Page 32 of An Inconvenient Vow

“Certainly not,” Sabina responded. “But we wished to reassure my own parents as to our…” She hesitated a moment. “Marital accord,” she settled on, refusing to meet Jeffree’s eye.

“Yes… er, yes, I suppose that is understandable,” his uncle replied begrudgingly. “May I ask, Mistress Sabina, how you found your dear sister yester’een?” Jeffree stiffened slightly. Could no one address his wife correctly? “I should not be surprised if she were to go into a sad decline,” the duke continued mournfully. “Many a beauteous maid has done so, under far less provocation.”

“I do not believe so,” Sabina answered stoutly. “Her constitution is not so enfeebled.” Jeffree darted a warning glance at her, which she completely ignored, lifting her chin. “She was affected, of course, by such rude treatment, but Isemay’s reaction was more of indignation than lamentation.”

The Duke of Bethencourt blinked, looking anything but gratified by this news. “I would have thought that any delicately-reared maiden would have been stricken to her very core by such allegations!” he said, shuddering slightly. “But there, I daresay I am sadly old-fashioned and out of step with current ways.”

Jeffree cleared his throat, seeing Sabina open her mouth on a retort. Catching his meaning, she lapsed into silence again, though he saw the flash in her eyes, indicating she had plenty more to say on the subject.

“Has my godfather taken his leave of you this morn?” Jeffree asked his uncle after a short, awkward silence.

“I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Charles,” the duke responded peevishly. “He and Leland were going to stay on for a few weeks originally. Now of course…” He spread his hands wide. “That would be exceedingly awkward under the circumstances.”

Jeffree’s eyebrows rose, but he found himself entirely unable to make a polite rejoinder when it came to Leland. He supposed his godfather must still be some whereabouts the premises. With his punctilious manners, Sir Charles would never have departed without taking his leave of the duke.

“Your mother came and bade me farewell last night.” The duke sighed and shook his head. “Dear lady,” he tutted. “She felt the dishonor done to the De Crecy name most keenly.”

“Strange,” Jeffree retorted, “as she has not borne it in so many years.”

His uncle looked taken aback. “Well… no,” he conceded. “But you, my boy, her eldest son, bear it proudly.”

“Sir Dudley made a better impression on me this morning,” Sabina put in suddenly. “His personality has more opportunity to shine when his lady wife is not present.”

The duke clearly took exception to this point of view. “Sir Dudley is a decent sort of man, by all accounts,” he responded without enthusiasm. “But he cannot possibly be compared to my brother Gaius, the Lady Maud’s first husband. He outshone him in every respect.”

“He sounds a perfect paragon,” Sabina responded blandly, and though he might have taken this statement at face value at one time, Jeffree was no longer fooled. “But then I would expect no less from the sire of one such as Sir Jeffree,” she concluded sweetly.

“Quite so,” Bethencourt responded, seeing nothing suspect in her statement. “We De Crecys have always been a superior breed.”

Jeffree felt his face grow hot and turned hastily toward Sabina to quell whatever retort was rising to those impertinent lips. She ignored his chastising glare. “Have you heard, Your Grace, how Sir Jeffree hath championed me this morn?” she asked in an abrupt change of subject.

“What’s that you say?” his uncle asked, throwing a startled glance his way. “What have you been about now, Jeffree?” He looked alarmed, as though one of his previously docile hounds had snarled at someone.

“It was naught,” Jeffree insisted. “She exaggerates.”

“Nonsense! You were my perfect hero,” Sabina responded fervently. “I only wish you could have championed my cause a twelvemonth ago and I would not have had all that fuss and pother with Alfred Hendry.”

“As you would scarcely have been in the position to marry me then, madam,” he retorted scathingly, “my intervention would have been most improper.”

“Why? Oh, you mean as I was so recently widowed?” For once, she had the grace to look somewhat abashed. “I suppose that is true enough, though some people do not let the grass grow under their feet.” She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to her lap, lapsing into abrupt silence.

For some reason, Jeffree found himself just as displeased by her withdrawal from the conversation as he had been by her thrusting herself into it. He regarded her moodily until some pointed remark by his uncle roused him from his thoughts. “What was that you say, uncle?”

“I said—oh never mind, Jeffree! I know you are a newlywed, but it really is too bad!”

“What is?”

“If all you can do is sit and stare at your new bride, then you are hardly fit company for the rest of us!”

So startled by his uncle’s irritated words was he, that all Jeffree could manage was an outraged splutter. Luckily, the arrival at his side of Sir Charles freed him of the necessity of replying.

“There you are, Charles!” Bethencourt hailed him. “We were just wondering where you had vanished to.”

Sir Charles nodded all around. “I rode out abroad this morning to make some enquiries.” Jeffree’s ears pricked up. About what? he wondered. Scanning his godfather’s face, he guessed they must have pertained to the whereabouts of his missing son. “Thought you would have enough bodies bustling about the pace this morning Bevis, without me adding to the crowd,” Sir Charles said wryly as he let his eye travel over the people bustling in and out of the Great Hall.

“I certainly have,” the duke responded. “I am exhausted by all the comings and goings about the place. The draughts blasting in and out will be the death of me!”

Sir Charles inclined his head. “You have had a lot to contend with of late,” he agreed gravely.