He looked forward again, shoulders slightly hunched. “The mourning period for Princess Charlotte means no glamour in England until November.… If we cannot work there, there is nothing that would prevent me from going to the West Indies.”
In the hall, the stairs creaked with a slow and steady tread. Jane turned to stare at the door, willing the person away. A gentle knock sounded, in spite of her efforts.
“Jane?” her father called softly.
“Yes, Papa?” She made an effort to keep her voice even.
“Your mother sent me to inquire if everything is all right.”
Jane ran her fingers down Vincent’s back, feeling the old scars through his shirt. “Please tell Mama that my husband is not dead or even ill.”
“I already did, but she wants to know what the noise was.”
Vincent raised his voice. “I tripped. No broken bones or sprains. Only a bruised ego.” He turned his head to Jane. “You should probably tell him.”
Sighing, Jane clambered to her feet. She loved her family, but there were times when their concerns—or, more especially, her mother’s concerns—overwhelmed the actual difficulties. Jane crossed to the door and opened it, slipping into the hall where her father waited.
Mr. Ellsworth’s white hair stood out in a silver halo. He wore a rare furrow on his brow and compressed his lips as she shut the door. “I am sorry, Jane. I told your mother that if Vincent needed medical attention then you would call for us, but you know how she gets.”
“I do.” She bit the inside of her lip, imagining what would happen when her mother heard the news. “Papa … Vincent’s father is dead. And his eldest brother.”
“What? Both?”
Nodding, Jane related the contents of the letter with as few words as possible, but she could still see her father’s shock. His brows drew closer together with each word she spoke. “How is Vincent taking it?”
“Distressed. Uncertain.”
“And you?”
“Also uncertain. I think we will likely go to the West Indies, and I dread what the trip will do to him.”
“There, now…” Her father pulled her into an embrace, and Jane let some of the tension she was carrying transfer to him. “There, now. From what you have implied of his father, he has survived worse, and he has you with him to face this trial.”
“I wish I knew what to do for him.”
Her father set her back and tilted his head down to look at her. “Shall I tell you what I do for your mother?”
“You cannot seriously compare Vincent with Mama.”
“Well, he has more sense than she, I will grant that readily enough, but—” He held up a finger. “But. You must always remember that her fears are real to her. She wants to know that she is not alone.”
“She wants attention.”
“Yes. That is how I let her know that she is not alone.” He made a little wave of his fingers. “Granted, distracting her is easier. But, as a start, make certain that Vincent knows he is not facing this alone. Meanwhile, I shall give you both a great and noble gift.”
Jane could not help but smile at her father. “And what is that?”
“I shall be the one to tell your mother.” He pressed his hands to his bosom in a martyr’s pose.
“Oh! That is a great and noble gift. You are too good to me.”
He winked at her, turning to go back down the stairs. Listening to her father’s footsteps recede towards the distant murmur of conversation below, Jane quieted her breathing in the same way she might after working an especially challenging piece of glamour. She inhaled to her fullest extent, until her ribs pressed against her short stays, then let the breath out through her mouth. It did not help. She still felt as though she would be ill. There was no correct choice in this matter, only a lesser evil.
Jane put her hand on the latch and tried to assume an air of calm that she did not feel. When she opened the door, Vincent had moved to the window and was standing with his back to the room. He tossed what appeared to be a jet of fire from hand to hand, directing the glamour with little twists of his fingers. As the door shut, he turned his head and snipped the cords of the illusion. The flames winked out. “Is your mother palpitating?”
“So it seems, but Papa has promised to reassure her as to your health.” She came to stand next to the window, just behind Vincent. She could see the angle of his cheek and the edge of his brow. “He also offered to share the news of the letter for us. So we have only to wait until Mama has time to calm down.”
His cheek rounded a little. “I do not know if I can remain in the room so long as that. Might we have our meals sent in?”
“Hush. She is not as bad as that. Sometimes. Occasionally.” Jane worried the inside of her lip for a moment. “What do you want to do?”
“Ah, Muse … I do not trust my own judgement at all.”