“To be sure, I do not.” She was fully aware that Virginia Elizabeth referred to the Virgin Queen. It had not been an accidental connection. While she was glad to see him laughing, it had been a very good book on the queen. There was a copy in His Majesty’s own library.
“It is only that—”
The baby delivered a swift rap to Jane’s side, silencing them both. Vincent inhaled convulsively as a second kick followed the first. His semblance of calm melted, leaving only an expression of open wonder. “That was … kicking?”
“Or punching.” She ran her fingers through his hair.
His brows drew together with concern. “Does it hurt? You should sit. Why am I keeping you standing? You should sit.”
Jane laughed at her husband as he led her to the small sofa in their apartment. “It can be surprising. That is—” The baby kicked again. “—all. Though I’ve been told by Melody that it can get uncomfortable later. Tom was apparently quite the pugilist.”
Vincent settled her on the sofa with an absurd amount of care. He sank to kneel in front of her and looked for permission before putting his hand back on her stomach. “Do you think it is a boy?”
“And if it is, what shall we call him? What is Herr Scholes’s name?” That should be safe enough.
His attention had returned to the sensations beneath his hand. “Leopold Sebastian Faustus Scholes.”
“Faustus? That will never do. Leopold Vincent?”
“I was thinking Charles.”
“After Papa?”
Vincent looked up, a shyness in his brown eyes. “Would that be all right? His conduct is exemplary.”
She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “He would be honoured and delighted.” She took both of his hands and pressed them to either side of her, so that whichever way Charles or Grace kicked, her husband could feel it. In quiet, intimate moments, she had seen Alastar sitting like this with Melody, with a similar expression of stunned joy. Jane traced her fingers through Vincent’s hair and across his forehead. That line between his brows had finally smoothed.
The door to their room opened.
Jane pushed back in the sofa, aware that their pose made her state all too clear. Equally startled, Vincent sprang to his feet, eyes widening. And then he replaced the fear with anger. He reached for it like glamour, wrapping rage around him, and spun to the door.
“How dare you enter without leave!” His shoulders seemed somehow broader, with his hands held away from his sides and flexed almost into fists.
Louisa flinched back into the door. She ducked her head, shrinking into a curtsy. “I’m sorry, sir. I—Mr. Frank told me to see to Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Knock. You must always knock before entering.” He towered over her, moving his hands behind his back and clasping them tightly.
“Vincent.” Jane stood.
Her voice seemed to recall him to himself and he rocked back on his heels.
“Thank you, Louisa.” Jane’s heart knocked against her ribs. While she settled her nerves, she turned from the young woman as though to fetch her bonnet. Vincent rarely raised his voice and had never shouted at a servant before. “Would you be able to acquire cuts of bacon from Cook? I should like to visit the slave quarters.”
“Yes, madam. Mr. Frank made the suggestion, so I have already arranged for Zeus to carry it for us.”
“You are not seriously going out.” Vincent spun on Jane, and she took an involuntary step back. He clenched his jaw. The effort he took to moderate his tone made the next sentence excessively calm. “That is to say, I thought you were tired.”
She took up the bonnet and went to the mirror. “Not so much as to stay in.”
“But—” He cleared his throat. “In this weather?”
“We are asking people to work in this weather. Surely I can make a walk.” Jane settled the bonnet, trying not to flatten her hair still more. If she could pretend that all was normal, then perhaps he could steady himself a little.
“But it could wait until tomorrow.”
“And would tomorrow be any cooler? Likely not.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. It was clear that he was trying to think of a protest that did not amount to telling Louisa that Jane was in the family way. He finally nodded and said, “Well. I shall see you this evening.”
He turned to the door and stopped. Louisa still stood by it, her head lowered. Vincent let out a slow breath. “Louisa, I apologise for raising my voice. It was needlessly rude.”
Louisa looked up, brows rising as her eyes widened, but she quickly masked the surprise with a curtsy. “Thank you, sir.”
When he walked from the room, his hands were still clasped firmly behind his back, but he had apologised, and that was not something that his father would have done.
Jane let out a slow breath when the sound of his footsteps had faded. Vincent had warned her that his behaviour would alter, but she had not reckoned with how quickly or how much. This was only their third day in Antigua, and the pendulum of his emotion frightened her more than a little.
Nine