Of Noble Family (27 page)

Jane stared at Vincent in disbelief. “But of course we must free him. How could you consider keeping him a slave?”

“Because I need to make certain that it will not open Zeus to the same prospect of criminal charges that Frank faces if Pridmore exposes my father. As a slave, he is bound to obey, but as a freedman, the fact that he has been helping keep my father hidden could be a hanging offence.”

For the first time, it occurred to Jane that the same might be applied to them. “Are we liable as well?”

“Likely not, given my very public break with the family—though being here may complicate that somewhat. Still, my chief concern is what happens when Pridmore is fired. If he chooses to expose my father, then he will attempt to shift the blame to Frank. I think we can manage that, but do not want to unintentionally endanger Zeus. So the question is whether to free him before or after we take action.”

Frank placed the document back on the table. “Explain the circumstances and ask him what he prefers, but I will lay money on him choosing to be freed.”

“Even with the risk?” Jane asked.

“Better that than the risk that he might never be freed.” Frank shrugged. “Ask him. As for how to tell him, I would wait until the morning, so that when he gives you his answer, you can file the papers and pay the fee directly. You will need to go to St. John's for that, so I will arrange the carriage with Jove.”

Vincent nodded. “We shall need to discuss a salary, if he chooses to stay on.”

“Very good.” Frank picked up his glass and raised it to Vincent. “Thank you. Now, you mentioned three things. What is the third?”

Vincent inhaled very slowly, before turning to Jane. “This involves you, Muse. We have been invited to dinner.”

The room grew cold, and Jane was fairly certain that she had gone quite pale. She picked up the glass of sherry and took a sip to hide her distress. She did not want to see the man or have anything to do with him, apology or no. It was not enough. Nothing he said could ever be enough to atone for what he had done and continued to do to Vincent. “You are considering accepting.”

“It is his condition for looking at our charges against Pridmore.” Vincent reached for her hand. “If you are not willing, then I shall decline. There will be other options.”

“But?”

“But … I think—and I want Frank's opinion on this—that having you present and visibly with child would remind my father that he wants to continue to mend relations. I think that might make him more disposed to a discussion of Mr. Pridmore's mismanagement.”

Frank grimaced. “It might. I am sorry, I wish that were not the case.”

Beneath the table, Jane tightened her free hand into a fist until her nails dug into the palm. “And declining will almost certainly make him angry, which will hurt your cause.”

“Muse, if you are not comfortable, there are other ways. I have weathered my father's displeasure before.”

Comfortable? Having seen the results of Vincent's other conferences with him, Jane expected nothing of comfort from an evening with Lord Verbury. “When?”

He grimaced with annoyance. “He wanted us tomorrow, but I put him off for a week, in deference to your health.”

Deferring to her health was not much of an exaggeration. Could she do this? She became short of breath simply walking from one room to the next. Even this much agitation made her heart race far too quickly. Jane closed her eyes, thinking over the conversation. It seemed to her that Lord Verbury's remorse was an instrument to force Vincent to do what he wanted him to do. If Lord Verbury was truly concerned that Mr. Pridmore would expose him, which seemed a likely consequence of firing him, then having a safeguard would be a sensible goal—for Lord Verbury.

She opened her eyes. “The evidence he asked you to look for … am I correct that he wants you to extort Mr. Pridmore on his behalf?”

Vincent's breath whistled out. “Yes. And for his benefit.”

“No.” Frank sat forward, face stern. “No, it is not for Lord Verbury. It is for my wife and Louisa and Rosa and getting everyone else on this estate out from under the influence of a reprehensible man. We will not be using any invented evidence, and not requiring Pridmore to do anything but hold his tongue.”

Though the goal was worthy, Jane could see Lord Verbury's hand there as well, using their noble impulses against them. He truly did twist everything and everyone around him. And yet, she did not know that there was much choice. Jane clenched her jaw and nodded. “Very well. Let us accept his invitation in the spirit that it was offered.”

 

Nineteen

A Matter of Appearances

Shortly after breakfast, Frank brought Zeus to the blue parlour. It was clear that he had told the young man nothing save that he was wanted. Jane tried to catch Zeus's eye and smile at him, but Zeus, mindful of Frank's presence, kept his eyes cast down.

Vincent stood when they entered and rounded the table to stand in front of the young man. “Zeus—your real name is Zachary, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lord Verbury has given me the deed for you.”

For a brief moment, the young man's eyes flashed up, and then he resolutely studied the floor.

“There are some circumstances that we must explain to you, but at the end of that, I will free you, if you would like.”

At that, Zeus—Zachary—stared at Vincent, mouth ajar a little. Heedless of the etiquette for a servant, he turned to Frank. In the nod that Frank gave in return, Jane could, for the first time, see that the two men were brothers. Frank's gesture carried assurance and comfort. Zachary's face worked with great emotion. He lifted his hands, then tightened them into fists and returned them to his sides. A muscle at the corner of his jaw tightened in a way that reminded Jane painfully of Vincent.

Zachary swallowed with his head bent. His voice was thick with feeling. “Please tell me the circumstances.”

“Will you sit?” asked Jane.

Frank put his hand on the younger man's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Moving almost blindly, Zachary sank into a chair at the table with his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Frank sat on his other side, and together he and Vincent explained the situation.

At the end of their explanation, Zachary stared at the table, arms drawn tight against his sides. He swallowed several times before opening his mouth to speak, and even then had to clear his throat. “I should like to be freed.”

“Good.” Vincent pushed his chair back from the table, looking across to Frank.

“The carriage is waiting.”

Zachary's eyes flashed up, brow raised. “Now? Truly—I mean, right now?”

“I would rather it done immediately.” Vincent stood, and on instinct Zachary sprang to his feet.

Frank pushed his chair back, standing only a trifle slower. “I shall stay with Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Thank you.” Jane was certain that he would prefer to go with his brother, but it was not yet safe for her to leave the house. Though it was not spoken, none of them put it past Lord Verbury to take advantage of Vincent being off the property.

*   *   *

After the visit to
the courthouse, where Vincent paid the emancipation fee of three hundred pounds, Zachary was given a day of liberty to decide what he wanted to do: either strike out on his own, or stay on at the estate in his role as footman. He chose to accept the position offered, though made it clear that it was only acceptable under the current conditions—“current” being the Vincents' continued presence on the estate as a guard against Mr. Pridmore.

It should have come as no surprise that Zachary moved with more assurance, though he sometimes still wore an expression of shock in unguarded moments. An unexpected benefit was that there was one more person in the house who they absolutely knew owed Lord Verbury no loyalty.

Another five days passed before Dr. Jones declared Jane safe enough to leave the house, though even that report came with the warning against travel until after Jane's confinement. So though Jane was safe, neither she nor Vincent had anything like peace. The thought of dinner with Lord Verbury haunted them.

It nettled to have to think of clothes and gowns, but none of Jane's evening dresses fit properly. Appearances would matter a great deal, so she arranged to be fitted for a frock of black net and a gown of black silk for under it. She would be able to wear the net with grey or lavender gowns when they moved to half mourning. Later, she could trim it with embroidery and wear it over more vibrant colours. She had seen a black net worn over a red silk gown to great effect in London. It was all very practical and elegant, and she had never abhorred having a gown made more.

Vincent continued to have difficulty sleeping. He and Frank had been studying the bills and the accounts of rum and sugar production, looking for some inconsistency. They knew it must be there, because the larger estate seemed constantly in need of funds, though by their sales of sugar and rum it should have been seeing a profit. As the days passed with nothing that would prove Mr. Pridmore was appropriating funds, Vincent sank deeper. He tried to rally. Jane could see the effort he made to be present and attentive when with her, but more than once she awoke to find him sitting in the dark. Not working glamour, not reading, but simply sitting.

Seeing what a month in Antigua had done to him, it pained her to think of what enduring three more months might do. When she reflected on it, in all likelihood they would be even longer than that. Her delivery might be expected in September, but her confinement would carry them into October even if there were no complications. Travelling with a newborn seemed rash, so Jane was bracing herself to be in Antigua for Christmas.

Anxious for any opportunity to distract Vincent, Jane read with interest the note she had received from Mrs. Whitten. Clearing her throat, she looked across the breakfast table to where Vincent sat pushing a slice of toast around on his plate.

“Vincent … would you like to go with me to Mrs. Whitten's to look at her ballroom? She has invited me to consult about the glamural for the charity ball.”

He looked up from his frown. “I thought you declined because we were in mourning.”

“Well, it had seemed a good excuse while I was attempting to hide the fact that I was increasing, but…” She looked down at her stomach. It astonished her, the difference that only a few weeks could make in her girth. Their first week in Antigua, she might have only been stout, but the last three weeks had made her condition quite clear. “The mourning period ends in August, and no one would think ill of us if we went to half mourning now. It would give me something to do, and I am in want of some activity.”

“What of your book?”

“I shall still work on it, of course. My hope is that Nkiruka will assist us on the glamural.” Jane felt as if she were pressing too hard, but the circles under Vincent's eyes alarmed her. “We shall not go until the afternoon and be gone a little more than an hour, so you would still have plenty of time to go over the books with Frank.”

“I worry less about that than your health, to be honest. I do not know if it is wise to be involved in so large a project.”

“I will not be working glamour or exerting myself beyond drawing and consultation.” Jane sighed and reached across the table to rest her hand on his. “I know you are only concerned, but I was not seeking advice on whether I should go. My question was if you wanted to join me.”

He regarded her without expression. It pained her that she could not guess his thoughts. In private or with his few trusted companions, he was generally amiable, with an easy laugh and mobile features. But even in unfamiliar company, when he became more reserved, Jane had become used to the subtleties of his expression. Over the past several days, he had adopted a withdrawn expression that went beyond his usual reserve. Vincent lowered his hand and gave a brief nod. “Thank you. I shall.”

Jane was not entirely certain if he was humouring her or if he had any interest in the glamural. Either way, it would get him away from their troubles for a time.

*   *   *

The Whitten estate occupied
the land next to theirs, although the broad ravine and treacherous ground between the two estates required a roundabout route to reach the Whittens' great house. It sat atop a ridge with a good prospect of the sugarcane fields. It was an older building than Greycroft, with two long wings stretching back around a central yard. Wide verandas, which seemed to be a prevalent feature in Antiguan architecture, graced the sides of the building, but the front was in a Palladian style that would not have been out of place at a country estate in England.

The ballroom, to Jane's surprise, occupied its own building set between the two wings. Tall windows opened all the way to the floor, letting a breeze flow through the gracious room. A glamural of what might have been a rustic English landscape occupied the space with a succession of box hedges and strangely lit cottages. A pack of hounds stood among the trees along one wall. Jane frowned. The animals had antlers. Perhaps not hounds, then.

She glanced at Vincent, who was scowling at the unfortunate deer. His gaze went vacant as he looked into the ether, shaking his head with familiar offended disdain. Never had Jane been happier to see poorly rendered glamour.

At the far end of the room, Mrs. Whitten sat at a table with the other ladies who were throwing the charity. She rose with a smile and hurried across the room to meet them. “I am so grateful that you were able to join us. I trust your health is improved?”

“Much, thank you.” Jane wondered how many details had made their way through the gossip lines. “The heat surprised me.”

“I quite understand. When I returned from my Season in London, I was nearly done in, in spite of having been born here.”