Page 65 of An Inconvenient Vow

Sabina was now the proud possessor of a broken buckle in the shape of a lion’s head, which had turned out to be the hidden treasure. “I shall have it mended,” she announced to their satisfaction. “For it is a very fine buckle and would handsomely adorn any belt.” Jeffree regarded it doubtfully but refrained from comment as she tucked it into one of his saddlebags.

To his surprise, Sabina was hugged about the waist by both boys who then turned expectantly to him. He tousled Crispin’s curly head and clapped Jasper on the shoulder as his mother and stepfather hovered nearby.

“We shall expect an invitation,” his mother called, “once you have your household in order.”

Jeffree darted a glance at Sabina, but as she was bidding a farewell to the dogs, it was possible she had not heard the alarming remark. He lifted her up onto her saddle and they were off, with Osborn following on behind.

They made good progress and by early evening were within a mile or so of the abbey.

“It is lucky we left when we did,” Jeffree remarked. “Or we should never have got here before nightfall.”

“You were having far too much fun to tear yourself away any earlier,” Sabina responded.

Jeffree cleared his throat. “Nonsense, we could not leave until we had found the prize.”

“Oh, of course not!” she agreed gravely though her eyes twinkled. “That would not have been sportsmanlike.”

“Do you really mean to have that ugly thing mounted on a belt? The boys must surely have found it somewhere discarded.” He threw her a disparaging look. “It looks more like a gargoyle than a lion.”

Sabina smiled. “I like unusual things,” she answered lightly.

“Is that why you dress the way you do?” He realized he had made a mistake as soon as he said it.

She stiffened and the laughter died right out of her eyes. “I suppose it must be,” she answered flatly.

Inwardly he cursed himself for shattering the momentary goodwill betwixt them. “I only meant—” He flailed a moment, suddenly loath to say the wrong thing. “Those dresses no longer fit your station,” he settled on uneasily. She said nothing, though Jeffree waited longer than he usually would for someone to respond.

“You must allow me to provide you suitable clothing,” he concluded finally. “My mother has given me a De Crecy family necklace and ring. If you were to wear them with your present garb, they would look incongruous.”

“I agree,” she said finally. “You should save them.”

“Save them?”

“For someone more appropriate.”

“What does that mean?” he asked sharply. “They are for you, no one else.” She shook her head but remained stubbornly mute. “What do you mean, no? ’Tis you are my wife, none other.”

When she simply sat like a stone, he reined in his horse, wheeling it about and blocking her path. “Sabina?”

She huffed. “I don’t want any dresses from you Jeffree, nor jewels neither!”

“And why not?”

“Because,” she flung at him, “we were wed under duress and there is little point in my trying and failing to play the grand lady! You need to simply accept that your wife is a perfect nobody and abandon her in the country. That is where she belongs and where she is happiest and that is all there is to be said on that score!” She sat a moment trying to catch her breath after her outburst and he stared at her.

“I am never going to match up to you as some paragon or perfect beauty, Jeffree,” she continued in a calmer voice. “And what is more, I refuse to even try! I would look ridiculous trying to be something I patently am not!” Suddenly the fight seemed to go out of her, and she slumped in her saddle. “As for the jewels… Mayhap you should donate them to the abbey?” she suggested. “’Tis Lady Meliora should have been the true recipient in any case.”

That last rejoinder was the one that made him finally lose his temper. “Lady Meliora was never a De Crecy as you are!” he flung back hotly.

“Well, neither am I a De Crecy!”

“Yes, you are! Damn it, stop testing me!”

“In name only…” she persisted and broke off when they both heard a hoof fall behind them and realized the trailing manservant had caught up with them.

“Osborn, I want you to ride now into the town and secure a room for us at the nearest inn,” he said in clipped tones.

Osborn’s habitually injured air deepened. “I fort we was headed for that there abbey?” he objected, raising a pudgy finger to point at the distant silhouette of the towered convent, for it was now dusk.