Of Noble Family (52 page)

Now he needed some assurance, which Jane could provide. She squeezed his hand again. “I trust you know by now that I am not so easily frightened away?” Even so, she was fairly burning with curiosity about something that she had not thought of since the early days of their marriage.

He nodded. “You are a wonder.” Clearing his throat, Vincent sat forward in his chair and freed his hand. With both hands clasped in front of him, he appeared to be in a deep study of the floor. “Your skill caught my attention, but—as I am certain you recall—it vexed me. Later, I realised it was jealousy.”

“Jealousy!” Jane could not prevent her laugh. She had never met a more accomplished glamourist than her husband, and she privately suspected that time would judge him to be Herr Scholes's superior. “My recollection was that you said my work was stiff and lifeless.”

His head came up and he gave a crooked smile. “At the time, your completed glamurals were exquisitely rendered to the point of being somewhat studied, yes. But your
tableaux vivants
 … Jane. I wish I could make you understand how truly extraordinary you are.”

“I will accept your approbation because I am too tired to protest.”

Jane regretted teasing Vincent as his brows went up with concern. “Shall I let you sleep?”

“No, no. I want to hear how I dazzled you with my talent.”

“Well … I wanted to talk with you, and propriety, as well as my own … curmudgeonly nature, made that difficult. But there was a day when … you were out riding with Mr. Dunkirk and his sister. I was drawing an apple tree when your party came upon me. I had been hearing your laughter for some time before you saw me, I think.”

“I recall the day.”

“We talked about art and the nature of perfection, and you said that you thought that imperfections helped one appreciate something beautiful more fully. It was … it was a transformative thought for me. My entire life, I had been taught that imperfections meant failure, and yet, I could not deny your statement, for I had chosen that tree to draw because its storm damage made it more interesting, and in many ways, more beautiful than its perfect neighbours. And I thought—” His voice cracked and he compressed his lips, shoulders hunching forward. “And I thought that perhaps it meant that I was not flawed past redemption.”

Jane would have given much to be able to get out of bed. Her chest ached for her husband. Understanding him now rewove that long-ago afternoon in her mind. She could now see his silence and forbidding nature for what they were, preservative camouflage to survive his relationship with his father. Vincent was correct. If he had told her earlier, she would not have understood, because she would have found it impossible to believe that any father could be so terrible to his child.

“I love you because of your imperfections. I love the way you try to protect me when I do not need it. The way you become cross while working, your stubbornness and independence and that you can be utterly insufferable.” She looked down at the trifold case that she somehow still held in one hand and turned its roughened surface over. “I would not wish any of them away, because then you would be someone else.”

“And this is why you are my Muse.” Vincent came to sit beside her on the bed. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Only thank you.”

Jane slid over to allow him room to curl beside her. She wanted strength for anything more, but marital duties can take many forms, and in this instance they involved only silence, and understanding, and a release of cares.

 

Thirty-six

With a Will

It was another week before Jane was allowed to sit up in bed, but she felt no desire to try to leave this time. She was not able to nurse Charles, and she felt a pang of jealousy every time she saw Amey give him suck. With children only two months apart, Amey and Jane had much common ground for conversation. They were thrown together often, as the newborn needed regular feeding.

Jane sat on her bed holding Isabella, a lively little girl with the stamp of a Hamilton, while Amey nursed Charles. Isabella had a decided fondness for the strings of Jane's cap and held one fast in her plump fist. Jane laughed as her cap was knocked amiss yet again. “Very well. You may have it, though what you shall do with it, I do not know.”

The answer was to shove a corner of the cloth into her mouth and chew upon it.

“Don't spoil her, ma'am.”

“I think she has other plans.” Jane bent her face down to the little girl and blew a rude noise upon her cheek.

Isabella squealed with laughter. Jane did the same upon the other cheek, which was velvet soft, and then laughed herself. “Amey—” Jane stopped, staring at the woman who was nursing her child. The tenderness with which Amey watched him drove whatever insignificant thing Jane had been about to say straight from her mind. What she wanted most in Charles's life were people who cared for him. “Amey…”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Will you call me Jane?” She took one of Isabella's hands in lieu of her mother's. “It seems only appropriate, since I believe your daughter is my son's aunt.”

Slowly, Amey smiled and then laughed. “I guess she is.” She reached across the space between them and offered Jane her hand. “I would be glad to.”

“Would you … would you like to come with us to London? With Isabella and your other children, I mean.”

Amey hesitated and looked at Isabella, face twisting a little with indecision. “You know that people would think she's your husband's.”

Jane looked down at the little girl, clearly a Hamilton, even at so young an age. Amey was correct, of course, that any person who looked at the child would assume that Vincent kept a mistress under their roof. But after months of worrying about what Lord Verbury would think and how he would use things against them, Jane found that her fear of London gossip was very low. To leave Amey here because of that? Noblemen got away with worse, and Vincent was a glamourist, so he had the advantage of already being considered eccentric. It would likely be the subject of gossip for a time but not quite rise to a scandal. It might even help Isabella make a better match when the time came. Jane might be considered a fool or an object of pity, but she could not summon the necessary concern to count that a thing worth fearing. “I think that we can manage. If you want to come.”

“And have my children be free in truth? Yes. Thank you. Yes, I will.”

*   *   *

Another week passed before
Jane was declared well enough to be moved back to the great house. Jane did not know how Frank had managed it, but he had somehow hidden their absence from the neighbours thus far. She was carried there on a pallet and felt almost as though she were a young rajah. Amey and Nkiruka accompanied them, with a promise from Jane and Vincent that they could leave at any time they wished. Dark smoke stains marred the stones of the great house, but their apartments had been cleaned and restored for their use.

One of the things that had been impressed upon them was that not every slave on the island knew about Picknee Town. The rebellion in 1736 had failed because one of the enslaved had boasted carelessly. So there was a council that carefully selected who was trusted with the knowledge of its exact location. Steady rumours placed it as being in a series of caves accessible from Devil's Bridge, on the opposite end of Antigua, while contradictory rumours said that it was an old wives' tale and did not exist at all. The planters tended to be of the latter opinion since, of course, it was not possible for the slaves to do something so organised and clever.

This careful secrecy meant that only those closest to Amey had known that she was in Picknee Town, though not necessarily where it was. They had put it about that she had been close to death, but had recovered, and in the chaos after the fire, her return went largely without comment. Which was fortunate, as Jane had much need of her assistance.

Jane had an uncomfortable familiarity with being able to go only between their bedchamber and the blue parlour. This time, however, her domain was expanded to include the nursery. The room next to theirs had been converted, and Isabella and Charles settled there. What was most remarkable to Jane was how much more pleasant and inviting the house was, now that she was not dreading what lay on the far end of the building.

She was sitting in the blue parlour making some notes to herself when Vincent arrived with Frank, as she had requested. Jane wiped her pen clean and smiled at the gentlemen. “I have a proposal.”

They exchanged matched expressions of circumspection as they sat at the table opposite her.

“We were brought here on the pretext of Lord Verbury's having a will in Antigua. I propose that we deliver one.” She slid her sheet of notes across the table to Vincent and Frank.

Vincent looked over the notes and immediately drew a sphere of silence around all of them. “This is a bold plan, Muse.”

“One of the chief advantages of being ill is that I have nothing to do but think, and I keep thinking about Picknee Town. It seems to me that it will always be at risk so long as the land is in white hands. The ‘ravine' makes it useless land, so I see no reason why the Hamilton family should object if Lord Verbury chose to leave that plot of land to Frank. Amey tells me that there is precedent of other owners leaving land to their children.”

“And the deeds of transfer for Frank's mother, wife, and children? That is a significant number of slaves for the estate to part with.”

“Yes, but the least expensive route. Freeing them would be the right course of action, but not one that would be believed, I think.”

Frank shook his head. “You are thinking my mother would draw this up.”

“I am.” Jane straightened her shoulders as best she could. Her posture had suffered since the birth.

“But why would he have done this?” Vincent stared at the paper, still shaking his head. “It is not just the list of actions, but making sure that he appeared to be in his right mind. No one who knows him would believe that he would be so generous.”

“But he freed Frank before his supposed death, which would be a necessary step to granting Frank slaves of his own. And what is your birth name, Frank?” Jane warmed to her topic. “What did he keep insisting to Vincent? That we name our son after him, as he named you. In a better world, with a better man, I think he would have done this for his firstborn son. So if not for benevolent motives, then to spite Vincent by replacing him in the will.”

“And the rest of the estate stays in Richard's control … which no one could question.” Vincent leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table with his fist over his mouth. His brows were drawn together. Frank drummed his fingers on the table, alternately frowning and looking blank. Sometimes they were so much alike. Vincent scrubbed his hands through his hair and sat back with a little bit of a groan. “It is a legacy of generosity, which is better than he deserves, but one I would rather see in the world. If your mother can create it, I can present it as genuine in London. Since Jane's suggestion would formally disinherit me, I cannot be accused of being partial.”

“Are you certain? Not that it would be accepted, but that you wish to give up your inheritance.”

“I gave it up years ago. It is better that it stay that way.” Vincent reached across the table and took Jane's hand. “We are not Hamiltons.”

*   *   *

Sir David and Lady
Vincent had many heartfelt discussions about what they would do upon their return to England. The mourning period for Princess Charlotte would be over in November, and new commissions would be plentiful as the nobility restored glamour to their homes for the first time in a year.

Jane still fatigued with alarming ease, and although she had dipped her hand into the ether, she would be in no condition to do serious work for some time yet. It would have caused her more concern prior to the experience of creating the glamural for the charity ball. She could still participate in the design, so long as she had assistants to help with the execution while she regained her strength.

Since both Jane and Vincent had a strong desire to never travel again, they determined to settle in London, where they could be engaged by the most discerning clients and, of course, the Prince Regent himself. They had hopes as well that the position at the school in London, which Herr Scholes had mentioned, might still be open. If not, Jane was of half a mind to begin their own school.

With all of those thoughts in mind, she sat down with Nkiruka to ask her to come to London with them.

The older woman laughed and laughed, wiping tears from her eyes as she shook her head. “Eh. I know you mean well, but no. Thank you. Me'll tap right ya.”

“But in London you would be free.”

“You saying you only free me if I go?”

“Oh—no.” Jane knit her brow, trying again. “I only meant that the society is less restrictive. You would have more opportunities there.”

“You t'ink dem will le wan black woman be mayor of London town? Hm? No. I have family here. I have responsibilities here.” She spread her hands. “I leave dem for what—sleep on cotton sheets and teach white babies glamour? No. Thank you. I stay here.”

*   *   *

Jane and Vincent sat
on the veranda with their son, enjoying the afternoon breeze. Vincent was wiping off some milk that Charles had spit up on his lapel. He had a cloth thrown over his shoulder, but at the ripe age of three weeks, their son had developed remarkable aim.

Jane laughed, “Shall I take him?”

“No, no. There are parts of the coat he has not adorned yet.” He shifted cloth and infant to his other shoulder as he continued to wipe ineffectually.

Watching them fondly, Jane rocked in her chair. She should perhaps go inside, since she was so close to dozing. It seemed to be her natural state these days, which she chafed at more than a little. She did feel steadier, but that was only by comparison to the days immediately after Charles's birth.