Page 23 of An Inconvenient Vow

“I have plenty of serviceable gowns in my possession, thank you,” Sabina put in, wishing to cut short such talk. She stepped off the bottom step and Isemay seized hold of her arm as they made their way toward the dining chamber.

“I would give you one of my gowns if I could,” her sister whispered.

Sabina squeezed her arm. It was a kind thought, but her sister was slight of build and slender as a reed, where Sabina was a good deal more substantially built. “I doubt I could fit one leg in your gowns,” she remarked wryly as they were seated about the table.

“I do hope Sir Jeffree does not disapprove of breaking one’s fast so early in the day,” their mother fretted. “I know it is frowned on to eat before midday in the best circles. Only common laborers and infants require sustenance at such an hour.”

Their father snorted and helped himself to some toasted bread and roasted fish.

“I do not know Sir Jeffree’s views on such matters,” Sabina confessed, realizing her mother’s eye was fixed on her enquiringly.

“But surely you know at what hour you broke your fast yesterday, child!” her mother retorted crossly. She only ever addressed her grown daughters as such when she was agitated.

“We did not eat yesterday morn,” Sabina admitted, neglecting to mention that she had absented herself not long after rising. “But if he disapproves of such a practice then he need not join us, need he?”

Her mother drew in a sharp breath, looking scandalized, but as her father gave a satisfied nod, their mother let the matter drop. “I trust Sir Jeffree took a good night’s sleep,” she commented as she buttered some bread.

Sabina lowered her cup. “I believe so, Mother,” she answered shortly.

A smug look passed over Thora Burrell’s face. “Hildeth said the two of you looked vastly cozy when she brought you your washing water first thing.”

Sabina plunked her cup down on the table, her cheeks burning. “Did she indeed?” She could feel Isemay’s wide-eyed look of concern burning into her as she reached for some toasted bread. If only Mother would cease talking, she felt sure she could get through the morning and regain her lost composure.

“If you carry on being agreeable then I am sure Sir Jeffree will be only too glad to buy you some gowns that would put Isemay’s wardrobe quite in the shade,” her mother rambled on. “Did you see some of the silks and satins at Ganford Chase the day before yesterday? I daresay some of them cost a pretty penny. That one lady, in the blue, now pray what relation was she to Sir Jeffree? She looked very distinguished,” Thora Burrell rattled on. “I daresay, she looked as noble as a duchess herself.”

“I am not sure who you mean,” Sabina answered after a moment’s pause. “I do not remember how anyone was dressed. I had other matters on my mind at the time.”

“I should think so!” Isemay agreed spiritedly. “Why, poor Sabina almost ended up on a ducking stool! Who cares what robes some haughty, disagreeable woman was wearing?”

“That is no way to speak of your sister’s in-laws!” their mother replied indignantly. “Why, my own mother-in-law would address me as nothing but ‘wretched girl’ for the first twelve months we were married, but I never said a word against her, did I Wilfred?” she said turning to her spouse.

Wilfred Burrell lowered his spoonful of roasted fish. “Not quite how I remember it, my dear,” he answered dryly.

“Well, mayhap I said one or two words to you, but as my husband, you were the proper person to address my woes!”

“Yes, dear.”

Isemay gave a hasty cough, and looking up, Sabina saw Jeffree stood on the threshold with the disagreeable look on his face she was starting to think was habitual.

“Oh! Good morning, Sir Jeffree,” her mother twittered. “Will you not join us?”

He came stiffly into the room and Sabina’s father rose to draw out a seat for him.

Stealing a look at his face, Sabina wondered with a sinking heart just how much of their discussion he had overheard.

He sat down, studiously avoiding looking in her direction as her father pushed the dishes toward him and her mother poured him a cup of weak, foamy ale.

“A manservant of yours came to the house after we had all retired last night,” her father said, addressing Sir Jeffree. “Hodgson admitted him.”

Sir Jeffree blinked. “Osborn?” he asked with a frown.

“Aye, that was his name,” Wilfred Burrell agreed.

“What did he want?”

“Your uncle, the duke, was anxious to discover your whereabouts.”

Jeffree’s eyebrows rose. “I would have thought it obvious.” Sabina looked up with surprise at that. Would he? “Did he remain or return to Ganford Chase?” he asked, still sounding annoyed.