“I am.” Jane straightened her shoulders as best she could. Her posture had suffered since the birth.
“But why would he have done this?” Vincent stared at the paper, still shaking his head. “It is not just the list of actions, but making sure that he appeared to be in his right mind. No one who knows him would believe that he would be so generous.”
“But he freed Frank before his supposed death, which would be a necessary step to granting Frank slaves of his own. And what is your birth name, Frank?” Jane warmed to her topic. “What did he keep insisting to Vincent? That we name our son after him, as he named you. In a better world, with a better man, I think he would have done this for his firstborn son. So if not for benevolent motives, then to spite Vincent by replacing him in the will.”
“And the rest of the estate stays in Richard’s control … which no one could question.” Vincent leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table with his fist over his mouth. His brows were drawn together. Frank drummed his fingers on the table, alternately frowning and looking blank. Sometimes they were so much alike. Vincent scrubbed his hands through his hair and sat back with a little bit of a groan. “It is a legacy of generosity, which is better than he deserves, but one I would rather see in the world. If your mother can create it, I can present it as genuine in London. Since Jane’s suggestion would formally disinherit me, I cannot be accused of being partial.”
“Are you certain? Not that it would be accepted, but that you wish to give up your inheritance.”
“I gave it up years ago. It is better that it stay that way.” Vincent reached across the table and took Jane’s hand. “We are not Hamiltons.”
*
Sir David and Lady Vincent had many heartfelt discussions about what they would do upon their return to England. The mourning period for Princess Charlotte would be over in November, and new commissions would be plentiful as the nobility restored glamour to their homes for the first time in a year.
Jane still fatigued with alarming ease, and although she had dipped her hand into the ether, she would be in no condition to do serious work for some time yet. It would have caused her more concern prior to the experience of creating the glamural for the charity ball. She could still participate in the design, so long as she had assistants to help with the execution while she regained her strength.
Since both Jane and Vincent had a strong desire to never travel again, they determined to settle in London, where they could be engaged by the most discerning clients and, of course, the Prince Regent himself. They had hopes as well that the position at the school in London, which Herr Scholes had mentioned, might still be open. If not, Jane was of half a mind to begin their own school.
With all of those thoughts in mind, she sat down with Nkiruka to ask her to come to London with them.
The older woman laughed and laughed, wiping tears from her eyes as she shook her head. “Eh. I know you mean well, but no. Thank you. Me’ll tap right ya.”
“But in London you would be free.”
“You saying you only free me if I go?”
“Oh—no.” Jane knit her brow, trying again. “I only meant that the society is less restrictive. You would have more opportunities there.”
“You t’ink dem will le wan black woman be mayor of London town? Hm? No. I have family here. I have responsibilities here.” She spread her hands. “I leave dem for what—sleep on cotton sheets and teach white babies glamour? No. Thank you. I stay here.”
*
Jane and Vincent sat on the veranda with their son, enjoying the afternoon breeze. Vincent was wiping off some milk that Charles had spit up on his lapel. He had a cloth thrown over his shoulder, but at the ripe age of three weeks, their son had developed remarkable aim.
Jane laughed, “Shall I take him?”
“No, no. There are parts of the coat he has not adorned yet.” He shifted cloth and infant to his other shoulder as he continued to wipe ineffectually.
Watching them fondly, Jane rocked in her chair. She should perhaps go inside, since she was so close to dozing. It seemed to be her natural state these days, which she chafed at more than a little. She did feel steadier, but that was only by comparison to the days immediately after Charles’s birth.
A cloud of dust appeared on the road to the great house, though the direction of the last bend in the road kept its source from being visible. A sound grew to accompany it. A carriage and a number of horses approached the house.
Vincent looked up as they came into view. Jane grew cold with alarm. These were British soldiers. But Pridmore was dead—how could he possibly have done anything? No. It seemed more likely that this was something Sir Ronald had arranged as a final revenge from Lord Verbury.