"My dear Gillian, I am so pleased I could kiss you!"
Gillian looked so surprised by Jarrod's comment that he couldn't help teasing her a bit more. "Unfortunately, I'll have to ask Colin to do it for me."
"Thank you," Gillian breathed.
"How did you do it? Here? Without any of the tables or messages?"
"I memorized the message and the list of officers' names and I've been working on the puzzle in my mind all day," she said. "But it didn't fall into place until Colin and I were dancing and he made a comment about someone being turned inside out and backwards. I thought about it for a moment and realized that might be the answer. The letters in the abbreviation that occurred most frequently were n, a, and d. At first I was looking for officers whose names started with N." She smiled at Jarrod, for Colin's comment had actually been that Jarrod was so besotted by Sarah Eckersley that he was in danger of being turned inside out and backwards. The mention of Jarrod had made her think of Jourdan.
"How do you know it isn't Marshal Ney?"
"Ney backwards is y-e-n. Using the cipher tables, we've already identified the numerals corresponding to y and e. Ney didn't fit. And according to the newspapers, he's campaigning in Germany, not the Peninsula. And Ney doesn't serve under the author's command." She paused to consider her words. "None of the abbreviations matched the deciphering table until I began spelling backwards. The only officer under the author's command whose name contained those letters in that order was Marshal Jourdan. Since the abbreviation of this name was in the greeting of the message, I knew it was meant for him. We'll have to look at the original again to confirm it, but I feel certain my theory is correct."
"I've no doubt about it," Jarrod complimented her. "I marvel at your ability to solve puzzles."
The music reached its crescendo and the dance was ending.
"I suppose it's a gift," she said. "And one for which I can't take credit, since I appear to have been born with it."
"I am sincerely grateful for it," Jarrod assured her.
"There is something more," she said. "Something of which I'm less certain, but which I'm afraid requires immediate action." She glanced around. "Unfortunately, I don't dare tell you here, where we may be overheard, for fear of starting a panic."
He bowed politely and moved to escort her off the dance floor. "Will it wait until morning?"
"I don't think so," she said.
"Then may I call upon you and Colin after the ball this evening?"
"Yes," Gillian told him. "We aren't staying for the midnight supper, so we'll be waiting when you arrive."
"I thank you for the dance, Lady Grantham, and for your hard work."
"You're welcome, Lord Shepherdston."
"I'll take you back to your husband now." Jarrod escorted Gillian back to Colin.
"She told you?" Colin asked.
Jarrod nodded. "Griff?"
"He'll meet us at our house after the ball," Colin said. "Come the back way through the mews."
"What about the others?" Jarrod asked.
"I don't know," Colin said. "But I think this last bit might be better left to the three of us."
Colin was cautious, but he'd never been an alarmist. Clearly, then, this last bit of information Gillian had discovered was serious. Perhaps dangerous. And Jarrod respected Colin's decision. "All right," Jarrod assured him, "I'll be there."
But first, he had to speak to Lord Rob and arrange for his godfather to escort Lady Dunbridge and Sarah home from the ball — and to continue to escort them until further notice.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
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Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
— Samuel Johnson, 1709-1784
"Will you do it?" Jarrod asked, after waylaying Lord Rob in the doorway between the ballroom and the sitting room where the card tables had been set up and pulling him into Lord Garrison's study for a few minutes of private conversation.
"Of course I'll do it," Lord Rob answered. "I'll be happy to see the ladies safely home, but I'll not be happy to see you break Sarah's heart."
"Sarah?" Jarrod eyed his uncle warily. "When did she become 'Sarah' to you?"
"When I realized she was Henrietta Dunbridge's niece," Lord Rob retorted. "And don't change the subject. She's wearing her heart on her sleeve for you and you're in danger of trampling it."
"I've no intention of trampling Sarah's heart," Jarrod said. "I'm doing my damnedest to preserve it."
"By seducing her in the folly?"
"What?" He turned white.
"Henrietta and I arrived at the folly after you took Sarah inside," Lord Rob told him. "I saw you putting your clothes to rights."
"Did she?"
"No, thank heavens. I led her away from the folly and back into the maze."
"What were you doing at the folly?" Jarrod asked.
"Looking for you and Miss Eckersley." Lord Rob saw no reason to confess that he'd decided to take Henrietta to the folly for the same reason that Jarrod had taken her niece. Unfortunately, he and Henrietta had gotten a later start than Jarrod and Sarah and had taken a few wrong turns in the maze, then made use of the errors by kissing until they were aching and senseless. By the time they reached the folly, it was occupied. And although Henrietta hadn't seen Jarrod and Sarah, Lord Rob had. "Why didn't you tell me she was a lady?" he asked.
"You knew she was a lady," Jarrod told him. "Her aunt was standing right beside you when I introduced her."
"I meant the girl this morning," Lord Rob reminded his godson. "You introduced her as Miss Sarah Eckersley this evening. You did not introduce her as Sarah of the long red hair, lovely legs, and strawberry birthmark. But they're one and the same."
"Are they?"
"Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a fool," Lord Rob snapped. "I saw the way you kissed the girl early this morning and I've seen the way you look at her tonight. If Sarah Eckersley and Sarah of the strawberry birthmark aren't one and the same, I'll eat my hat." He glared at his godson, truly disappointed in Jarrod for the first time in his life. "And if she is the same girl, you know bloody well that she's been compromised and that you were the man who did it."
"I kissed her, Lord Rob," Jarrod said. "I didn't dishonor her."
"This morning," Lord Rob said. "What about this evening?"
Jarrod didn't answer.
"For heaven's sake, Jarrod, she's the daughter of a recently deceased rector and she's Henrietta Dunbridge's niece."
Jarrod glared back. "What difference does it make whose daughter she is? It doesn't change anything. Her father's still dead. Her aunt is still a widow and Sarah is still without a home."
"It makes a great deal of difference to me," Lord Rob said. "And to most decent members of the ton. You are a gentleman. She was an innocent. You should never have allowed her into your home at that time of morning."
"What was I supposed to do? Have Henderson turn her back out onto the street?"
"You should have put her back in her coach and sent her back to her hotel," Lord Mayhew said.
"She didn't have a coach," Jarrod reminded him. "That's why we borrowed yours this morning."
"If she didn't have a coach, how the devil did she get from Ibbetson's Hotel to Park Lane? Which, by the by, is no place for her or her aunt to be staying without an escort." Lord Rob frowned. He'd have to remember to speak to Henrietta about that. "It's respectable, but not nearly as respectable as the Clarendon or Grillon's."
"She dismissed her coach and walked from the top of the lane to my house alone and in the rain," Jarrod interrupted, "so no one would see her coach parked outside my house."
Lord Rob raked his fingers through his hair. "Good lord! It's a miracle she wasn't accosted by anyone but you."
"I didn't accost her," Jarrod said. "I kissed her. There's a difference. And if you remember correctly, I told you why she came to my house this morning."
"What are you going to do about this?"
Jarrod sighed. "Nothing."
Lord Rob was outraged. "Nothing?"
"Sarah understands that I've no wish to marry."
"Good for Sarah," Lord Rob said sarcastically. "She's to be commended for being so understanding. I wish I could say the same and I'm certain her aunt will wish it, because tomorrow morning that girl's name and reputation are going to be offered up as fodder for the rumor mill. Every rake and rogue in town with an itch in his trousers will be knocking upon her hotel door once they hear the news that Miss Eckersley is easily persuaded to part with her virtue. And people at the party tonight will be counting the months to see if she's going to deliver the Shepherdston heir."
"She isn't," Jarrod said. "I can assure them of that."
"How? By taking out advertisements in the papers? Announcing it from the speaker's box in the House?"
"Of course not!" Jarrod began to pace the study.
"Then how, Jarrod? Because you know what will happen. All the regulars — the young bucks and the old lechers — at White's will congratulate you on your new conquest. No one will think badly of you for taking what she gave freely, but she'll be ruined. And what will you do then? Make her your mistress? Or purchase her a husband?"
"Whichever she wants," Jarrod said. "I'll do whatever she wants so long as it doesn't include marrying me."
"I don't understand." Lord Rob shook his head. "I don't understand why you find the idea of marrying her so repellent. You want her. You told me so yourself. And she wants you." He thought for a moment. "No, it's more than that. She loves you. Her heart is in her eyes every time she looks at you. You have to know it. You have to have seen it."
"I have and I do," Jarrod answered. "It hasn't changed. She's looked at me that way since I was three and ten and she was five."
"Then you should fall to your knees and thank your lucky stars for the gift of her love."
"Why?" Jarrod asked. "I never wanted it. I never asked for it. And I never encouraged it. Just the opposite." He blew out a breath. "I've done everything I know to do in order to discourage it. But she won't listen."
Jarrod sounded so much like a petulant child that Lord Rob couldn't help but smile. "Her love is a gift. You didn't have to want it. Or ask for it. Or encourage it. It is simply there for the taking."
"But why?"
Lord Rob shrugged his shoulders. "Who can say why we love the people we love?" He smiled at the man he loved as a son. "She loves you for reasons you may not understand. For reasons she may not understand. But for whatever reason, you are the man she loves. And nothing is going to change that."
"I don't want her to love me."
"Why? What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing is wrong with her," Jarrod said. "If I were in the market for a wife, Sarah is the first woman I'd ask. But I'm not in the market for a wife."
"You are the Marquess of Shepherdston," Lord Rob persisted. "A man with land, wealth, and hereditary titles. You have to marry someday in order to ensure succession of your line. It's your duty to your country and to your family."
"I do my duty to my country in other ways," Jarrod said. "And you are my only family. As for marrying to ensure the succession of my line, I don't intend that my line shall continue when I am gone."
"For God's sake, why not?" Lord Rob demanded.
Pushed to the limit, Jarrod whirled around and faced his uncle. "Because I don't want to end up like my parents!"
Lord Rob's knees gave out and he sat down hard on the top of Lord Garrison's mahogany desk. "Oh, Jarrod," he breathed. "Oh, my dear, dear boy…"
"I was here, Lord Rob," Jarrod reminded him. "I found them. I saw what marriage did to them. And I want no part of that!"
Lord Rob stared at the man before him. Jarrod would be one and thirty on his next natal day. Nearly sixteen years had passed since he'd inherited the title, since he'd taken possession of the Marquess of Shepherdston's signet after it had been removed from his father's lifeless hand. Sixteen years since he had become a man and the master of his own fate.
But when he looked at him, Lord Rob saw the bewildered little boy Jarrod had been. The little boy unwanted, unloved, and ignored by his father and his mother.
The need for an heir had been the only reason the previous marquess had married. He had been a rakehell who lived for the next conquest. He'd chosen his bride for her looks, her dowry, and her family name and had given little or no consideration to her nature.
And that was a mistake in judgment that he had lived to regret. The marriage between the fourth Marquess of Shepherdston and Lady Honora Blackheath was a match made in hell. It was miserable from the start and it became worse with Jarrod's birth.
The marquess had never been faithful. He cheated on his wife, on his mistress, and on whoever happened to be in his bed or in his life when someone else caught his eye. And that never changed.
But the birth of the heir gave Lady Shepherdston license to ignore her wedding vows as well — she had done her duty and provided her husband with an heir. Soon the house became crowded with past lovers, present lovers, and future lovers of both the marquess and the marchioness. And neither one had been particularly choosy about the people who shared their beds.
Jarrod was still haunted by what he'd seen, still haunted by what they had done. By the time he was five years old, he had seen almost everything, including his nursemaid and his father in bed together. At eight, he'd narrowly escaped being buggered by one of his mother's lovers by running away and locking himself in Eleanor's Folly. By the time he was ten, he'd sworn off love and lovemaking altogether, and by the time he was two and ten, Jarrod spent as much of his time as possible at Shepherdston Hall to avoid the attentions of his father's lovers who regularly propositioned him by inviting him to share their beds.
Jarrod had done his best to keep the most sordid details of his life from Griff and Colin, but he couldn't stop the whispers and gossip of the other boys at school. There was nothing the members of the ton liked more than to gossip about other members of the ton, and Lord and Lady Shepherdston provided their peers with deliciously juicy on-dits on a daily basis. The Marquess and Marchioness of Shepherdston despised and resented each other and the marriage that kept them bound together. Bent on destruction, they devised a vicious game where besting each other at scandal was the prize. Neither of his parents spared a thought for Jarrod's well-being. Their sense of their responsibilities extended only as far as seeing that he was fed, clothed, housed, and educated.
As far as Jarrod was concerned, other than giving him life, the greatest favor either of his parents had ever done him was deciding to send him to the Knightsguild School for Gentlemen shortly after his ninth birthday because it was farther from London than Eton.
When they remembered he was alive, it was because one of their lovers reminded them.
His childhood had been one long ongoing orgy of pain and pleasure and deceit, from which the only escape had been his friends at Knightsguild and their secret Free Fellows League.
And despite everything they were and everything they had done, Jarrod had loved his parents. And on the day of their funerals, he had sworn he would never love anyone like that again. He would never allow anyone to hurt him again.
"Oh, but my boy," Lord Rob said softly, "you're wrong. Marriage wasn't responsible for your mother and father's actions. They were."
Jarrod shook his head. "They wouldn't have been the way they were if they hadn't gotten married."
"They would have been exactly the same whether they'd gotten married or not. No one forced them. Your father chose your mother and she accepted. Marriage didn't change who or what they were," Lord Rob replied. "Your father never grew up. He fell into love with someone new every week, but he was incapable of sustaining it. He never look responsibility for anything in his life except his own pleasure." There was a note of bitterness in Lord Rob's voice that Jarrod had never heard before. "And even that, he often left to his bedmates. He was headstrong and childish and wildly i
rresponsible, and at times, terribly cruel."
Jarrod stared at his uncle, surprised by Lord Rob's assessment of the fourth Marquess of Shepherdston's character. "I thought you liked him. I thought you were his friend."
"I did like him," Lord Rob agreed. "That was what was damnably hard to take. He was as selfish as a child most of the time, but he was also incredibly generous at times. So much so that you couldn't help but like him. Even when you despised how he behaved and how he treated the people who loved him."
"Did she ever love him?"
Lord Rob shook his head. "No."
"Then why the jealous rage?"
"It wasn't jealousy," Lord Rob said slowly. "It was fury. Your mother was almost exactly like your father. And your father liked that about her. It's what attracted him to her in the first place. She was as much like one of the fellows as it was possible for a woman to be. She understood who and what he was and didn't expect him to be anything more. And Honora was every bit as selfish and irresponsible and cruel as he was. She was beautiful and she used that beauty to get her way. She used men to get her way. She had affairs and took lovers, but hers was a game of conquest just like your father's. She used men and she despised them. Just as your father used women and dismissed them. Their union was never about love. It was about power and control and the ultimate pursuit of pleasure. Their union was disastrous in most ways, but it was remarkable in another."
"In what way?" Jarrod snorted. He'd never seen anything to admire in either one of his parents and nothing to admire in their marriage.
"It produced you," Lord Rob said simply.
"And provided them with a constant, unwanted reminder of why they were together in the first place."
"That may well have been true," his uncle agreed, "but the result of their first coming together was you and if they did nothing good for the rest of their lives, they had still created an extraordinary human being. One who loved them in spite of the fact that they had never done anything to deserve it."