“Very good.” Frank picked up his glass and raised it to Vincent. “Thank you. Now, you mentioned three things. What is the third?”
Vincent inhaled very slowly, before turning to Jane. “This involves you, Muse. We have been invited to dinner.”
The room grew cold, and Jane was fairly certain that she had gone quite pale. She picked up the glass of sherry and took a sip to hide her distress. She did not want to see the man or have anything to do with him, apology or no. It was not enough. Nothing he said could ever be enough to atone for what he had done and continued to do to Vincent. “You are considering accepting.”
“It is his condition for looking at our charges against Pridmore.” Vincent reached for her hand. “If you are not willing, then I shall decline. There will be other options.”
“But?”
“But … I think—and I want Frank’s opinion on this—that having you present and visibly with child would remind my father that he wants to continue to mend relations. I think that might make him more disposed to a discussion of Mr. Pridmore’s mismanagement.”
Frank grimaced. “It might. I am sorry, I wish that were not the case.”
Beneath the table, Jane tightened her free hand into a fist until her nails dug into the palm. “And declining will almost certainly make him angry, which will hurt your cause.”
“Muse, if you are not comfortable, there are other ways. I have weathered my father’s displeasure before.”
Comfortable? Having seen the results of Vincent’s other conferences with him, Jane expected nothing of comfort from an evening with Lord Verbury. “When?”
He grimaced with annoyance. “He wanted us tomorrow, but I put him off for a week, in deference to your health.”
Deferring to her health was not much of an exaggeration. Could she do this? She became short of breath simply walking from one room to the next. Even this much agitation made her heart race far too quickly. Jane closed her eyes, thinking over the conversation. It seemed to her that Lord Verbury’s remorse was an instrument to force Vincent to do what he wanted him to do. If Lord Verbury was truly concerned that Mr. Pridmore would expose him, which seemed a likely consequence of firing him, then having a safeguard would be a sensible goal—for Lord Verbury.
She opened her eyes. “The evidence he asked you to look for … am I correct that he wants you to extort Mr. Pridmore on his behalf?”
Vincent’s breath whistled out. “Yes. And for his benefit.”
“No.” Frank sat forward, face stern. “No, it is not for Lord Verbury. It is for my wife and Louisa and Rosa and getting everyone else on this estate out from under the influence of a reprehensible man. We will not be using any invented evidence, and not requiring Pridmore to do anything but hold his tongue.”
Though the goal was worthy, Jane could see Lord Verbury’s hand there as well, using their noble impulses against them. He truly did twist everything and everyone around him. And yet, she did not know that there was much choice. Jane clenched her jaw and nodded. “Very well. Let us accept his invitation in the spirit that it was offered.”
Nineteen
A Matter of Appearances
Shortly after breakfast, Frank brought Zeus to the blue parlour. It was clear that he had told the young man nothing save that he was wanted. Jane tried to catch Zeus’s eye and smile at him, but Zeus, mindful of Frank’s presence, kept his eyes cast down.
Vincent stood when they entered and rounded the table to stand in front of the young man. “Zeus—your real name is Zachary, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lord Verbury has given me the deed for you.”
For a brief moment, the young man’s eyes flashed up, and then he resolutely studied the floor.
“There are some circumstances that we must explain to you, but at the end of that, I will free you, if you would like.”
At that, Zeus—Zachary—stared at Vincent, mouth ajar a little. Heedless of the etiquette for a servant, he turned to Frank. In the nod that Frank gave in return, Jane could, for the first time, see that the two men were brothers. Frank’s gesture carried assurance and comfort. Zachary’s face worked with great emotion. He lifted his hands, then tightened them into fists and returned them to his sides. A muscle at the corner of his jaw tightened in a way that reminded Jane painfully of Vincent.
Zachary swallowed with his head bent. His voice was thick with feeling. “Please tell me the circumstances.”
“Will you sit?” asked Jane.
Frank put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Moving almost blindly, Zachary sank into a chair at the table with his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Frank sat on his other side, and together he and Vincent explained the situation.
At the end of their explanation, Zachary stared at the table, arms drawn tight against his sides. He swallowed several times before opening his mouth to speak, and even then had to clear his throat. “I should like to be freed.”
“Good.” Vincent pushed his chair back from the table, looking across to Frank.