Without a Summer (13 page)

“Then I shall have to ask Mr. Beatts for a suggestion.” Melody straightened and continued down the street.

“Who?” The name sounded familiar, but Jane could not place it. Perhaps one of the gentlemen at Mr. Colgrove’s party.

“La, Jane. The booksellers that share our building. Do not tell me you have failed to notice them. No, no, say nothing. You are like Vincent in this regard. Always thinking of work.” Melody linked her arm through her sister’s. “I know that Mr. Beatts is there, because with the poor weather, I spend my days rambling through their books. We have become quite good friends.”

Several things now made sense to Jane. “Is that how you knew about Lord Eldon’s bill?”

“Oh, no! That is from Mr. O’Brien.” She cast a confiding glance at her sister. “We talk politics. I am becoming quite bookish. I am even thinking of acquiring spectacles.”

Jane laughed aloud at the thought of her sister as pedantic scholar. “Forgive me. I do not doubt your intelligence, but it is hard to picture you as an old maid with your hair pulled back and spectacles settled upon your nose.”

Looking at the walk, Melody replied, “I do not have such a difficult time imagining myself an old maid.”

“Stop. You could have attached any man at Mr. Colgrove’s if you chose.” Trying to influence her sister’s thoughts, Jane said, “Major Curry seemed quite taken with you.”

Sighing, Melody nodded. “Is it awful that I know this? But knowing it makes it difficult to trust them. How much is about me, and how much is about who they perceive me to be?”

“Are they so very different?”

They walked past several shops, avoiding a grocer’s stand and a Punch and Judy puppet show, before Melody answered. “Sometimes. Sometimes they are very different. I—I am sorry that I snapped at you at Mr. Colgrove’s. I know you meant well.”

Jane squeezed her arm. “Did you snap? I did not notice.”

Melody tilted her head back and laughed, one of the gay silver laughs that gentlemen found so charming. “Oh, Jane. If you are going to have me believe that, you had best learn to control your complexion. You went quite red.”

“I suppose I did.” Joining in her sister’s laughter, Jane walked happily beside her. She had learned to govern her features, but her tendency to flush red would prevent her from ever being truly in command of her countenance.

Melody nodded at a milliner’s shop. “Miss Godwin recommends them.”

“Shall we stop in, then?” Jane did not wait for an answer, but turned them into the shop. They spent a delightful half hour trying on bonnets of every shape and description. Pink satin, roses, pheasant feathers, lavender, and ostrich feathers filled the shop with all things feminine.

One straw bonnet, with several ears of Indian corn on it, made Jane to break into peals of laughter when the thing slipped over her eyes. It was lovely but somewhat cumbersome. The milliner, a little woman with pinched features, eyed them with some suspicion and no small amount of disdain as Jane pulled it off her head, still giggling.

Melody governed her laughter long enough to say, “Do not mind Lady Vincent. She is fond of experimenting with fashion.”

This nearly undid Jane again. She was saved only when the milliner sat up a little and said, “Not
the
Lady Vincent, the Prince Regent’s glamourist?”

“I—well, yes.” Jane supposed it was as accurate a representation as any other for what she did. “Though we are not presently working on a commission for His Royal Highness.”

“That hardly matters, madam.” The milliner’s features loosened some. “I’ve had plenty of my customers describe your glamurals. Lady Hertford, one of my regulars, raved about you. Couldn’t say enough nice things, could she?”

“How very gratifying.” Jane glanced at Melody to see if she had also taken note of the milliner’s change in manner.

“Now … you ladies sit yourselves down. I think I have something that will suit you a little better than the Corn Maiden bonnet.” She bustled behind the curtain at the back of the shop.

Melody sat down on the low couch, which stood against one wall, and patted the seat. “You heard her, Lady Vincent. We must sit.”

“Of course, Miss Ellsworth.” In great state, Jane sat next to Melody, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing again.

Her sister leaned close and murmured, “You seem surprised, Jane.”

“I am.” Jane smoothed the folds of her pelisse. “I am unused to being noticed.”

“Well, become used to it, Lady Vincent. I am quite certain more recognition is coming your way. Lord knows you deserve it.” Lifting her voice she expressed a cry of pleasure as the little milliner returned from the back room. “Oh! My!”

Her sister’s approbation was praise that Jane had not known that she needed. She waited a moment longer before she felt sufficient command of herself to lift her eyes. When she did, she took a breath in awe. The bonnets that the milliner had brought from the back might have been fashioned especially for her and Melody.

On the right, the one that drew Jane was a delicate straw with turned-back brim and a high crown that had been covered with pale pink silk and trimmed with fawn ribbons, completed by blond lace. Sprays of the palest roses seemed to blossom from the side of the bonnet, softening it still further.

Melody had already stood, reaching for the other bonnet. Made of a cream silk taffeta, it was trimmed round with the whitest Venetian lace and ornamented with celestial-blue ostrich feathers that were bent to wrap the crown. “May I?”

“Of course!” The little milliner helped Melody settle it upon her head, fussing with getting the ribbon tied just so under her chin. The feathers brought out the colour of Melody’s eyes and framed her golden curls to perfection.

Jane lifted the other hat and put it on, delaying the moment when she turned to the mirror to see how it fit. The bonnet was so lovely that she did not want to have that moment of disappointment, the moment when she was reminded of how plain she was.

“Oh, Lady Vincent, may I?” The milliner bustled over to her and pulled the hat off. She set it upon Jane’s head again and retied the bow so that it was at the side opposite the roses rather than centred under Jane’s chin. “There. You are a vision, see?” She turned Jane toward the looking glass.

While she could do nothing for Jane’s overlong nose, the way she had set the hat upon Jane’s head had pushed her mouse-brown hair forward and made the hat appear to hide an abundance of curls. The ribbon, so gaily tied, framed her face and gave her some colour. “It is a lovely hat.”

“You should get it, Jane! It is so becoming.” Melody bounded over to her with her own chapeau fetchingly perched upon her head.

Well. They were supposed to be having a shopping excursion. “I think we should take both.”

In short order they arranged to have their old hats boxed up and sent back to Schomberg House, both agreeing that anything but these hats were inferior. Privately, Jane’s sense of economy argued for keeping the old hats to remake them into a newer style, but for the moment she was more than happy to enjoy the simple pleasure of a new bonnet.

Stepping out into the street again, Jane and Melody continued on, pausing to look at gloves, ribbons, and print shops. As they stood outside a stationer’s shop, Jane noticed Mr. O’Brien in the reflection. His red hair was indisputable, even warped in the glass. She turned to look across the street and stopped in surprise.

Mr. O’Brien was speaking with the Earl of Verbury.

Jane turned back to the window hastily. “Shall we go in, Melody?”

“What? Oh. I suppose. Though I have no scarcity of papers.”

“They might have something for Vincent’s birthday.” Jane took her sister’s arm and directed her into the shop with as little haste as she could manage. If she had been asked, she would have been unable to state whether she was running from Lord Verbury’s notice, or keeping Melody from coming to the attention of Mr. O’Brien.

The interior of the shop came as a relief. Tall cases lined the walls, filled with paper of every sort. Immense wooden tables ran down the centre of the shop, covered with thick portfolios. Several short glass vases were filled with pens of various sorts, some with the plumes still intact, others trimmed down to look like little more than white sticks. Melody picked up a sheet of marbled paper. “What do you think he would like?”

“Some writing paper suitable for sending to Binche. Perhaps some drawing papers, if they have any.”

“I am certain if I tell them it is for the Prince Regent’s glamourist they would,” Melody teased, and wandered farther into the shop.

Jane stood by the window, looking across the street at Mr. O’Brien and Lord Verbury. Why in heaven’s name was he speaking with the Earl? Particularly in light of the conversation at Mr. Colgrove’s birthday party, she could make no sense of it. She was quite sure that Lord Verbury had said he did not know Lord Stratton. Why, then, would he be speaking to the son?

They stood under an awning. She could not see Mr. O’Brien’s face well enough to make out his expression, but the Earl was all smiles and charm. Jane was almost tempted to try to weave a
lointaine vision,
pass it across the street to where they stood, and eavesdrop upon their conversation. Even had it been morally acceptable, she could never have pushed a fold so far. Still, she was tempted. What business could they have together?

The Earl’s disdain of the Irish had seemed clear enough. The Catholic problem would take care of itself, he said. Biting her lip, Jane turned from the window and tried to distract herself with items on the shelves. She ought not to care. Jane picked up and set down a handful of things, not truly noticing what she held, simply turning them over idly as she thought. She glanced outside to see if they were still talking and heaved a sigh. The gentlemen were gone.

A jangle from the bell hanging above the door checked her relief. Lord Verbury stepped into the shop, removing his top hat as he entered. Looking around, he spied Jane and approached her with remarkable nonchalance. At first he said nothing, merely looked down his nose at her. Jane lifted her chin to meet his gaze but did not grant him the recognition of speech.

At last, he smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping for Vincent’s birthday.” She held out the item in her hand, dimly surprised to find that it was a leather drawing book that would actually suit her husband. “I might ask the same of you.”

“You might.” His smile stayed fixed upon his face. “Would you ask Vincent to give my regards to Miss de Clare?” With no more ceremony than that, he lifted his hat, saluted her, and quit the shop.

Jane shivered in the chill he left in his passage. If Lord Verbury could not strike at Vincent directly, might he employ another to help? Vincent would tell her that she was seeing plots where there were none, and yet … she no longer had any doubt about why Lord Verbury had spoken to Mr. O’Brien. Whatever plot he had wanted Vincent’s aid in seemed to involve the young man. The question was: how?

*   *   *

Jane was not at
all surprised that they got back to Schomberg House before Vincent. Though she was tempted to go to Lord Stratton’s to fetch him, he had not yet stayed so late that she had cause to worry. Once home, she and Melody dropped their various parcels, then separated to pursue different activities. Melody settled into the drawing room with tea and Cook’s excellent cakes, to occupy herself with a newspaper, of all things, while Jane went up to the studio to do some work.

She had a table under the skylights, which she found useful for working out design concepts, even at night. While their finished work would be rendered in glamour, she could not weave a glamour here and carry it with her to show their client, so she often drew or painted a design as a preliminary step. The general theme of birds and forests was agreed upon, but Jane preferred to settle what points she could on paper before committing to it in the glamural. In this instance, she had been having difficulty with the cardinal that their patron had requested. Something about the bird’s top-knot did not suit her.

Vincent came upstairs well before the dinner hour and dropped heavily into a chair by her table. “Well. I am sorry I told you that I did not need you today.”

“That does not sound good.” Jane dipped her brush into the pot of water she kept on hand.

“Mr. O’Brien came in this afternoon and had a design change.”

“Oh?” She held the brush still in the water, watching her husband.

He rolled his eyes. “Not properly a design change, I suppose. An addition. He wants us to add an area of silence to one end of the musicians’ gallery so they might have a space for their breaks. I tried to point out that they could leave the gallery, but he was most insistent.”

Jane set her brush down. “What time did he ask this?”

“Hm? I did not pay any attention. After I paused for a nuncheon—and note, Muse, that I did pause—so it must have been past two o’clock.”

“I also note that you paused to eat far later than when I am there.” Jane smoothed her mobcap with both hands, trying to order her thoughts. Two o’clock was after she had seen Mr. O’Brien speak to Lord Verbury. Sighing, she let her hands drop to her lap and related what she had seen that afternoon.

Vincent wore a deep frown by the time she had finished. “I hardly know where to start with this. He—you are certain that it was Mr. O’Brien?”

Jane hesitated, thinking back. She had seen him first in the reflection, but then had turned. She nodded slowly. “Yes … yes, I watched from inside the store later and saw his face.”

Vincent made a noise of astonishment and leaned against his chair back. “That makes no sense.”

“I know.” Jane turned the conversation over in her head again. “Afterwards, Lord Verbury came inside and spoke to me. I am to ask you to give his regards to Miss de Clare.”

Vincent stopped breathing. His face went pale. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Did he say anything else?”

“No.” Jane waited, giving Vincent time to sort out his thoughts. She held back the question about who Miss de Clare was, knowing that he must be aware of her curiosity on the subject. Clearly, it was a topic that his father had introduced to cause him some pain.