Hardly a Husband (Free Fellows League 3)

"Believe it," Colin said. "It's there in plain English." He stood up, then walked to the bell and summoned a footman to bring the current betting book.

The footman returned moments later with the book in hand. Colin handed it to Jarrod.

The entry page was dated with the day's date, time, and year. Several gentlemen had scrawled their names beneath the wager, recording wagers of their own on the outcome, including the three gentlemen Colin mentioned, all of whom were betting on Jarrod.

Jarrod read the recorded wager aloud. "I, Reginald Blanchard, fourth Viscount Dunbridge, do record this wager of one thousand pounds with Jarrod, fifth Marquess of Shepherdston: I wager that Miss Sarah Eckersley and I shall be married by His Grace, the archbishop of Canterbury, at Westminster Abbey at season's end. Lord Shepherdston wagers that I shan't marry Miss Eckersley at season's end or at any other time. The cash to be paid at the outcome." Jarrod finished reading the entry and raked his fingers through his hair. "Bloody hell!"

"What on earth possessed you to wager a thousand pounds on Lord Dunbridge's proposed nuptials?" Griff was astonished by the amount and by Jarrod's uncharacteristic behavior.

"I'm acquainted with the young lady he hopes to marry."

"And?" Griff prompted.

"Eckersley." Colin snapped his fingers. "Wasn't that the name of the young woman you danced with at Esme Harralson's ball last season? The night I met Gillian?"

Jarrod didn't answer.

Colin frowned. "Jarrod?"

"Yes," Jarrod ground out. "And I can guarantee Dunbridge won't win his wager, because I won't allow it."

"Is the young lady a relative or ward?" Courtland asked.

"No," Jarrod answered, "but she may as well be, for her aunt has asked me to keep Dunbridge at bay."

"How do you intend to do that?" Jonathan inquired.

"I'm escorting her and her aunt to Lady Garrison's tonight," Jarrod said.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

Contents - Prev | Next

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong.

— Oliver Goldsmith, 1728-1774

"He's here." Sarah stepped back from the window overlooking the front door entrance and breathed a prayer of thanks that their bedchamber faced the street. She bent to gather her tiny reticule, fan, invitation, and dance card from where she'd left them on the bed.

The engraved invitations and the dance card had been delivered to their room shortly after lunch. Sarah and Lady Dunbridge had been thrilled to receive them and the personal note from their hostess commending them for their courage and determination to fulfill Reverend Eckersley's dying request.

Sarah hadn't understood the significance of the note until Aunt Etta had calmly explained that by informing Lady Garrison that Sarah's participation in the season was at the behest of her dying father, Lord Shepherdston had opened the doors of the ton that had been previously closed to them because they were in mourning. They had only had a few hours in which to prepare for the ball, but that had been proven to be a mixed blessing because there had been no time to worry about what to wear or how they would be received.

"Hurry, Aunt Etta," Sarah urged. "Jays is a great believer in punctuality."

"Is that so?" Lady Dunbridge arched an eyebrow.

Sarah thrust her aunt's fan and invitation into Lady Dunbridge's hands and nodded.

"Couldn't prove it by me," Lady Dunbridge declared. "He kept me waiting ten minutes at breakfast and I believe it's only fair that I return the favor."

"Aunt Etta…"

"Let him wait, Sarah," Lady Dunbridge said. "It does a man good. They're always rushing about. Hurrying here and there. Chomping at the bit." She waved her arms. "I've never known a man who knew how and when to take his time."

"But —"