Page 31 of An Inconvenient Vow

Sabina rolled her eyes. “I am aware of that, Sir Jeffree. Do you think a person’s worth is wholly determined by their rank? I am sure there have been many who bear titles who are entirely contemptible and, even worse, extremely forgettable.”

He blinked. “Even worse?” he echoed uncomprehendingly.

“Certainly.” She nodded. “For there can be nothing worse than a complete bore.”

Jeffree cast a quick glance around. “It is unseemly of you to say such things in present company,” he said tightly. “You speak out of turn.”

“Nonsense! I speak not of particulars, merely from my observations of the world.”

He scoffed at this. “I daresay you have never been out of Ganfordshire, woman!”

Her eyes flashed. “I have seen enough! There was a baronet lived not five miles from my old home that drank himself into an early grave and beat his wife and daughter near every night. Does he deserve my respect because he was born with every advantage?”

“I have always made it my practice to avoid such vices that would lead to ruination,” Jeffree answered stiffly. “All men are capable of sinking into degradation. Even those born into privilege.”

“So, because you have always avoided women and drink that means you are beyond reproach, does it?” Sabina asked.

“That is not what I said,” Jeffree answered frustratedly. “You twist my meaning.”

“You were the one who made this about you,” she pointed out. “I was merely praising your brothers.”

Jeffree’s brows drew together. “They are a pair of young jackanapes,” he pronounced heavily, though he did not know why it annoyed him so much to hear her speak highly of them.

“What were you like at their age? Were you just as delightful before you were bundled off to Sir Hector’s tender care?”

“Hereward,” he corrected her automatically. “And there was precious little tender about his care, I assure you!”

She paused at the heat of his response. “Was he cruel to you?” she asked in an oddly stricken voice.

“No,” Jeffree responded at once, though he did not know why he should reassure her. “He was a bluff, old country type. He liked wine, roasted meats, and hunting songs. Most nights I had to drag him to bed by his heels, while he sang raucously at the top of his lungs or he would have choked to death face down in a vat of wine.”

Sabina gave a smothered laugh. “At least he enjoyed life,” she mused. “So then, it was not he that beat the joy out of you. Then it must have been someone else. Who was it, I wonder? Not your stepfather for he seems a most mild-mannered man.”

Jeffree regarded her with exasperation. “I was nothing like Jasper and Crispin. At their age, I was wholly given over to my studies.”

“A sober-minded boy?” Sabina commented, gazing at him as though she were trying to picture him at thirteen.

He cleared his throat. “Sir Hereward thought I was a young prig,” he admitted.

Sabina laughed again and Jeffree realized that everyone still present in the hall was turned their way and staring at them with unabashed amazement.

“Jeffree, my boy!”

He turned his head to see his uncle had come into the hall at some point and was now seated before the fire in a burgundy robe. Stifling his disinclination, Jeffree led Sabina in that direction. “Your Grace,” he greeted his uncle.

“Sit ye down, sit ye down,” the Duke of Bethencourt urged them, gesturing to some seats that had been placed down beside him. “All of these farewells are most fatiguing. I vow, my voice has grown quite hoarse from all the endless repetition.”

Jeffree released his hold of Sabina and saw her seated before he took the neighboring chair. “You are otherwise well this morning, Uncle?” he asked briskly, hoping that way to ward off any catalogue of complaints. No such luck.

The fifth duke tutted and adjusted the length of silk about his throat. “I fear I may have taken a chill,” he quavered. “Naseby promised me a posset forthwith, but the wretched fellow has slipped away and abandoned me to my sufferings.”

Sabina drew in a breath and Jeffree tensed. “If Naseby is your steward, Your Grace,” she piped up, “then I believe he is stood in the entryway, directing people’s baggage to their conveyances.” There was a hint of reproach in her voice, which made Jeffree squirm, but his uncle seemed wholly oblivious to it.

“Oh, is he?” Bevis de Crecy murmured. “Well then, I suppose I must not begrudge him if he is helping my guests on their way.” He tugged fretfully at his moustache. “You spent the evening at Tipton Hall last night, I think?”

Jeffree found himself bristling. His uncle knew full well where they had spent the night, after sending servants to enquire. “We did,” he growled.

“I hope it was not under some misapprehension that you were not welcome at Ganford Chase,” his uncle continued, surprising him.