"If he is," Jarrod warned, "and I find out about it, I will kill him." He stifled a yawn. "I haven't slept more than three hours in nearly two days."
Griff nodded. "It reminds me of my cavalry days. When we slept with our fingers around our horse's bridles." He reached for the flask. "And to think I left a warm and willing wife for this." He winked at Jarrod. "I may kill him myself."
Jarrod smiled. "If it takes him all morning to tie a cravat, think how long it takes him to select one of those godawful waistcoats."
Colin laughed. "And those tight breeches! I swear he must be sewn into them. And I have to ask myself why. It isn't as if he appears to have much of which to be proud." He rubbed his hands together, then reached for the flask and took a swig of the potent coffee.
"I've heard the dandies who are a bit light in the front of their breeches supplement their length, so to speak, with sausages wrapped in a stocking," Griff said.
Jarrod threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I'll never look at another hound sniffing someone's crotch without wondering."
"Be thankful you don't have a father-in-law who's mad for the hunt. Or the fact that you go along once in a while just to please him. Those bloody hounds sniff so many crotches in the space of hunt that your ribs would be aching from silent laughter all day."
"If he doesn't hurry up, I'm going to freeze to death." Jarrod waited for Colin to pass him the flask again, but Colin reached over him and handed it to Griff.
"No more for you, my lord." Griff shook his head. "Until we find out if Dunbridge is going to make an appearance or an apology. How long has it been since you've held a dueling pistol?"
Jarrod glanced at Colin. "Almost a year. Why?"
"Because these are perfectly balanced" — Griff patted the mahogany case — "but they're ornate and heavy. His Grace, the Duke of York, presented them to me when I returned from the Peninsula."
"His Grace gave you a pair of dueling pistols?" Colin thought that was incongruous, considering Griff's horrendous experience on the battlefield.
"What else do you give a man returning from war?" Griff asked with a sardonic look on his face. "And the worst part is that I received several other gifts of firearms and these are the best of the lot. Unfortunately, they're so heavy your arm will drop a bit when you extend it. Your aim will be low. If you want to hit him in the arm, aim above and slightly to the side of your target. Try not to hit his shoulder or chest unless you want to seriously wound him."
"I don't." Jarrod looked at Griff. "That's why I would have chosen swords."
"Firearms are quicker." Griff took a swig from the flask and handed it back to Colin. "Dueling with swords is hot, sweaty work and we might be here all damned day if we have to wait for Dunbridge to change linen every time he breaks a sweat."
Jarrod laughed again, then quickly turned somber. "Thank you," he said. "For leaving your warm beds and your lovely wives to come out in the cold and act as my seconds."
"Wouldn't miss it for anything," Colin said. "That's what friends are for," he teased. "To provide a bit of excitement and adventure to those of us who prefer to stay in bed with our wives." He raised the flask. "Here's to the League and the original Free Fellows!"
"Trijuncta in uno!" Griffin said.
"Three joined in one!" Jarrod repeated.
* * * * *
The note arrived at Ibbetson's Hotel shortly after dawn.
After dressing and then spending the better part of a half hour pacing the width and breadth of the bedchamber, Sarah finally left the room. She exited the bedchamber at the sound of a knock on the outer door and discovered Aunt Etta and Lord Mayhew locked in an embrace. "Pardon me." She blushed.
"No need, my dear." Aunt Etta spoke from her place within the circle of Lord Mayhew's arms. "This isn't a passionate embrace, it's one of relief. And it includes you."
"Jays is all right?" Sarah asked, her heart in her throat. "He survived?"
"He's fine," Aunt Etta breathed. "We just got the news."
"Thank heavens!"
"The duel didn't take place," Lord Mayhew said. "Dunbridge failed to appear. Look!" Reaching up behind his neck, Lord Mayhew removed a sheet of paper from Aunt Etta's fingers and offered it to Sarah. "Read it for yourself."
"'Lady Dunbridge,'" Sarah read, "'in the days to come, you will no doubt hear rumors about the small part I played in aborting the duel between your nephew-by-marriage and the Marquess of Shepherdston in regards to your niece Miss Eckersley's honor. Whatever you hear, know that I did what I could to prevent the late Lord Dunbridge's heir from certain injury at the hands of Lord Shepherdston, but more importantly, I wished to repay you in some small way for the kindness you showed me in allowing Calvin to spend his last years with me and for presenting me with the deed to this house when he died. I cannot thank you enough or express my sincere regret for the pain I caused you in loving your husband. I care not a whit what happens to the present Lord Dunbridge (as he has always been irksome to us both), but gentlemen have been bringing news and gossip from Lady Garrison's ball all evening and I am given to understand that your niece and Lord Shepherdston are an item and that you and Lord Mayhew spent a great deal of time together. Although I have never had the pleasure of meeting you or your niece, I know that you both deserve the very best life has to offer. You are a true lady and your niece cannot fail to be likewise and Lord Shepherdston and Lord Mayhew will find themselves the most fortunate of gentlemen to have a place in your lives. Please, know that I wish you only the best and that you need never fear I've designs on Lord Mayhew or Lord Shepherdston. My door is closed to them as they no longer have need of my services. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I shall always hold you in the highest regard and shall be happy to render assistance to you again should you ever require it. Sincerest regards, Theodora Morton-Jones, number forty-seven Portman Square, London.'" Sarah finished reading the note, then carefully folded it and gave it back to her aunt, then furrowed her brow. "Forty-seven Portman Square? But that's Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women. She sent a card after Papa died and I intended to call upon her if my plan to win Jarrod failed…" Sarah's mouth dropped open as she looked up at her aunt. "Oh, my…"
Lady Dunbridge nodded. "Your threat of becoming a courtesan was more real than you knew. Paying a call at that particular address would have all but guaranteed it. The house belonged to my late husband. She was his mistress. And now, it seems she's become your champion and our ally."
Scooping Precious from her basket beside Lord Mayhew's feet, Sarah cradled the little dog close to her heart and allowed the tears she'd held in check to flow. Moments later, she bent and fastened the leash to the spaniel's collar.