Page 3 of An Inconvenient Vow

Jeffree’s eyes narrowed. To his mind, Leland’s companions looked like officials of some kind; he cast a quick glance toward the priest whose mouth had dropped open. Clearly, they had not been expected at the wedding.

Leland made his unhurried way into the center of the room, his mocking eyes trained on the bride who was flanked by her kinsfolk: her bewildered-looking parents and her dowdy older sister. Once there Leland halted, and the loud mutterings of the assembled crowd died down to a whisper.

“What is the meaning of this rude interruption to my wedding day?” cried the Duke of Bethencourt from his dais. He was an unimposing figure of middling height, with sandy-colored hair and a neatly trimmed beard. “It’s an outrage I’faith! Ellis? You overstep the mark, bringing this rabble into my hall uninvited!”

Rabble seemed an odd word to describe the company, Jeffree thought. To his mind, they looked more like clerics. Then he noticed the disreputable-looking character bringing up the rear. Who in hells was this? The fellow’s doublet had clearly seen better days, the cuffs looked beer-stained, and he looked so green about the gills Jeffree thought he was likely to throw up before them all.

Had Leland brought some drinking companion along to his host’s wedding? Jeffree was baffled. This reprobate looked no more like one of Leland’s usual cronies than the rest of them. Though he ran with a vicious crowd, Leland’s friends were always monied and usually titled. This fellow looked as much a yokel as the Burrells.

“My pardon, Your Grace,” Leland replied in that well-bred drawl of his, and though he seemed to make no effort to raise his voice, somehow it carried effortlessly to the four corners of the room. “But certain facts have come to light at this late hour which cannot go unpunished. My companions here are the local questor, summoner, and magistrate of this parish.” He paused a moment letting the significance of his words sink in.

Leland had brought along an ecclesiastical court, thought Jeffree feeling stunned. Brought them to Uncle Bevis’s wedding. But why?

“The proceeding is a little irregular, it is true,” Leland continued. “But it will serve.” He swung around to take in the crowd, before returning to face the dais where the Duke of Bethencourt stood open-mouthed in his wedding day finery. “I am afraid I must put a halt to your wedding, Your Grace.”

“What?” the duke bleated, reeling back and falling into his seat. His steward rushed forward to assist him, but no one present could drag their eyes off Leland’s insolent face.

“There have been dark dealings afoot, which must be dragged into the light,” Leland pronounced with something approaching relish. The crowd murmured and Jeffree saw Sir Charles stiffen beside him. “The wrong-doers must be brought to book,” Leland continued. His enigmatic gaze traveled over his rapt audience to rest a moment on Jeffree’s own face. What the hells was this?

“Reparations must be made,” Leland pronounced lovingly, still looking at Jeffree. Not for the first time that morning Jeffree felt the presentiment of imminent disaster. Why the fuck was this bastard looking in his direction? “There will be a reckoning,” Leland promised. “And it starts now.”

2

Sabina passed her arm around her sister’s slim shoulders as Isemay shrank toward her.

“What is happening?” Isemay moaned softly. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Sabina started to reply before choking on her words as she caught sight of the spindle-shanked figure who had slouched in behind the court officials. Surely that was the current thorn in her side, her late husband’s cousin, Alfred Hendry! She stared at him in astonishment. What was he doing here?

She knew of no link betwixt the De Crecy family and her late husband’s. Indeed, Miles had always spoken of the Hendry family as hailing from just outside the southern capital. Sabina turned her head to see if her father had noted Alfred’s presence, but Wilfred Burrell was gazing with fascinated dismay at the cool devil speaking who was holding everyone in the palm of his hands.

Sabina had briefly met Sir Leland Ellis in the past few days and her impression had been no more favorable than the rest of the bunch. He was tall and thin, with pale skin and curling black hair. He was certainly far too young for the annoying smirk and attitude of languid boredom that he adopted as habit, for he could be no more than four and twenty. His manner was very near as infuriating as Sir Jeffree’s withering disdain.

She had seen the two of them about the neighborhood a few times over the years, for both Sir Leland and Sir Jeffree stayed with the duke often. However, both had considered themselves far too good to mix with the general populace of Ganfordshire, so Sabina had only ever seen them at a distance until the last week.

Her eye was naturally drawn toward Sir Jeffree as the tallest and grandest figure in the room. So strong was the look of supercilious hauteur on his face that it almost took her breath away. How did one ever get to be so contemptuous of one’s fellow man? she wondered. Around these parts, everyone whispered that the duke’s heir was as prideful as a devil.

As for Sir Leland, for someone currently smashing the duke’s wedding to smithereens, he looked as though he was taking a dark sort of enjoyment from the task, Sabina thought with a shiver. Why was he doing this? He did not even have an iron in the fire, she reasoned, for he was not actually related to the Duke of Bethencourt at all. It was not as though he would be ousted from the line of succession as the nephew might if the marriage produced issue. Sabina was wrenched from her thoughts when Isemay’s grasp on her arm grew painful.

“Information has lately come my way,” Leland Ellis continued in his smooth, compelling voice. “Implicating Mistress Isemay Burrell of lewd, immoral conduct. In short, of wickedly playing His Lordship, the Duke of Bethencourt false.”

Gasps and hisses filled the hall as she, Isemay, and their mother all cried out simultaneously, “No!” and “Nay! ‘Tis not so!”

It seemed to Sabina that barely anyone present even deigned to acknowledge their reaction. It was as though everyone in the hall was straining to draw apart from the beleaguered bridal party.

Sir Leland did not even pause in his narrative. “This man,” he said raising his voice and gesturing toward Alfred Hendry, “bears witness to the infamy! One Alfred Hendry of this parish! He has performed his civic duty this morning and informed the magistrates of what he knows.”

“You shall not say so!” burst out Sabina’s father, finding his voice. He took a step forward and pointed a shaking finger at Alfred Hendry. “That man holds a grudge against our family and seeks to discredit us!”

Sabina looked from her father’s indignant face to those of the magistrate, questor, and summoner. As she took in their self-important expressions, she realized with a sinking heart that she had no faith in such men as these with their long faces and sober robes.

It was men like these ones who had been stalling for months now over her own inheritance claim, making very little progress in their judgment. Finally, her father had told her they were likely holding out for a bribe, and the only reason there had thus far been no ruling was that neither they nor Alfred Hendry could afford to sway them in their favor.

It was true, this was not the same court, for ecclesiastical courts held sway over moral transgressions, not property claims. Still, thought Sabina, narrowing her eyes, they were the same type. Turning from them with disgust, she sought out that craven cur Alfred Hendry. As always, he avoided her gaze with his shifty, watery eyes. Miserable creature that he was! How dare he besmirch her sister’s name with this vicious slander, the lying knave!

Sabina’s soul burned as she turned her head to seek out the duke with her accusatory stare. What was he doing while Isemay’s name was dragged through the mud? Bevis de Crecy, the fifth duke, was staring open-mouthed at the spectacle unfolding in front of him. He sat slumped into his seat, holding a pomander to his nose as though to ward off anything unsavory. Bitterly, Sabina realized they could expect no rescue from that quarter.

She let her eyes travel over the onlookers who stood drinking in Sir Leland’s words. Already she could see their shock transforming into more hostile emotion as they glanced at poor Isemay’s blanched face. Isemay’s lovely mouth quivered. Do not cry, Sabina willed her silently as she pressed her sister’s slender shoulders. Do not let them see any sign of weakness for they will take it as confirmation of guilt.