Vincent leaned back in his chair, face mild, but he drank half the contents of his glass without seeming to notice. “Were there any other deceptions?”
“Nothing after the first week.” Frank held up his hands as Vincent stiffened in his chair. “Those you know about already: the coldmongers, Louisa’s spying, my spying … but after your attempt to escape your father, I became convinced that you were as you presented yourself to be and not an instrument of his. It is … it is not what I had come to expect from the Hamiltons.”
Vincent snorted. “Well, I can hardly fault you for that determination. And I am tired as the blazes of not trusting you. So—thank you for telling us.” He sat forward and lifted the sherry decanter, refilling Frank’s glass and his own. He raised his glass. “May I offer a toast to trust? Better to have it come late than to have none at all.”
Raising his glass, Frank tapped it against Vincent’s and then Jane’s. “To trust.”
Jane barely subdued a sob of relief, but could do nothing to stop the tears that flooded her eyes this time. She wiped them away, deeply annoyed to be crying once again.
“Muse?”
She half laughed, waving at her face and then her stomach. “It is just the … I seem to cry very easily these days.”
“My wife is the same whenever she is in a family way,” Frank said. She was grateful to him for making her feel less a ninny.
Jane was aware that they were all pretending, rather desperately, that their clothes were not stained with blood and smoke. Their laughter was louder than the humour warranted and the pauses too long, as they listened for cries from the sick rooms. But she encouraged the gentlemen to relax a little by making sure that their sherry glasses stayed filled.
As the night wore on, Frank’s speech shifted at times from the British pronunciations she was used to from him. The softening of consonants and lengthening of vowels happened mostly when he spoke of his children, with a look of relaxed fondness. Once he said, “The boy fu me—” And then caught himself, language stiffening into British starch again: “My son is doing quite well in mathematics. His mother and I are pleased.”
Strangely saddened to hear the veil of language in place again, Jane could not think of how to draw it back. “I should like to meet your wife. Might we have you for dinner?”
Frank’s brows drew together. “I honestly do not know. I will have to think about the ramifications of your entertaining us…” He looked at his glass. “But perhaps I will do so on an evening when I have consumed a little less of your sherry.”
“Allow me to join Jane in issuing the invitation, and to add that I care not a grain for the ‘ramifications.’”
“Be that as it may…” Frank pushed his chair back from the table. “I should bid you both a good night. We will all have a long day tomorrow.”
“Indeed.” Vincent began to rise and then dropped awkwardly back into his chair, grabbing the table with one hand. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Well … this is embarrassing.”
Jane was at his side with no real memory of having moved. “Vincent?”
“I forgot how much glamour I worked this morning.” He reddened, eyes still closed. “And that I had not eaten since breakfast. I am afraid that I misjudged and will require some assistance.”
“Of course.” Frank moved to his side smoothly. “Forgive me for asking, but is the nature such that I should fetch a basin?”
With a breathless laugh, Vincent half shook his head. “No, nothing like that, thank God. Just deucedly dizzy. Glamour and strong drink … I am terribly sorry. ‘No Drinking’ was one of Herr Scholes’s three rules, for this very reason.”
Jane patted him on the shoulder and exchanged a look with Frank. “Well, I shall not fret, then. I have seen you too dizzy to stand before. At least you have not passed out.”
“No. Not yet.” Vincent sighed.
Frank crouched by him. “We will stand very slowly, then. Jane and I will assist you to the bed, and then I shall finally have the opportunity to show my skills as a valet.”
“Very kind.” Vincent transferred his grip from the table to Frank’s shoulder. “And again, you have my profound apologies.”
With Frank on one side and Jane on the other, Vincent rose slowly and did not lose consciousness. They were able to guide him to the bed, accompanied by a steady refrain of apologies and begging of pardons. Jane had seen Vincent inebriated exactly once before, though in that instance he had not combined it with an excess of glamour. In both cases, though, his speech became more precise and defined, as though he was trying to compensate for a muzziness of thoughts.
As he sat on the bed, Vincent gave a sigh of relief. “If you would not mind helping with my boots, Frank, that would be much appreciated. I can manage my shirt on my own, and Jane is familiar with my bree— God. I really am in a shocking state. So terribly sorry.”