He handed it to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “I am only sorry that I do not have any lavender soap.”
If Jane had not raised the cloth to her face, her spasm of grief for her husband would have been all too clear. She pressed the cool fabric against her face and breathed through the damp fibres. That horrible man turned kindness into cruelty. She wiped the cloth across her face, removing much of the grime from their walk. While Jane did not feel anywhere near restored, the cool cloth soothed her.
Vincent took the dirty linen from her and folded it into a square. Not even a hint of a frown spoilt his fa?ade of composure. He smoothed the cloth with his thumb, the way he might straighten a fold of glamour. Abruptly, he stood and walked back to the washbasin. “What would you like to do?”
“Leave. Immediately.”
“I mean about the doctor.”
“Oh…” Jane rested a hand on her stomach, feeling for movement within, but found only a faint whisper that might simply be digestion. It was not enough to be truly assuring. Given her sickness earlier, the generally inelegant state she was in presently, and the miscarriage … she should take no more risks. “I should like to talk to the doctor, just to be certain.”
Vincent let out a breath. “Good. Thank you. I will feel better after he examines you.”
“He? I meant Dr. Jones.”
He dropped the cloth in the basin and turned. “The Negro? Sir Ronald seems the more experienced of the two.”
“You have not met her.”
“No, but as a Negro and a woman, she cannot possibly have had the opportunity to receive the same level of training.”
“As a navy surgeon, I cannot imagine that he would have had much experience with expectant mothers. I should rather trust myself to someone who has delivered babies in practice.”
“But what of the low birthrate among the slaves? Might that be related to who attends them?”
Jane had no ready answer for that. If he had met the doctor, then he would have seen how competent she was and would be less uncertain. “I do not trust him.”
“I would not either, except—” He was still for two moments, then crossed the room to the windows to stand with his back to her. He cleared his throat. “I think my father is sincere insofar as his concern for the health of a possible heir goes, and hence will do nothing to place you at risk. It is consistent with his character.”
“It would also be consistent with his character as I understand it to instruct Sir Ronald to say that I was unfit for travel, regardless of my general health.”
“He said he would let us go.”
Jane stared at Vincent, utterly confounded. “I do not understand you. Why would you trust that statement, given your history with him?”
“Because he has never—” He stopped and cleared his throat. Jane very much wished he would turn around so that she could see his face, but right now she had only the set of his shoulders to guide her, and those said that he was in control of his sensibilities. “As a contrivance, there are times when it would have made considerable sense to … and yet, he has not. I cannot understand why, so I am … struggling. Some of my disquiet is lingering fear from this afternoon, but most of my confusion stems from … I do not understand why he would…”
“Why he would what?”
“Apologise. To me. He has never—” Vincent’s voice cracked and he stopped, putting a hand over his mouth. The thin keen leaked around his fingers, and then even that cut off.
“Vincent…” Jane slid her legs to the side of the bed.
“No.” His voice sounded torn from cloth. “Please. Do not. Please—I do not want to grant him this. Let me … just give me a—”
His hand flashed to the side, and Vincent disappeared. Jane stared at the spot where he had been, where he still was, wrapped in a preservative sphere. The cry that had not escaped from him swelled in Jane’s own chest. She clenched her jaw around it, knowing that Vincent could still see her. Even with something that looked like humility, Lord Verbury had the power to hurt his son.
Only once previously had Vincent hidden from her in this manner. That time, she had pushed into the sphere. Today, she thought it would do more harm than good. Let them escape this place, and then he could unravel safely.
If Vincent needed a moment to govern himself, then she would give him that. Jane pushed herself back up onto the bed and leaned against the pillows with her fingers laced over her stomach. Looking out the window at the unbroken blue sky and the orange trees, she waited.
*