waiter, and asked for pen and paper.

"I hope you weren't requesting that for me."

Lady Dunbridge looked up and met the Marquess of Shepherdston's brown-eyed gaze.

"As a matter of fact, I was," she replied coolly. "I was about to leave you a note and retire to the comfort of my room. You may not have noticed, Lord Shepherdston, but I am the only unescorted woman in this room and it's a very uncomfortable situation."

Jarrod bowed over her hand. "I'm very sorry my tardiness put you in an uncomfortable situation, Lady Dunbridge, but circumstances prevented me from arriving promptly." The circumstance that had caused his tardiness had been an overturned fruit wagon that had snarled traffic at the top of Park Lane. Jarrod had been forced to go the long way around the park in order to get around it. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

"Ten minutes," Lady Dunbridge replied. "I arrived promptly as requested. You are late."

There was no denying the truth. He was late. Again. And Lady Dunbridge deserved his apologies. "Again, I offer my most sincere apologies." He placed his hand on the back of the chair opposite hers. "May I?"

She hesitated for a moment, then inclined her head in a regal nod. "Please."

Jarrod sat down and signaled the waiter. "Would you care for breakfast?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, but a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits would be nice."