“Ah. The benefits of being encouraged to study the womanly arts. My own education was somewhat more autodidactic, until Herr Scholes.”
“My dear … I believe that you are using a discussion of craft to change the subject.”
“And you will not let me?”
“Did you land in the pond again?”
“I did.”
“With as much swearing as before!” Herr Scholes laughed.
“Although not for the same reasons this time. Cold and wet, yes, but I was more angry that I had been tricked by glamour. It was an affront that my dignity disliked more than the dousing.”
“And yet, that did not stop you from attempting to slip out again.” Herr Scholes lifted a finger into the air. “The third time, he had hidden the ladder in his room, to safeguard against its removal.”
“So I made it out the window and across the pond, thinking myself in the clear. Until my teacher threw a basin of water on me.” Vincent shook his head, laughing now at the memory. “How did you know that I would be stepping out that particular night? I have never been able to satisfy myself as to that. It was weeks after the other attempts.”
Herr Scholes winked. “I did not know. I was not there, in fact.”
“But—but, I saw you. And let us not forget the basin of water.” Vincent tilted his head, staring at the older man in disbelief. “Glamour? No—no, I was unequivocally wet, because I remember dripping on the floor and hanging my clothes to dry afterwards.”
“A string stretched across the path emptied the basin. I heard the swearing—again. It awakened the household, and gave me time to step into an inverted Cruikshank’s weave that I had woven earlier on my balcony. I then had a clear line of sight to your path. Had you crept out during the day, I would never have been able to get away with it, because the image does not have the detail to be plausible in daylight. But in the dark, to an angry young man, it no doubt looked very much like I was standing on the path.”
Vincent’s gaze went a little distant, as though he were looking into the ether or into memory. “Oh. That was beautifully done. And you did not speak, then. Simply pointed back to the house. When I had changed out of my wet things and you were waiting at my door, I thought you had followed me. Truly artful. I am embarrassed anew that I did not sort that out.”
“I am pleased to see that being embarrassed no longer makes you angry.”
“Not usually.”
Jane asked, “But why were you stealing out?”
Vincent’s smile slipped a fraction. In the hesitation, she saw him consider avoiding the question. Then he gave a little shrug. “This was not long after I arrived. I had been free of my father’s influence for just over a year and had trouble sleeping.” For a moment the memory of his father’s abuse haunted his face, then he cleared his expression, as if from habit. “Walks helped clear my head. That night, Herr Scholes advised me to use glamour as a release. It has proved to be more efficacious.”
“I will tell you now, my intention that night had been to expel you. I thought you were off visiting a maid, and if you had dissembled in the slightest, I would have carried through with that intention, though it would have broken my heart.” He shifted Tom to his other arm. “I had given you three chances only because I was not prepared to let go of my best pupil.”
“You had better pupils. I was merely—”
“Mr. Vincent!” Herr Scholes glared at Jane’s husband. She shrank back in her chair herself, even though his look was not turned upon her. “What have I told you, repeatedly, about undervaluing your work?”
The abashed look returned, and Jane could imagine her husband as a pupil of one and twenty. He knit his hands together, ducking his head. “I must not undervalue my work simply because I enjoy it. A working artist understands his worth and lives by it.”
“Good. Though I suppose I should apologise for speaking to you as a pupil. I am still unused to calling you Sir David.”
“To be honest, I would prefer to be Mr. Vincent still, but one does not say no when the Prince Regent wishes to confer a knighthood.”
The door swept open, and Jane’s sister entered with a smile. From the hall behind her, an unmistakable bustle announced that the rest of Jane’s family had arrived back from their excursion. Melody spied their guest and gave a squeal of delight. “Herr Scholes! What a pleasure. Will you stay for dinner? Do say you will. And have they made you hold Tom!” Melody had retained a pleasing plumpness to her figure after the birth of Tom, though that was hardly surprising given the rich food in Vienna. Jane’s own clothes were growing tight from the abundance of kn?del and strudel. Not that a little bit of plumpness would do anything to balance her overlong nose, but it might soften her sharp chin. On Melody, the fullness gave her a merry cheer that supported her already sunny disposition.