Sarah inhaled sharply. "What baby?"
Was it possible? Lady Dunbridge drew her brows together. Could Sarah have lived all these years without knowing how her mother died? Had she and Simon neglected to explain it to her while it was happening? "Your younger brother or sister," Henrietta said gently. "I'm sorry, my dear, I thought you knew. Your mother lost a child shortly before your fifth natal day." She swallowed hard and blinked away a rush of tears for her sister, who had died far too young and who hadn't lived to see her beautiful little girl grow up. "She grew weaker and weaker until one morning, she failed to wake up."
"I don't remember her." Sarah had always been ashamed to admit it, but it was true. She couldn't remember her mother's face. "I only remember you."
"That's probably because your mother and I looked a great deal alike. When she became ill, Calvin was living in London with his mistress so I left Somerset and journeyed to Helford Green to take care of you and your father and mother. My husband didn't need me, but my sister and her family did. As Bathsheba lay on her deathbed, I promised her I'd take care of you. And when she died, I kept my promise by staying in Helford Green." She glanced out the hotel window. "I never returned to Somerset."
"I always hoped that you and Papa would marry," Sarah admitted.
Lady Dunbridge nodded. "I know you did, but we couldn't have married even if we'd been inclined to do so."
The Church of England forbade marriage between a man and the sister of his late wife. Although it was forbidden, Lady Dunbridge knew that other men had gotten around the prohibition, but Simon Eckersley had been a man of principles. He would never have tried to get around it. Even if he'd wanted to. "And neither of us was inclined," she continued. "I was fond of your father the way a sister is fond of her brother and he felt the same about me. Goodness!" She produced the handkerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve and blotted her eyes before looking up at Sarah. "But I've become a veritable watering pot." She sniffed. "It's been years since I dwelt on these things." She shrugged her shoulders, then looked at Sarah and grimaced. "Your mention of Lord Mayhew's name was a bit of a shock. Of course, my flirtation with him was quite brief. It can't begin to compare with the grand passion you have for his godson in strength or duration."
"Only in satisfaction," Sarah replied, stepping into the last black dress she'd pulled out of the wardrobe. "Or lack thereof." She turned around and presented her back to her aunt.
Lady Dunbridge chuckled as she began buttoning the row of onyx buttons at the back of Sarah's dress. "We're about to change that."
"If you say so," Sarah answered.
"O ye of little faith," Henrietta declared, quoting scripture.
"I have plenty of faith in the fact that one day Jays will realize he loves me. As for him pursuing me… " Sarah shrugged. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Believe it," Aunt Etta said. "Because the chase is about to begin."
* * * * *
Jarrod walked through the door of his London town house at half past twelve calling for his valet. He had half an hour to change his shirt, neckcloth, waistcoat, and breeches and make it to Ibbetson's Hotel in time for his appointment with Sarah and Lady Dunbridge.
"Sir!" Henderson hurried to catch up with him. "You're home early."
"I shouldn't be home at all," Jarrod told him. "I have an appointment at Ibbetson's Hotel at one."
"Yes, sir, I know," Henderson told him. "Lady Dunbridge sent an affirmative reply to your invitation to join you for breakfast." He gave Jarrod a strange look.
"It's the ladies' breakfast at her hotel," Jarrod explained. "It begins at one in the afternoon."
"Indeed, sir."
"Have I received any more messages?" Jarrod asked, making his way across the marble entry hall toward the stairs.
"No, sir."
Jarrod stopped in his tracks and looked at his butler. "None at all?"
"No, sir."
"Nothing from His Grace, the Duke of Sussex?"
"Nothing, sir," Henderson told him. "Are we hoping to hear from His Grace?"
"Yes, we are," Jarrod answered. "Because His Grace failed to appear at White's this morning."
And that, Henderson knew, was unprecedented.
"No one has seen him since his mother's ball last evening," Jarrod continued. "And that was only a brief glimpse. And no one has seen or heard from him this morning. I'd believe he was delayed in France if Avon and Barclay hadn't sworn they'd caught a glimpse of him at Sussex House last night. And if he hadn't brought the dispatches here last night."
"He didn't bring them, sir," Henderson informed him. "He sent someone in his stead."