Page 34 of An Inconvenient Vow

“That man, Alfred Hendry—”

“Is a craven liar, who I dragged from his own filth a mere hour ago. There is a property dispute betwixt himself and the Burrells and Leland decided to take advantage of that ill-feeling and use the fellow to achieve his own ends.”

“You are determined to think the worst of Leland!”

“And you not to!” Jeffree retorted.

A troubled silence descended. “It seems we shall not agree on this matter,” Sir Charles said haltingly.

“Apparently not.”

“Mistress—I mean, the Lady Sabina has been busy this past couple of days, poisoning you against those you were raised with.”

“Is that what you really think?” Jeffree asked sardonically.

“I am shocked your loyalties could be so easily swayed. This woman, she is hardly in the same league as the Lady Meliora.”

Jeffree looked up sharply. “Lady Meliora is no more. She joined the cloister and took a different name and a different life,” he reminded Sir Charles. “Devoting herself to her god.”

“Even so… One does not simply renounce a devotion to such a caliber of woman in a mere matter of days! I had thought better of you, my boy.” Sir Charles’s tone was bitter.

Jeffree regarded him stonily. “Well, I too, thought better of you, Charles,” he answered at last. “I had not realized your views were so… biased where your son and heir was concerned. I suppose it is not to be wondered at, but you always took such pains to present yourself as a rational man of impartial judgment.”

A hectic flush mounted Sir Charles’s hollowed cheeks, but he made no reply to this, and after a curt nod, Jeffree turned on his heel and marched back across the hall. He found his uncle sipping on a foul-looking concoction of milk and egg which he had urged Sabina to partake a cup of. From her expression, Jeffree could tell she was not enjoying it. For some reason, this brightened his mood considerably.

“Jeffree, my boy, come and take a cup of this excellent posset. It has just a sprinkling of nutmeg which makes it most efficacious.”

Jeffree demurred, but Sabina held up her own cup toward him. “Here, finish mine. It is very rich, Your Grace,” she said turning to his uncle. “I fear I cannot stomach the entire helping.”

The duke tutted but accepted her excuses. Jeffree took the cup, mostly because she so clearly expected him to. He was not in the habit of drinking people’s dregs. Still, he gazed at it a moment with disfavor before draining the cup with a grimace.

“I am sure, as His Grace said, it will do you a power of good,” Sabina said cheerfully. He narrowed his eyes at her, but the duke was already vehemently agreeing with the sentiment. “Well,” she continued after a moment of silence. “Have we said your farewells to everyone?” Her gaze strayed over his shoulder to where Sir Charles was flinging out of the door, shutting it behind him with a slam.

Jeffree found himself wondering if any of their exchange had been overheard. Both he and Sir Charles had been rather heated in the moment. He answered her question absently. “I believe so, though I did not see my Launceston cousins.”

“The lot from Hever Foy?” asked the duke, his ears pricking up. “They barely waited for break of day before packing up. None of us saw them leave save the servants.” He sighed. “Most injudicious to travel when the grass is still damp.”

“Well, in that case…” Jeffree shrugged. “I have done my duty.” He eyed her resignedly. Doubtless, she would now start clamoring to return to her blessed Morecotte.

She took a deep breath. “Can we—should we have some speech now between the two of us?” Sabina asked in a low voice, her gaze darting warningly toward his uncle who was sniffing dubiously at an orange studded with cloves.

Jeffree felt strangely reluctant to accede to the request. He stood up though, showing himself willing in body, if not in spirit. “Very well then.”

10

To Sabina’s surprise, instead of repairing to Jeffree’s own chambers, he led her into the small parlor off the Great Hall which they had been married in. She gazed about a moment, overwhelmed by the unpleasant associations before bringing her attention back to his tense features.

“Well?” he asked, folding his arms.

Sabina cleared her throat. “I heard you telling Sir Charles you had plans,” she admitted. “Will you share them with me?”

“You heard that?” he said quickly, his brows drawing together in a frown.

“Only a few phrases were legible,” she admitted and noticed he seemed to relax at her words. Should she be concerned? She regarded him dubiously.

“I start my training on the morrow,” he answered at last. “For the next tournament.”

“Oh? When is that?”