Page 117 of An Inconvenient Vow

Sabina bridled. “My sister is not a fool, Your Majesty!”

“No? Then why does she throw over a duke? Answer me that.” The Queen helped herself from a dish of almonds. “I understand your father owns a small property in Ganfordshire and only a paltry amount of lands.”

Sabina thought of Tipton Hall and the attached farm. It was true her father’s lands were not anything to brag of compared to the likes of the Duke of Bethencourt. “There have been Burrells at Tipton Hall for many generations, Your Majesty.”

The Queen nodded. “Oh yes, yes, I am sure, but still, none of them were duchesses, now, were they?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

The Queen cupped her chin. “I suppose this duke he is very old and rather ugly. Apparently, he has attended court in the past and made me his bow, but I do not remember him at all.”

Sabina’s eyes widened. “N-no,” she denied. “He is fifty-nine and not ugly precisely.” Unable to think of anything flattering to say about the duke’s unremarkable features, she heard herself add lamely, “He has a great dislike of draughty places.”

The Queen blinked. “Oh, I see. He is a bore. Yes, that is much worse than being ugly,” she conceded. “But still, your sister should have gritted her teeth. She is much younger than he, is that not so? Then eventually, she could have been the very merry widow.”

Sabina could think of no reply to make of this, so she glanced around uneasily to see if anyone could have overheard and then report back to Hugo that she had claimed Jeffree’s uncle was both ugly and boring. The ladies were all bent so industriously over their needlework that she could not tell if they were listening or not.

“If you do not think your sister, she is a great fool, then it must be because she has someone else in reserve,” the Queen pondered. “Perhaps someone young and virile, no?”

For some reason, Leland Ellis’ mocking face flashed into Sabina’s mind, and Isemay saying, “This way he will mind me and do as I say.” She gasped. “No, not at all!” Isemay was looking for revenge, not love!

“Ahah!” the Queen said triumphantly. “I can see that I am in the right of it. Very well, I will accept that your sister, she is not the little fool, but instead knows what she is about.”

Sabina gazed at Queen Armenal in dazed horror. She had never met anyone like her before. She wished she could get up and walk out of this cultivated garden. It was like some horrible nightmare, even the potent scent of all the flowers was combined to make her head swim.

“Now let us put an end to all pretenses and be perfectly frank with one another,” the Queen urged. “I wish to know how you exert this strange fascination of yours over the menfolk, for I have heard all about it and I must know!”

Sabina made a choking sound. “I—I—assure you, Your Majesty, that I do no such thing!”

The Queen wagged a finger at her. “This will not do, Lady Sabina. I have seen this husband of yours but many times. Always it is said about Jeffree de Crecy that he is of the most arrogant nature. Always I have seen him turn stiff with disapproval, even outrage at any imagined slight to his consequence. He is moreover always immaculately turned out. Until this past week, he would never have shown up to a banquet in an unfastened tunic and attacked someone like a rabid beast who dared to offer you some insult.”

“Insult?” Sabina repeated quickly.

“But of course. I daresay you have not yet spoken to this Sir Horace Nash and exerted your famous charm over him. He just thought you were dowdy and plain and wearing an ugly old dress.”

Sabina flushed. Famous charm? “I see,” she said repressively and tried not to feel glad that Jeffree had punched Sir Horace and his cronies through a table.

“But you cannot see your way clear to sharing your secrets with me,” the Queen sighed. “Which is too bad and not at all generous of you. Never mind, I shall observe you most closely for the duration of your visit at court with us. I am, above all else, a great observer of mankind.”

Sabina shifted uncomfortably on the slipper seat and tried not to slide off it. “Indeed, Your Majesty?”

“It is a little hobby of mine. You observe these works all my ladies are so busily undertaking?”

“I do.”

“They depict my observations of some of the foremost ladies of the land.” Queen Armenal nodded with satisfaction. “Walk about,” she added generously. “Let me know your thoughts.”

Sabina rose to her feet with some reluctance. She felt wholly unequal to the task. Drifting from one industrious group of ladies to another, she peered dubiously at the large canvases being covered with so many tiny stitches.

Only one of them was entirely finished so far, and this showed a woman in a blue dress with red hair being weighed on a large scale against a pile of gold. Rather improbably the dainty-looking female depicted was weighing heavier than the coins. To one side of her, a male figure in a suit of armor was pointing at her, presumably choosing her rather than the wealth.

“Very nice,” Sabina commented feeling quite at a loss. Was this some famous parable she did not know? She peered at the lettering which spelt out: “The Duke of Cadwallader chooses his wife Linnet over all her wealth and riches.” Cadwallader? Had someone mentioned that name earlier?

And why pray would this duke need to choose one or the other? Sabina wondered. For surely on marrying her, he would gain both in any case. She shrugged to herself and paced around all the little groups, peering at the sketches hinting at what the final picture would resemble.

None of the images meant anything to her, but she supposed the stories behind them must be common knowledge at court. Not being a courtier herself, they conveyed precisely nothing to her. She returned to the Queen at the conclusion and was as polite as she could manage to be about the skill of the ladies and the scale of the endeavor.

Queen Armenal tutted. “Do you know, I thought perhaps we might dedicate a panel to you and Sir Jeffree,” she admitted sadly, “but it seems I was mistaken.”