Page 105 of An Inconvenient Vow

Sabina ignored him. “I expect they’re all wondering what you’re doing with the likes of me,” she mused.

“I’m sure they will hazard a guess.”

Sabina bristled. “How so?”

“Because I have ne’er been accompanied by a woman before,” he answered sounded goaded.

“Oh, I see.” Sabina’s gaze next alighted on so striking a newcomer that she almost gasped. The scarring down the one side of his face was extensive and he looked very fearsome. “Who is that?” she asked out of the side of her mouth, as she did not want to appear rude.

Jeffree practically twitched with annoyance. “Lord Kentigern,” he growled. “A northern baron.”

“Is he really?” Sabina had not met many northerners, so she made sure to get a good look at him. “Do all northerners look as formidable as this one? And so tall?”

“Of course not,” Jeffree snapped. “He was grievously wounded in the late war.”

Sabina nodded hastily at this tragic explanation. “Poor man.” Her sympathy did not seem to appease Jeffree one bit. “Is he a good jouster?”

“Yes, damn him.”

Sabina had to bite her lip to stop a wayward smile at his grudging praise. At this point, a server approached to offer them a selection of courses from the stepped display in the center of the table. Sabina gave up on her crowd observation for a while and concentrated instead on an almond tart served with berries and a thick dollop of cream.

As for Jeffree, he grumbled and complained through his own dish of capon for he did not enjoy the rich sauce it was served in.

“It must be a great trial to you,” she commented, “having such an unsophisticated palate when you are surrounded on all sides by such excellent cooking.”

He sent her an exasperated look. “I do not agree with your pronouncement about my taste,” he reminded her.

“We agree on nothing.”

“Not true. There are places we are in accord.”

“Oh? Pray, enlighten me, Sir Jeffree, where might that be?” He gave her a very level look and Sabina felt her face grow hot. “On second thoughts, do not bother!”

It was little wonder that, by the time they retired, they were both tetchy and short with each other. They walked the five minutes back to the De Crecy palace rooms in silence and Sabina was glad to retire to their room without catching so much of a glimpse of Jeffree’s cousin.

Osborn was nowhere in sight, but Wilton was on hand to fetch them hot water, and Sabina was soon tucked in the rather small bed. It was at least half the size of Jeffree’s one back in Ganfordshire, and in truth, she did not think it much bigger than her old one at Tipton Hall. It trembled on her lips to say so, but she bit the words back as Jeffree continued to wash in silence.

When he climbed in the bed, she pressed her lips together, rolling onto her side and facing away from him. Jeffree blew out the last remaining candle and silence ruled over the room for all of five minutes.

Jeffree cleared his throat. “Are you entirely healed now?” he asked in a lowered voice.

“Healed?” Sabina frowned into the darkness. There was an awkwardness to his tone which made realization dawn. Oh. “I was not injured, Jeffree,” she told him matter-of-factly. “It was just my woman’s time.”

Silence greeted these words. Clearly, the idea of bleeding without injury made little sense to him. Still, when he spoke again, she was surprised. “Yet you wore bandages to staunch the flow,” he said. “I saw them soaking in the bowl afterward.”

Sabina lay silent a moment. Jeffree’s ignorance on this subject was not surprising, but his curiosity was. “There is no staunching it, in truth,” she answered carefully, “for ‘tis a steady flow that lasts several days. We simply wear rags down there to… absorb it.”

“Rags?”

“The strips of fabric you mistook for bandages.”

“Ah,” he said, and though she waited, disappointingly he did not follow this up with anything else.

“I suppose neither Sir Charles Ellis nor Sir Hereward Acker taught you of such things,” she heard herself say.

“Never,” he agreed. “My education was sadly incomplete until I met you.” Sabina turned her head sharply but could not make out if his expression was earnest or sarcastic. “You did not answer my question,” he prompted.

She ran back over the last few sentences. Oh. “It is now done,” she admitted.