Jane shut her eyes and curled onto her side as if she were sleeping. But she could still hear him gasping as he worked.
A rustle of cloth suggested that his cravat had been discarded. The hiss and thump was probably his jacket. The ragged panting might be nothing more than an extremely large fold. If she did not look at the glamour, Jane could almost pretend that those were the normal sounds of Vincent working.
Thirty
A Question of Nature
Jane had not intended to fall asleep, but she did so too easily of late. When she awakened, the sun had shifted towards evening but was still well above the horizon. Vincent lay on the bed beside her in shirt and breeches, utterly limp. Sliding closer, Jane carefully curled up against him. With her head resting on Vincent’s chest, she could hear his heart and the hushing of his breath. His shirt was dry to the touch and his breathing calm and regular, so he must have been asleep for some time.
What had been most difficult about their time in Antigua was watching the sharp alteration to Vincent’s manner. During the course of their marriage, he had slowly let her know about the abuse that he had suffered as a child. Nothing had driven the point home so thoroughly as being here and seeing him struggle not to fall victim to his father’s designs again.
She felt the shift in his breathing before he stirred.
His chest rose as he inhaled, then tightened with a held breath. Beneath her ear, his heart sped. She pressed her hand against his chest and rubbed circles against the tension there.
With a soft exhalation, Vincent brought an arm around her and drew her closer. “I am very sorry.” He turned his head to press a kiss against her forehead. “That was an indulgent display.”
She rose on an elbow to look at him. The evening light had crept under the veranda and now lay across the bed. The pool of ruddy sun gave some colour to Vincent’s face, which was otherwise haggard. Whether it was the colour or the angle, the light caught on three silver hairs at Vincent’s temple. Jane ran her finger over them, wondering when they had appeared. “You seem calmer, so I cannot call it unnecessary.”
“Well, I am not in danger of throttling anyone, so I suppose that is something.” He turned into the pressure of her fingers with a little grunt of appreciation. “And how are you?”
“Much the same as I have been.” She moved her attention to his forehead, trying to ease the lines that had appeared there. “Enormous.”
Chuckling, he lowered his hand and rested it on her stomach. “You have been saying that since we realised that you were with child.”
“Yes, well, I now have a thorough understanding of why it is called ‘increasing.’”
“Is it because my affection for you increases?” Vincent ran his hand up her side and pulled her down into a gentle and chaste kiss. Jane inhaled the warmth of her husband and very much wished that he were allowed to agitate her.
*
On the first of August, Jane woke from an involuntary doze in the late afternoon to the sound of murmured conversation outside her room. Vincent was speaking with someone, but she could not make out what was being said. She pushed herself up to sit against her pillows, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Nkiruka was not in the room. Perhaps they had stepped into the hall so as not to disturb her, but there was Frank’s voice as well. She thought about ringing the bell to let them know she was awake, then thought better of it. She was not her mother, to require attention simply because she was afflicted with ennui.
The baby pushed against her side, making a brief visible bulge under her shift. She had reached two-and-thirty weeks, and the baby’s activity had increased in strength. Jane smiled and pressed back. The pressure was met with another thump. “Patience, my little pugilist. I know you are crowded.”
Jane picked up the bundle of notes she had made during Imogene’s visit that morning. Imogene had only had an hour to spare, but she had been able to help translate some of the phrases that Dolly had used. Kyim homa, for instance, turned out to be comparable to boucle torsadée. Other words simply had no equivalent concepts in European glamour.
The door opened and Vincent entered. “Good afternoon, Muse.”
“I had not expected to see you until dinner.” She set the papers aside on the bed.
“Yes, well … I hope I am not disturbing you?” He drew his chair from its usual spot and turned it so he sat near the middle of the bed rather than at the head of it. He sat stiffly in the chair, face in profile.
“Not at all.” The baby kicked again, hard enough to startle an exclamation from Jane. She laughed before Vincent could fret about something beyond whatever was troubling him. For something was troubling him, of that Jane was certain. She would see if she could ease his mind a little before she pressed him to find out what was the matter. “Your child and I have been playing a thumping game today.”
“I did not know that was possible.”