Page 95 of An Inconvenient Vow

Well, she would have to learn that he was not a man to be led around by the nose however much he… craved her. His thoughts shied away from the declaration he had made, the declaration she had spurned. His ears burned with the humiliation of the memory.

There was a place for a wife in his life, he had come to realize, but that place was not ruling over him from some kind of throne. There was only one place she could ride him roughshod, he thought, before his own thoughts brought him up short. Gods. It did not do for him to dwell on such things, though he could not forbear for a moment from thinking of her sleeping in his massive bed alone.

Had she waited up for his return? He had been strongly tempted to head back to her after the council of war with Charles. If he was not mistaken, his godfather was heading for some kind of breakdown if Leland was not found soon. Besides, he thought sourly, she had told him to find other ways of expressing his love, had she not? Ways that did not involve his penis. He was uncomfortably aware that if he had climbed under the covers with her, his ways would have been sadly predictable.

Jeffree scowled. What other ways were there? Well, for one, he had now taken on some steps to prevent her father from being dragged down by his debts. Would that make her smile upon him again? What else could he do? He cast about him. He had returned Morecotte to her; that had pleased her. What other wrongs had she left to be righted?

A moment’s deep reflection brought the business of that blacksmith’s niece or daughter, whatever she was, to mind. The one that had borne Hendry a bastard brat. Mayhap he could pay for that family to relocate, so Sabina should not fear running into them whenever she ventured into the village.

Yes, that was an idea. He resolved to find out the direction of the forge and the present circumstances of the wretched female. Had Sabina not said her own father had been forced to provide for them? He cursed softly under his breath. He should have broached the subject with Burrell that morning and he could have dealt with it in one fell swoop.

At this point, Naseby came hurrying in to tell him that the duke was finally ready to depart. About damned time, he thought springing from his seat. Naturally, his uncle was accompanied by one of his under-stewards and rode at a snail’s pace, exclaiming all the while how shocked he was that Sir Charles did not mean to accompany them, for this visit was to “pay a compliment to Mistress Sabina.”

Jeffree ground his teeth for it was the third time he had heard his uncle address her as such. “Her name,” he burst forth, no longer able to swallow the insult, “is Lady Sabina.”

“Upon my word, you are in the right of it, nephew,” his uncle replied with a sad smile. “’Tis just that I was used to addressing her this way on our previous acquaintance, and I find I am not good with change.”

It was odd, but Jeffree found he bitterly resented the fact his uncle had a prior acquaintanceship to boast of, even if it was only in passing. Though it might be truth in point of fact, he thought it bad-taste for his uncle to flout it like that in his face. The duke had been engaged to her sister, nothing more. Likely Sabina had not met with him above a half dozen times and then in mixed company.

Noticing the way his uncle’s under-steward was cringing in his saddle, Jeffree realized his murderous feelings must be showing in his expression and stopped fantasizing about dragging his uncle off his horse and wringing his scrawny neck.

“I hope you do not think it rash to have moved all your personal belongings from your chambers at The Chase,” his uncle rambled on. “You are my heir Jeffree, and as such, it is only right that you should maintain rooms in my house.”

“Rash?” Jeffree echoed. “How can it be considered rash? No sooner had I emptied my rooms than you had Naseby refill them with replacement furniture.”

“Never let it be said that my heir shall not be welcome in the halls of Ganford Chase,” his uncle answered grandly. “And it is just as well that Naseby is so efficient. If he had not been, then you would have had to sleep upon the floor last night, for none of us expected you to return so soon.”

Jeffree felt his eye twitch with irritation. “Sir Charles had some matter he wished to discuss with me—” he started.

“Nay Jeffree!” His uncle raised an embroidered glove. “No explanation need ever be given for you to sleep under my roof. You are always welcome therein.”

“Most generous,” Jeffree ground out.

The Duke of Bethencourt inclined his head. “I know what is due unto my heir,” he said. “Never let it be said that I am in dereliction of duty.”

Jeffree pursed his lips but forbore to comment on his precarious status as heir. After all, had not his uncle planned on marrying only a few short weeks ago?

“I shall ne’er wed now,” his uncle sighed, jolting Jeffree out of his thoughts. A heavy silence lay between them for a few moments.

“There is still time,” Jeffree heard himself say gruffly.

His uncle waved this aside. “No, no, I am an old bachelor and set in my ways. Mistress Isemay was like a breath of spring to the autumn of my life, but it was naught but a fleeting dream.” The expression on his uncle’s face was pleasurably melancholic and it struck Jeffree forcibly that the old fool had no idea of the bumpy ride marriage involved.

“She is a most estimable maiden,” the duke continued, “but since that debacle that was our ill-fated wedding day, not one slender foot has she put through my door, despite repeated invitations. The prettiest note she sent to me could not disguise that she was releasing me entirely from my obligation toward her.”

Jeffree did not know how to reply to this, but he saw the under-steward’s eyes were wide as saucers. No doubt it would be all around Ganfordshire before long, that Mistress Isemay Burrell had refused a duke.

“I will never love again,” the duke said with another tragic smile.

That was not love, Jeffree thought with scorn. He might not know much, but he knew that much. If Sabina ever tried to wriggle out of her obligations to him, he would tighten about her like a trap and refuse to let go. Such a thing would be untenable, abhorrent even. Anyone who truly loved another would not speak of losing or relinquishing that person with such complaisance.

The visit itself proved a test of his patience in ways he could never have anticipated. Sabina was cool with him, so cool that he seemed almost invisible to her. By contrast, she was cautiously welcoming to his uncle which annoyed him. Such deference was the duke’s due, of course, but in Jeffree’s opinion, his uncle encroached on her hospitality.

Firstly, Bethencourt was shown around the house, a tour which had annoyed Jeffree greatly after Sabina described the main bedchamber as “Sir Jeffree’s room” and the second bedchamber as “Sir Jeffree’s dressing room.” The smallest and most meanly furnished room she described as her own province, a thing he had no intention of tolerating and so he would tell her later.

Following the tour, the duke was seated in the dining chamber, and after he had made several pointed comments about draughts, Sabina bade a fire be lit despite the clement weather. When Jeffree reminded all present that it was now July, no one paid him the slightest heed. Sabina had then served the duke mead and the peculiar strawberry tarts which Jeffree had not approved of.

His uncle exclaimed over the tarts repeatedly, and when told the cook had created them in his honor, nothing would please him, but that Penny was fetched from the kitchen and presented to him. The blushing woman had then had to repeat three times the process she had undergone to produce such “excellent” tarts. When asked what she called her creation, she had replied promptly, “Why to be sure, Bethencourt tarts.” And the duke had then bade his under-steward to write down every step for it to be emulated in his own kitchens and had praised the woman until she was giddy.