Page 78 of An Inconvenient Vow

“I do.”

“I am sure the rest of your family will be terribly shocked if Isemay does not accept His Grace’s suit, should he renew it.” Again, Jeffree found himself unable to refute this claim. The De Crecy clan had pronounced the Burrells naught but a pack of fortune hunters. His relations would be both shocked and incredulous if Isemay were to reject the duke.

In the face of his silence, Sabina asked suddenly. “Does inheriting Bethencourt’s title mean so very much to you?”

“Of course,” Jeffree answered aloud. “I was raised as my uncle’s heir after all.” But inwardly he wondered a little, remembering his godfather’s words to him on the subject. How Sir Charles had urged him to guard against the designing Burrells and how little Jeffree had heeded his warnings.

It had not even occurred to him to eschew Areley Kings and remain at his uncle’s side counseling him against any possible reconcilement with Isemay. “Ganford Chase is the most impressive estate in all of Southern Karadok,” he added more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. “I would be a fool not to covet it.”

“Yes, but what I mean is, you spend most of your year touring to compete. It is not as though you are following in your uncle’s footsteps or helping to run his vast estates. You are forging your own path in life.”

“My uncle’s land stewards manage his estate,” he pointed out, though he liked that she saw he was his own man. He hesitated a moment. “Let us talk now of the restoration of Morecotte,” he suggested cunningly. That would be a subject after her own heart, and he fancied would distract her from wanting to return too soon to Blitha’s back.

“Truly?” Sabina perked right up at that suggestion. No wonder she did not think he really cared for Ganford Chase. He would wager he did not hold it in even one-tenth the regard she held her former home, and he marveled at it. Morecotte was a pretty spot, but little more than a picturesque hunting box that had been left to go to ruin.

“The approach is quite choked up with weeds,” Sabina began enthusiastically. “They must all be cleared away so that delivery carts may approach with their wares for we need to restock the cellars.” She paused as though expecting him to concur.

He cleared his throat. “Certainly. The unsightly holes in the walls of the Great Chamber must also be plugged up.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “and some attempt made to clean and mend the wall-hangings if that is even possible. There was also a broken window in one of the bedrooms which must be considered a priority in case of rain.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “What else?”

The next half-hour passed in the closest thing they had ever reached to accord in their lives together thus far. Jeffree trod carefully, agreed with everything she suggested, and when considerations such as economy encroached on her plan-making, he dismissed them. “I have plenty of money for the refurbishment,” he pointed out absently, for his mind was considering the vast stash of costly fabrics he had accumulated in his dressing room. They could be purposed for bed hangings, draperies, and even, if she would only permit it, to clothe his wife’s delectable body.

These past few days he had learned better than to simply voice his opinion on this subject. He wondered how he could even broach the matter once again without incurring her displeasure. Now he had made it clear he intended to live at Morecotte, it seemed she accepted the use of his purse in its restoration.

Would the consummation of their marriage make his offer of replenishing her inadequate wardrobe any more acceptable? He was strangely loth to raise it and find out. What if such talk shattered the temporary harmony betwixt the two of them?

The afternoon passed swiftly, and they soon left the rocky summit behind them as they descended through a more navigable pass leading to the remote inn where they would spend the night. The evening was a fine one in June and, though they did not reach their destination until late, night was only just falling.

They were served with a simple supper of bread and pottage and a wine so sour that Jeffree left his share to Osborn before retiring for the night. Sabina yawned several times as she disrobed and was quick to jump under the covers after her wash. Jeffree made haste to follow, and they lay side by side in the failing light provided by the small casement window.

“I felt so tired during supper, but now I lay my head down, sleep will not come,” Sabina remarked companionably.

Jeffree cleared his throat. How did one respond to such remarks? As a rule, he coldly ignored such empty chatter. Then again, he’d never shared a bed with anyone before. Surely a different etiquette would come into play here. “Indeed,” he settled on after a moment’s hesitation. He did not feel remotely tired.

“Why do you suppose he did it?” she asked suddenly.

“Who?” Jeffree blinked, bewildered by the turn in conversation.

“Leland Ellis. Why do you suppose he came up with such a fantastical plot against you and Isemay?” she asked turning toward him.

Jeffree could not speak for a moment; had she been long pondering this matter? It had hardly been uppermost in his thoughts. He shifted uncomfortably. “Leland has ever been a trouble-maker,” he said grudgingly. “And long resented me.”

“Was it always that way?” she asked curiously. “After all, you were raised together almost like foster-brothers.”

“Always,” he agreed shortly.

“I suppose,” she debated slowly, “looking at it from his point of view, you were rather a cuckoo in their nest. And I daresay that father of his did not pass the opportunity to use you as a stick to beat Leland with.”

“What do you mean?” His tone was sharp. He had not realized her opinion of his mentor and guardian was so scathing.

“Well, if Leland was always wild and you the studious, ‘perfect’ son, then it was only natural he would resent you.” The silence between them stretched as Jeffree frowningly considered this. “Leland must have wanted his father’s approbation on some level,” she persisted. “Perhaps he thought this way he could kill two birds with one stone.”

He did not want to ask, but he heard himself do so anyway. “How so?”

“By both preventing the marriage which Sir Charles so abhorred and besmirching your name in one fell swoop. It makes a sort of horrible sense if you think about it,” she continued. “For doubtless he thought his father would forgive him eventually, for he would have preserved your inheritance by his actions, would he not?”