"To you, perhaps, my darling, but not for Jarrod. He's been involved in far too many scandals and seen too much destruction."
"I'd forgotten about that," Lady Dunbridge said. "I was living in Helford Green by then, and although there were a few whispers when the bodies were brought back for burial in the family plot, most everyone in the village simply let the dead stay dead for Lord Shepherdston's sake."
"Would that it was so simple for the rest of us," Lord Mayhew breathed.
"Oh, Robert, I'm so sorry," Lady Dunbridge whispered. "It was such a tragedy for Lord Shepherdston and for you. They were part of your family and you had only recently lost your wife."
Lord Mayhew sighed. "My wife's death caused it."
Lady Dunbridge covered his hand with hers. "I didn't know."
"No one did," he told her. "Not even Jarrod. Until I told him tonight."
"Oh, no."
He nodded. "I feel responsible for what happened between him and Sarah. If I hadn't just told him the truth about his parents' deaths, he might have been better able to handle hearing Sarah's declaration of love."
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," Lady Dunbridge quoted wistfully. "Sarah's love for him has never been a secret to Lord Shepherdston; he simply didn't realize the depths of it. He's frightened by the responsibility of loving her in return. Marriage is the least of it."
"No," Lord Mayhew disagreed. "Marriage is the heart of it. And it may seem silly to us, but we didn't grow up the way he did. I saw the destruction wrought in the name of marriage, but I was an adult. I can't imagine how he must have felt as a child…"
"Living at Helford Green, with Shepherdston Hall right down the way, we heard the rumors of wild parties and other antics, but I never dreamed it could be as bad as they made it out to be." Lady Dunbridge moved closer to Lord Mayhew.
"Oh, Henrietta," he said, "it was every bit as bad as the rumors and worse." Taking a deep breath, Lord Mayhew told the story of what happened to Jarrod's parents for the second time in one night, promising himself that once he was done, he'd never breathe a word of it again for as long as he lived. "Jarrod found his parents. His mother murdered his father and the housekeeper before killing herself. And the scene has fueled Jarrod's nightmares and mine ever since. It was a scene no human being should ever have to witness, least of all a boy of sixteen who should have been left with some illusions about his parents, a boy who should have been allowed some innocence…"
In the next room, Sarah, who had pretended to sleep so that Aunt Etta wouldn't worry, now lay awake listening as Lord Mayhew revealed the whole horrible story. And when he finished telling Aunt Etta about the tragedy Jarrod had endured, Sarah discovered she loved Jarrod all the more for having become the man he was.
For if ever there was a little boy who had reason to distrust, it was the boy she'd known as Jays. And if ever a man had reason to prefer the veracity of physical desire and to question the abstract of love, it was the fifth Marquess of Shepherdston, for he had known too much of one and not enough of the other.
It didn't excuse his behavior. It only explained it. Everyone Jarrod had ever loved had let him down except Lord Mayhew and the Free Fellows. And he'd clung to them because they were the only people he trusted, the only people he knew who accepted him as he was.
Because the mighty Marquess of Shepherdston was terrified of loving and being hurt. Terrified of being alone and abandoned.
Sarah understood.
She'd loved and lost. She knew the fear of being alone. She knew the pain of feeling abandoned, first when her mother died and later, when she'd lost her father. But she had never really been alone or abandoned. She had always had Aunt Etta and Jarrod.
Aunt Etta was about to marry Lord Mayhew. And Sarah was happy for her aunt, thrilled that Aunt Etta had found love with the man she'd dreamed about after all these years.
Now, it was time for Sarah to do the same.
* * * * *
Jarrod waited in his coach at the dueling oak as the sun began its ascent into the eastern sky. He stamped his feet to ward off the chill and sipped at the flask of whisky-laced coffee Colin had brought along.
Griff had brought along a pair of beautifully balanced dueling pistols and Jarrod fervently hoped he didn't have to use them. Unlike Griff or Colin, Jarrod had never killed another human being and hoped he never would. He'd been fortunate that his part in the war had primarily been spent in financially supporting the numerous clandestine activities in which the Free Fellows engaged. Oh, he'd been on smuggling runs and had been fired upon a time or two, but he'd never shot anyone with the intent to wound or kill and he'd never had to dispatch a man with a sword or knife as Colin and Griff had been forced to do.
Jarrod didn't doubt that he could kill if he was forced to do so, but an imagined slight like the one Dunbridge had accused him of seemed a silly reason to contemplate killing a man. Dunbridge wasn't protecting Sarah's honor any more than he was. They were quarreling like children over a favorite toy and the fact that he had allowed Dunbridge to maneuver him into this position infuriated him.
"Do you think he's coming?" Colin asked, shifting into a more comfortable position.
"I haven't heard otherwise," Jarrod replied, stamping his feet again.
"Did you stop by your house and check for messages?" Griff asked. "I've heard that dueling participants often back out at the last moment and when that happens, it's up to the other participant to decide if they wish to continue the matter or let it go."
"I roused Henderson from his bed," Jarrod said. "Dunbridge hasn't sent a message."
"He's probably sleeping in until noon," Colin grumbled. "Or still getting dressed. It can take one of Brummell's disciples all morning just to tie a cravat."