Without a Summer (11 page)
“Again, I say this is unlikely.” Vincent pulled on her sleeve, sliding it off her shoulder, and sat up to kiss the skin exposed there.
Jane shivered. “But you saw … you saw how his manner to her changed both at the house, and again at the Prince Regent’s.”
“Yes, but, Muse…” He kissed higher on her shoulder, moving to her neck. “You are proposing that Mr. O’Brien is plotting to overthrow the government using your younger sister. How?”
Jane opened her mouth and stared at the wall. Said aloud, it made no sense. Yet she could not discount Mr. O’Brien’s very real alarm at being overheard. Vincent had not seen him. Jane did not know what was happening, but she felt quite assured that something untoward was afoot.
Over the next weeks, Vincent’s spirits regained something of their usual steadiness. If he did not sleep well, neither did he stay up deliberately late. Jane did her best to distract him, but only met with limited success. Melody continued to come with them to Stratton House, professing that it was because of the weather and as an escape from ennui, but it was clear to Jane that the attraction was due to Mr. O’Brien.
More than once she found him in the Strattons’ music room with Melody, their heads bent over a book or engaging in some other pretext for closeness. While she never found them behind closed doors, and there was always a servant in attendance, she could not feel entirely comfortable with his attentions. It was not a possible match. Jane could only imagine the hysterics her mother would indulge in if she knew that Melody was attaching an Irish Catholic man, no matter that his father was a Baron. And so Jane was relieved when their cousin’s birthday fête finally came around, as it gave her an opportunity to introduce Melody to some other gentlemen.
On the day of the party, nature saw fit to deliver yet more snow, though it melted almost as soon as it touched the pavement, leaving only slush on the ground. A line of footmen stood outside Sir Prescott’s residence with umbrellas to convey guests into the house.
Once the Vincents and Melody had shed their wraps, they joined the throng and looked for their host in order to offer their felicitations to Mr. Colgrove for reaching his majority. The parlour had been entirely done over with a glamural portraying the Battle of Quatre Bras with the Duke of Wellington astride his horse, Copenhagen, and his sword held over his head. The work was quite good, with some interesting uses of colour to direct the eye.
Vincent made a noise of approbation and bent his head to Melody and Jane. “This is Moyer’s work, unless I miss my guess. See how he forms faces in the clouds? It is a peculiarity of his.”
Melody tapped his arm with her fan. “Do you never stop working? La! I declare, I have never known someone so possessed. It is one of the things which appeals about you, I suppose.”
To Jane’s surprise, Vincent blushed. “He is an associate. We were in school together.”
“Do you think he is here?” Melody looked around with interest.
Jane said, “We can inquire of our host. It might depend on how recently the glamural was created, and if there are additional effects for the party.”
The crowd stirred and revealed Mr. Colgrove, chatting amiably with a mixed selection of young men and women. He showed to advantage in the abundance of candlelight. It lent his pale eyes some warmth, and the animation with which he attended his companions spoke well of him. He noticed Melody and his face lit further. Stepping forward, he greeted her with some warmth. “Miss Ellsworth, this is a pleasure.”
Introductions were quickly made to the others in his set.
To Jane’s surprise, one of the young ladies was a woman with dark skin and features which suggested that she was from India, though she was introduced as Miss Godwin. Dressed in the height of fashion, she offered Vincent a curtsy. “Sir David, I had the pleasure of seeing your work in the ballroom at Carlton House. Having heard so much about you, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her voice was beautifully modulated, without a hint of her foreign origin.
“Thank you, but I cannot claim the credit for my own.” Vincent indicated Jane. “My wife is my equal partner.”
“How fortunate…,” she murmured. The men in the circle leaned forward to hang upon her words. She had a decided beauty and a quickness to her expression that held one’s attention.
Mr. Colgrove pulled his eyes away from Miss Godwin to bow to Jane. “Of course, any man would be happy to have a helpmate as accomplished as my cousin. I think, above all, that one should strive to find a partner with whom one is well matched.”
The young ladies surrounding Mr. Colgrove seemed to take note. Jane could almost see them stationing themselves in the hunt for his inheritance. Her mother’s letters had it that, upon achieving his majority, Mr. Colgrove was now worth some twenty thousand pounds.
“I have often had the same conversation with my sister,” Jane replied, attempting to bring Melody forth. Her sister’s bright hair shone in the candlelight as if it had been gilded. Though she did not often think much of her mother’s attempts at matchmaking, Mr. Colgrove would indeed be a good match, and there were several other gentlemen in his set who might also be appropriate.
“Speaking of glamurals, might I inquire who did yours, Mr. Colgrove?” Vincent broke in, studying a detail on the wall nearest them.
“Hm? Some chap from the Royal Academy.” He frowned, looking about as if just noticing it. “Do you like it? We should have asked you, of course, but thought such a simple thing beneath your notice.” To the rest of the group, he said, “I trust you will forgive my pride in my relations. Sir David and Lady Vincent have received several commissions from the Prince Regent.”
Vincent gave a brief smile of acknowledgement with his lips pressed firmly together. The poor dear did so dislike praise, especially when he thought it unfounded. “Is Mr. Moyer here, by chance?”
“The glamourist? He is in one of the rooms belowstairs until we are ready for—well, I do not want to spoil it, but we do have a
tableau vivant
planned for later.”
Jane once again reflected on how different their lives would be if Vincent did not have the favour of the Prince Regent. The notice that they received here had nothing to do with their abilities, or their relation to Mr. Colgrove, or anything save His Royal Highness. Even being a highly proficient glamourist would have left them in the servants’ quarters. Mr. Moyer was not as good as Vincent, but Jane doubted that anyone who was not adept in glamour could have told the difference in their abilities. She would have accepted that life—and willingly—to be with Vincent, but it made her all the more conscious of how much he had chosen to give up when he abandoned his family name.
“Then perhaps this is a good time for me to pay my respects, as he is not presently engaged.”
Jane repressed a smile, recognising her husband’s need to flee the press of people. Though she wished him to be comfortable in groups, she knew him too well to insist that he stay when so clear an opportunity to escape presented itself.
“Good of you to offer encouragement to the lesser talents.” Mr. Colgrove turned to look for a footman and motioned him forward. “Will you show Sir David where we put that glamourist chap?”
Jane was tempted to go with him, but her duty to Melody was quite clear, so she stayed by her sister’s side. Turning to Mr. Allsbrook—a young dandy with dark hair of the “frightened owl” variety, and a suit so snug that he surely could not sit—Jane opened with the usual conversation about the weather.
He replied with, “I shall be grateful when the snow has departed. Snow in May is absurd! Do you know, I have not been out to my country house once?”
“Not at all?” Melody raised her eyebrows with curiosity. “What a pity. I have always loved the way snow clings to trees. It is so picturesque.”
Jane need not have any concerns about bringing Melody to anyone’s attention. As she spoke, every gentleman in their group leaned unconsciously toward her. The only woman who possessed even a tenth of her grace was Miss Godwin. Once, Jane had despaired of ever escaping the shadow cast by her sister, but now she rejoiced to see her shine so.
“You would not love snow if you were depending on fine weather to do your hunting,” Mr. Allsbrook replied.
“The weather truly has been wretched.” Mr. Colgrove vied for Melody’s attention. “I was telling Lady Vincent that we had dismissed our coldmongers because they were an unnecessary expense.”
Another gentleman tucked his hands behind his back with a complacent look. “As did we. They demand high wages for the little they do.”
Miss Godwin tilted her head, ostrich feathers waving gracefully above her hair, and pointed her fan at Mr. Colgrove. “If the weather changes, what will you do then?”
“Why, ask Mr. Moyer to cool the room. What is a coldmonger, but a glamourist who can do only one thing? Why retain one when you can hire someone who can do both?”
Melody spread her fan and waved it slowly to stir the air. “But a coldmonger’s work is treacherous. One can hardly deny them a reward for that.”
“Spoken like a gentle soul, Miss Ellsworth,” Mr. Colgrove said. “But would you have me pay for work that I do not require?”
“La! From what I understand, their wages are set to take into account that a coldmonger works only part of the year.” Melody folded her fan and rested it in her open hand, in a challenge. “What of the bill that Lord Eldon has proposed to offer relief to the working poor? Coldmongers would not be in that class if the great houses retained them as they used to do.”
Jane could hardly contain her astonishment. Where had this sudden political consciousness come from? Melody had never shown an interest in anything beyond the dictates of fashion, and in Jane’s memory read nothing but novels.
Mr. Allsbrook shook his head. “It is more likely to cause social unrest than not, if people begin to think they deserve care without holding a job. Look at what is happening with the Luddites, if you need proof of that. They seem to think that they are entitled to weave, when there are better and less expensive ways of making cloth now.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Colgrove said. “Let them find other work, and help them in that. But wages for doing nothing? That I cannot support, no matter how much I admire the worthiness of your good intentions.”
“So long as you admire something, I can hope to convince you of more.” Melody flirted her fan open and peered at him over the top.
From behind Jane, a scrap of conversation pulled her attention away. A gentleman with the hoarse tones of an older man said, “Lord Verbury, a pleasure to see you this evening.”
Jane sent thanks that Vincent had already left the vicinity. What in heaven’s name was his father doing at her cousin’s birthday? She could not help but think of Vincent’s statement that they would have to engage. Bracing herself, Jane stepped away from Melody, confident that her sister was in her element, and turned to address the Earl of Verbury.
He was in conversation with another gentleman, who wore the braids of an Admiral and a hoary moustache in the older style. The Admiral was shaking Lord Verbury’s hand, heartily. “Devil of a good speech about the coldmongers the other day. I might wish you could do something about the Catholic situation as well.”
“That is likely to take care of itself. So long as His Royal Highness does not give in to the temptation to allow them to take a seat in Parliament, I think we shall have no trouble.”
“Quite so, quite so…” The Admiral shook his head. “I still remember all that business when the Prince Regent’s illegal marriage to the Fitzherbert woman came out. I think half the kingdom was afraid he would convert to marry her, and the other half wished he would so he could not inherit the throne. Still, it is a bloody good thing they cannot marry outside their faith, or we would be a Papist state for certain by now.”
Jane glanced back at Melody. Catholics could not marry outside their faith? She had never known a Catholic to do so, but had not realized that it was actually forbidden. And yet, hearing them speak, she remembered the uproar when the Prince Regent’s attempt to marry Mrs. Fitzherbert came to light. She had been too young at the time to pay much attention to it, but the memory made her heart sink. What did it say of Mr. O’Brien’s intentions if he could not even offer his hand to Melody?
Much as she might wish to hear more of this conversation, it was but a matter of moments before the Earl noticed her, and she would rather have the benefit of approaching him first. Hardening her resolve, Jane stepped forward and offered the Earl a curtsy of greeting.
“Lord Verbury, it is a surprise to see you.”
Her surprise increased when he appropriated her hand and lifted it to his lips with a bow. “I trust you did not take a chill at the skating party?”
“Not at all.” She arranged her face into a placid expression to hide the disquiet she felt.
Lord Verbury turned to the Admiral and presented Jane. “This is my youngest son’s wife. May I present Admiral Brightmore?”
“A pleasure, madam.” The Admiral beamed at her. “Verbury has been telling me all about the glamours that you have been working. Remarkable accomplishments. I saw the one at Carlton House myself. Truly a work of art.”
“Thank you.” Jane spread her fan, trying to cool herself. She had been given to understand that Lord Verbury did not approve of Vincent’s work with glamour. To have him not only present her as a relation, but to also boast about their work for the Prince Regent confounded her beyond reason. “We are presently working on a commission for the Baron of Stratton.”
The Admiral frowned. “Stratton? I do not know Stratton. Do you, Verbury?”
“I have not had the pleasure of his acquaintance, nor seen him in the House of Lords.” As a Catholic, Lord Stratton could not take his seat in parliament without forswearing his allegiance to the Pope.
“He is Irish Catholic.” Jane paused to see what, if anything, either gentleman would say.
