“I will not be working glamour or exerting myself beyond drawing and consultation.” Jane sighed and reached across the table to rest her hand on his. “I know you are only concerned, but I was not seeking advice on whether I should go. My question was if you wanted to join me.”
He regarded her without expression. It pained her that she could not guess his thoughts. In private or with his few trusted companions, he was generally amiable, with an easy laugh and mobile features. But even in unfamiliar company, when he became more reserved, Jane had become used to the subtleties of his expression. Over the past several days, he had adopted a withdrawn expression that went beyond his usual reserve. Vincent lowered his hand and gave a brief nod. “Thank you. I shall.”
Jane was not entirely certain if he was humouring her or if he had any interest in the glamural. Either way, it would get him away from their troubles for a time.
*
The Whitten estate occupied the land next to theirs, although the broad ravine and treacherous ground between the two estates required a roundabout route to reach the Whittens’ great house. It sat atop a ridge with a good prospect of the sugarcane fields. It was an older building than Greycroft, with two long wings stretching back around a central yard. Wide verandas, which seemed to be a prevalent feature in Antiguan architecture, graced the sides of the building, but the front was in a Palladian style that would not have been out of place at a country estate in England.
The ballroom, to Jane’s surprise, occupied its own building set between the two wings. Tall windows opened all the way to the floor, letting a breeze flow through the gracious room. A glamural of what might have been a rustic English landscape occupied the space with a succession of box hedges and strangely lit cottages. A pack of hounds stood among the trees along one wall. Jane frowned. The animals had antlers. Perhaps not hounds, then.
She glanced at Vincent, who was scowling at the unfortunate deer. His gaze went vacant as he looked into the ether, shaking his head with familiar offended disdain. Never had Jane been happier to see poorly rendered glamour.
At the far end of the room, Mrs. Whitten sat at a table with the other ladies who were throwing the charity. She rose with a smile and hurried across the room to meet them. “I am so grateful that you were able to join us. I trust your health is improved?”
“Much, thank you.” Jane wondered how many details had made their way through the gossip lines. “The heat surprised me.”
“I quite understand. When I returned from my Season in London, I was nearly done in, in spite of having been born here.”
“Mrs. Whitten, may I introduce…” Jane hesitated before she said his name. Mrs. Whitten was thoroughly familiar with his career, so it would come as no surprise, and it might help restore Vincent to himself. “My husband, Sir David Vincent.”
Vincent had shown no surprise that Mrs. Whitten was a mulatto, but his brow rose a fraction at the sound of his own name. He covered any further surprise with a bow. “Madam.”
“I am happy to hear you introduced thus, since, as you see, we have need of a glamourist.” She looked at the antlered hounds and gave a little wince, then she turned to Jane. “Shall I call you Lady Vincent, or would you prefer Mrs. Hamilton?”
Before Jane could answer, Mrs. Pridmore settled the question by rushing across the room with her hands outstretched. “My dear, dear Mrs. Hamilton! Mr. Hamilton! You have my most sincere congratulations. When Mr. Pridmore told me about your impending joy, I was so delighted for you, but of course I was not surprised. I had wondered, you see, though one never likes to ask, as sometimes the subject of one’s curiosity is merely stout. But you had such a glow about you that I was fairly certain, was I not, Mrs. Ransford?”
Mrs. Ransford said, “I am such an admirer of your work, Sir David.”
This caused Vincent’s brow to go up. “That is kind. What have you had the occasion to view?”
“Oh … I am afraid I have not yet had the privilege, but I have read about it. Indeed, being a fellow glamourist, I have made it my business to stay current in the fashions in London, and everyone there is full of praise for your work. I have it on the highest authority that your glamural of a Midsummer Night for the Prince Regent was absolutely thrilling.”
Vincent gave a short bow of thanks.
Mrs. Whitten indicated the table that had been set up at the far end of the ballroom. “May I invite you to sit? We have some drawings I should like to show you.” As they walked, she said, “The reason we are particularly glad to see you is that we are having some difficulty deciding upon a motif. The opinion of a professional glamourist would be most welcome.”