Lady Dunbridge nodded. "Shepherdston isn't in any hurry to wed and Sarah's young enough that she can afford to wait for him to make up his mind — now that he's sworn not to let Reggie Blanchard force her hand. Whereas, I've waited years to marry you."
Lord Mayhew stared at the two dancers. "Tell me, my love, does your niece happen to have a strawberry birthmark?"
"Yes," Lady Dunbridge answered. "She does. On her…" She blushed again. "Derriere?"
Lady Dunbridge nodded. "How did you know?"
"I caught a glimpse of it early this morning when I arrived at Jarrod's town house for breakfast." He reached down and removed Henrietta's mangled handkerchief from her hands. "Jarrod and I ride together on the Row in the park two days a week and breakfast afterwards. But it was raining this morning and I knew we wouldn't be riding so I arrived for breakfast earlier than expected and inadvertently interrupted a most ardent kiss between Jarrod and a red-haired young lady with nice legs and a strawberry birthmark on her posterior."
"Oh, my…Sarah!"
"You knew she was at Jarrod's house alone at five-thirty in the morning?"
Lady Dunbridge shook her head. "I found out afterwards." She looked up at Robert Mayhew and suddenly the words came tumbling out as she explained everything that had happened since they'd been put out of the rectory. "Sarah loves him. She's loved him since she was a little girl. But Lord Shepherdston wants nothing to do with marriage."
Lord Mayhew nodded. "He has reasons for not wanting to marry that reach deep into his childhood. A childhood that was lonely most of the time and exceedingly difficult the rest of the time." He sighed. "I don't pretend to understand all of what he feels, but I know that he feels unlovable, unworthy of being loved."
"I think Sarah understands that," Lady Dunbridge confided. "Or at least, senses it. She's determined not to marry anyone else. As long as he remains unmarried, she's going to do the same — even if that means pursuing the life of a courtesan."
Lord Mayhew didn't like the sound of that. "Do you know anything about Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women?"
Lady Dunbridge shook her head. "I've never heard of it."
"Your niece was carrying a card with that name and a Portman Square address printed on it. She dropped it on the floor of Jarrod's study."
"Did you say a Portman Square address?"
"Yes, my dear, you heard me correctly."
"Would that address happen to be number forty-seven Portman Square?" she asked.
"It would," he told her. "Do you know it?"
"That house belonged to my husband," Lady Dunbridge said. "He purchased it for his mistress."
"You knew?" he asked gently.
"Of course I knew," she said with a sigh.
"I always wondered," Lord Mayhew told her. "Despite what you may think, his association with her wasn't common knowledge."
"It was to me," Lady Dunbridge answered. "I knew he had a mistress in a house in London. But I didn't know where it was or who owned it until I accidentally came across the deed to it after he died. It was tucked into a packet of correspondence he'd addressed to me. I didn't want the house, but I saw no reason why the new viscount should have it, so I sent the deed to her." She was quiet for a moment. "I'm glad to know she's put it to good use."
Lord Mayhew quirked an eyebrow and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Oh, she's put it to good use, but not to the altruistic good you suppose."
"Running a home for displaced women seems very altruistic," Lady Dunbridge said.
"But things aren't always what they seem," Lord Mayhew reminded her. "That home for displaced women is one of London's most exclusive houses of pleasure."
Lady Dunbridge widened her eyes.
"I know because I've been there many times and was there again this morning."
Lady Dunbridge bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor in an effort to hide her dismay.
Lord Mayhew reached out and lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger, raising her face so he could look her in the eyes. "I tell you this not to hurt you, Henrietta, but to be completely truthful. I'm a man of normal appetites and have patronized Portman Square many times in the past and enjoyed it."
"But she was my husband's…"