Nkiruka held the violet satin petticoat out for Jane and helped her pull it on.
As the older woman reached for the black net frock she would wear atop it, Jane sighed and pressed her hands against the base of her spine to massage the dull ache there. It seemed as though her back almost always hurt these days.
“De picknee hurting you?”
“Oh no.” It was only when Jane stood, or sat, or laid down. She slipped her arms through the full sleeves. She should not complain about the aches attendant on her condition to Nkiruka, of all people. “You should go on and get ready. Vincent can help me with the rest.”
“Pfff … he ah glamourist. Not hairdresser.”
From his place by the window, Vincent raised a brow at that. He had put on his breeches before Nkiruka’s arrival, but he had been turning his shirt over and straightening his waistcoat for the past quarter-hour. Covering a smile, Jane leaned towards the older woman and lowered her voice. “I know, but he is too modest to dress with you here.”
Patting her hand, Nkiruka winked and left without further protest, although her chuckle was audible after the door closed.
“I could have used the dressing screen.”
“I am certain you could have.” Still, that was not Jane’s chief reason for sending the older woman out. She pulled open a drawer and withdrew a small package. “But … it occurred to me that today is the nineteenth of July, and in the nearly four years of our marriage, we have always been in the midst of some crisis on your birthday.”
He stared at her and at the brown paper parcel in her hands. The severity of Vincent’s countenance made most people assume that he was older than his one-and-thirty years. In this moment, he seemed younger and almost lost. His mouth worked for a moment, until he cleared his throat. “I … I am not in the habit of marking the day.”
“Well, I will not make a fuss as if you were reaching your majority.” She handed him the package and kissed him on the cheek. “But I liked having an excuse to do a little something for you.”
“Thank you.” His voice was low and rough.
“You have not opened it.”
She watched him keenly as he undid the string tying the paper shut. It was not often that she was nervous about what he would think, but this particular gift had enough of her in it to prompt tremors of anticipation. Inside the paper was a case, smaller than the palm of her hand, made of the local sandbox tree. The thorns of the tree had been sanded away, leaving a pattern of small burs in the smooth wood. It had been polished with beeswax until it shone as though glamoured. Vincent undid the catch and opened the case. Through an ingenious system, it unfolded into a small trifold frame. Frank had arranged the case for her, but Jane had painted the small watercolours within it. On the left was one of herself, and the right held one of Vincent.
The centre was empty yet.
“Muse…” was all he managed to say before pulling her into an embrace. His other approbations did not require language to understand, which was fortunate, since neither of the Vincents had the ability to speak for some time.
When they emerged from the room to welcome their guests, Vincent had the miniature frame tucked into the inside pocket of his dinner coat. It was so slender the outline did not show, but his hand drifted to his breast pocket from time to time. Jane caught Frank’s questioning gaze as they stood in the foyer to welcome the guests. She gave a little smile and a nod to let him know that the gift had been well received.
If Lord Verbury had still been in residence at the great house, Jane doubted that it would have occurred to her or to Vincent to open the dining room for anyone. He would hear of it, of course, but simply having him under a different roof made it easier. By Frank’s account, Lord Verbury even seemed to be enjoying his stay, which she attributed to the influence of his youngest granddaughters. At the tender ages of six and eight, they possessed such winning ways that even his lordship was not immune.
They had sent the carriage and the wagons from the distillery for the slaves from the farther plantations. Jane had no idea how Frank had convinced the other estate owners to agree, but she suspected that it involved invoking their station as the Prince Regent’s glamourists. As the first wagon pulled up and its occupants alighted, Jane stepped onto the veranda with Vincent to meet them. “Jeannette, so lovely to see you. Is this your husband?”