Page 1 of An Inconvenient Vow

1

Ganford Chase, May

“Hurry Sabina!” her mother urged. “We must not keep the groom waiting overlong.”

“I am here, Mother,” Sabina replied mildly, bringing up the rear. Her parents flanked her sister on either side as they strode up the long, winding approach to Ganford Chase, the historic home of the Dukes of Bethencourt. Sabina cursed the impulse that had made her parents abandon their cart so far down the lane, for it meant they had been forced to walk for a good twenty minutes before they reached even this point and there was still a good ten minutes before they reached the main entrance.

And really, it was such a foolish gesture, for who here would care if their wagon was shabby? It was not as though the duke’s family and friends were unaware of their social standing. Everyone in the village knew the bride’s family had fallen on hard times in recent years. But there, Mother had insisted they climb down and send Milford back to the farm with the wagon. For you know His Lordship is sure to send us back in one of his many conveyances, Thora Burrell had twittered. For he is so exceedingly kind and generous.

Mother and Isemay had exchanged warm glances at this point, pressing each other’s hands. He is the best of men, is he not Mother? Oh yes, daughter! The absolute best. Sabina’s expression had soured, for she remembered her mother expressing similar convictions at her own wedding three years ago. Mother had been convinced that Miles Hendry possessed every virtue desirable in a future husband. And only look how that had turned out!

Her mother twisted back now to look at Sabina anxiously. “You are not trailing your hem in the dirt, Sabina!” she fussed. “Really, your garb…” She frowned anxiously. “If only this fabric would have stretched far enough for us to make you a new gown for the occasion too,” she fretted, glancing down at her own new outfit.

Sabina rolled her eyes. “No one will be looking at me, Mother,” she pointed out needlessly. “Not when Isemay makes such a beautiful bride.”

Instantly the petulant look dropped from her mother’s face. “She does, does she not? I vow that never since time began has Ganfordshire seen such a lovely bride. Is that not so, Wilfred?”

Their father nodded enthusiastically, though he did not speak. Sabina suspected the long trudge up the drive had puffed him out. “Indeed, indeed,” he wheezed when his wife shot him an impatient look.

“Sabina made a lovely bride too,” Isemay pointed out, a frown on her beautiful face as she twisted back to look at her sister. Sabina shot her a reassuring smile. Dear Isemay. As though Sabina’s appearance had been even remotely comparable to the vision of loveliness that her younger sister made.

“Oh, to be sure!” their father agreed hastily.

“Sabina looked very well,” her mother conceded, her face immediately assuming the expression of tragic suffering that any mention of Sabina’s ill-fated marriage seemed to induce in her. For some reason, Thora Burrell seemed to think the failure of her oldest daughter’s wedding was a sad reflection on herself.

“It was Miles who did not make a worthy bridegroom!” Isemay continued stubbornly.

Their mother sucked in a shocked breath. “Isemay!”

“Well, well, let us not rake up such unhappy subjects now,” Wilfred Burrell cut in hastily. “On this happy occasion!”

Sabina heartily agreed with the sentiment, and luckily, rounding the bend, Ganford Chase came into view in all its magnificence to distract them. Their party came to an abrupt halt as they stood a moment catching their breaths and staring up at the imposing ancestral home of the Dukes of Bethencourt.

Thora Burrell turned misty-eyed. “To think that my little Isemay will be mistress of such a house!”

Their father breathed heavily and clutched his side. “Indeed,” he puffed. “Indeed. A great day.”

Sabina gazed at the grey stone monstrosity and hoped devoutly that her sister never put the duke’s competent steward’s nose out of joint. There was no chance that any of the tasks Isemay did about Tipton Manor would have prepared her for the running of such a huge household.

Briefly, Sabina thought of Morecotte, which had been her married home for a year and a half before she had returned to her father’s house. What sort of disarray would the place lie in now? she thought bitterly. Miles had been a slipshod master even before he had descended into a life of drink and debauchery. And now his distant relative Alfred was in residence. He was just as bad as Miles only without the looks and charm.

Her bosom swelled at the injustice that a third sort of cousin five times removed could have usurped her rightful inheritance as Miles’s widow. If only Morcotte could be returned to her, she could have some semblance of an independent life. It was not that she wasn’t fond of her parents, but without Isemay there, she would suffer the full brunt of her mother’s attention. And Mother could be so very trying.

“Let us make haste!” her mother urged, flapping her arms. “We must not keep His Lordship waiting!”

Sabina thought sourly of the duke’s wedding guests. Bethencourt by himself was tolerable, though he was a fussy old bachelor and could be rather querulous. Sometimes she worried that Isemay would regret binding herself to such a man. He was so much older than her vivacious sister, and then, there was his family… Sabina shuddered. Bethencourt’s relations had started arriving at Ganford Chase a week ago and the Burrells had been invited to dine there twice since. Sabina had not found the experience pleasant.

A more disagreeable and frostier crowd of miseries she had never met, looking down their noses at them with their flinty gazes. His nephew and heir, that horrible Sir Jeffree, was the absolute worst of the bunch in Sabina’s opinion. She thought now of Sir Jeffree de Crecy’s fair good looks and those very blue eyes. The monumental arrogance of the man slapped you in the face every time you so much as looked at him.

Thankfully, he considered the likes of a provincial widow entirely beneath his notice, so Sabina had managed to escape his critical regard most of the time she had been in his presence. Still, she had observed him and the duke’s closest friend, that cold fish Sir Charles Ellis, exchanging meaningful looks when her parents had found themselves out of their depth amidst all the talk of art and culture at supper.

Her bosom swelled indignantly as she remembered their matching sneers. Her father might be a provincial nobody, but he was a kind man who had never done anyone any harm. Sabina’s greatest mistake in life had been naively thinking that all men were like him. Her marriage had been a harsh lesson in life, teaching her that was not the case.

By the time they reached the grand entrance, there were several attendants stood awaiting their arrival. The lead one, an individual in a yellow tunic with a superior air was almost twitching with impatience.

“This way, this way,” he urged in a thin voice, gesturing before them. “The guests are gathered as we speak in the Great Hall.”

Sabina eyed the man severely. “Well, it is not as though they can continue without her now, is it? They can surely wait another instant while my sister catches her breath.”