“The meals have been delicious, but perhaps … perhaps I should have something plain for dinner tonight.” Jane turned back to the ledger she had been working on and drew a scrap of paper closer. Taking up her quill, she wrote: The baby kicked. All is well.
Vincent stared at the little piece of paper as if he could not read. He lifted it off the table and sank back on his heels, gazing at it. After a moment, Vincent covered his mouth and gazed up at her. He raised his hand as though to touch her stomach, but caught himself before he did. If Frank had not already guessed, he surely would have then. Clearing his throat, Vincent folded the paper in half and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “If your digestion is troubling you, perhaps you should lie down?”
Frank was staring at them. He knew. He must know. Jane laughed with a gaiety she did not feel, hoping that she could somehow convince him that nothing was amiss. “Do not be silly. It was a touch of ill vapours. Just be happy that the windows were open and we have such a pleasant breeze. Now go on, back to your numbers. I have some ancestry to sort out.”
As Vincent stood, with an admirable display of ease, Jane turned her gaze back towards the ledger. Her attention, though, was fixed internally, as she waited for movement within.
*
Jane’s husband was a man of enormous will and restraint. It took all of Jane’s power to remain in her chair, but Vincent lasted nearly a full hour before lifting his head to regard her. “Were you considering visiting the slave quarters today?”
She set down her quill. “I had thought to, yes.”
“I need to stretch my legs a bit, so will walk part of the way with you when you go.” Vincent pushed his chair back, making it clear that he meant for her to go now.
Frank shut the ledger in front of him and rubbed his eyes. “We are at a good stopping point, and I have some matters to attend to in the house as well.”
Jane slid her chair back and neatly arranged the small stack of papers and books she had been looking through. Looking “at” would perhaps be more appropriate, as she had spent much of the time waiting for the baby to kick again. Aside from a few brief flutters that truly might have been only the vapours, their child had quieted.
“I presume you want to go to our room to fetch your bonnet and parasol first.” Vincent’s manner was calm, yet he kept touching his waistcoat pocket where the little slip of paper was.
Jane suppressed a smile, trying to match his demeanour. “I could not think of going without either.”
He walked beside her down the steps and across the short stretch of lawn to the great house. The space between them began to fill with unsaid words, and by the time they reached the door to their rooms, the silence seemed nearly as gravid as Jane herself.
They stepped into the room, and Vincent shut the door. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes and let his fatigue show. Jane sometimes forgot that Vincent was younger than she—only by a year—but the differences in their lives gave him a countenance far older.
She took his hand, so much broader than hers, and placed it against her stomach where she had felt the kicks. “I do not know if it will happen again immediately.”
He opened his eyes. “I thought—”
“I know. I did too, for a moment.” Jane concentrated, willing some movement to occur. “But it means that I am likely well into my fifth month.”
Scarcely breathing, he nodded.
Jane pressed his hand against her more firmly, but their child seemed as stubborn as Vincent and refused to perform on command. “Have you thought of names?”
“I have been a little afraid to do so.”
“Well … let us begin. If a girl, is there anyone you would like to honour?” That seemed a safer question than asking about boy’s names, considering their situation.
He wet his lips. “My grandmother? Lady Vincent. Her given name was Grace. Would that…?”
“Grace Vincent.” Jane rolled the syllables around on her tongue. “That is a lovely name, and as the woman who first taught you to work glamour, I think it appropriate. May I also suggest Virginia?”
“After your mother?” He seemed almost surprised, though it was the most commonly done thing.
“Mama has tried to do her best for us and would be so pleased.” Jane frowned, thinking she felt a flurry of movement, but Vincent showed no signs of marking it. “Grace Virginia Vincent—oh. No, that is entirely too many Vs, even if she is going to change surnames upon marriage. Perhaps Elizabeth, taking Mama’s middle name?”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Your mother’s name is Virginia Elizabeth? Truly?”
“My grandfather wrote a book on Queen Elizabeth that was very well received.”
This made Vincent chuckle for some reason.
“He was an amateur historian of some renown. You do not need to laugh quite so hard. Elizabeth is a perfectly lovely name.”
“To be sure, but you must see the comedy in Virginia Elizabeth.”