“Vincent?”
He shook his head when she rose to follow him, holding up a finger to indicate he needed a moment. On the balcony, that same hand dipped into the ether and he vanished. Even the sound of his footsteps cut off.
“Louisa, I think that will do.” He would almost certainly not want her to witness this and report it to his father. “Thank you.”
In the mirror, Louisa glanced at the balcony and then curtsied. “Yes, madam.”
When she had left, Jane picked up the black ostrich plumes, watching the balcony in the mirror. She had all three plumes pinned and trembling above her head before Vincent reappeared. His face was grey, with red splotches on his cheeks. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. He walked back in, carefully not looking at her, and went straight to the washbasin.
“Were you—?”
“Yes.” He splashed water on his face. “Better now than during dinner, I suppose.”
She stood and poured a glass of water for him, dropping in a slice of lime from the little crystal bowl on the side table. She offered it to him. “I have some ginger as well, if that would help.”
“No, thank you.” He took the glass of water, though, and carried it out to the balcony. He did not disappear, but rinsed his mouth and spat into the flowers. He turned the tumbler, staring at the water. Grimacing, he scrubbed his hand through his hair as though wiping a thought away. “Will you help me with my cravat? I cannot seem to tie it tonight.”
“Of course.” Jane went to the drawer where his cravats were kept and pulled out another silk one. “Come in when you are ready and I shall see if I can make you respectable.”
“That may require more than a cravat.” He took another sip of water.
“Shall I have Louisa follow you with a glamural of youthful vigour?”
He rewarded her with something that might have been a chuckle. “Perhaps she could paint a halo over me?”
“Nothing so explicit. Simply a ray of light emanating from heaven, as if you are favoured by God.”
“Ah, for that, I only need you seated at my right hand.” Vincent came back inside. His colour was a little better, if a trifle pale. Later, she might ask him how often he had been ill since their arrival, but now her goal was to help him steady himself.
“You flatterer.” She held up the cravat. “Will you accept this as a token of my favour?”
“My lady honours me.” He gave a deep, full court bow, with a very pretty leg. It was clear that he was pretending to be in good humour, and that the pretence helped him come closer to a state of calm.
She beckoned him. He stood in front of her and bent his head to let her wrap the silk around his neck. Beneath her hands, his pulse was wild, but he did not flinch as she had been afraid that he would. His composure was tolerably tranquil. She murmured, “I honour you, because you are a very handsome man with well-turned calves.”
“Not for my skill? My wit? My inscrutability?”
“Those are admirable, I grant—lift your chin, please—but you must not depreciate the power of well-fitted breeches upon a lady’s admiration.” She tucked the end through and adjusted the knot into a waterfall of silk. “Though I would argue again that you are insufferable, not inscrutable.”
“We return to this.” He gave a mock sigh. “I shall have to ask you to prove your case.”
“First.” She stepped back to admire the knot. “Lower your chin carefully to crease the silk.”
He did, and then examined the result in the mirror. Even without his coat on, Vincent cut a dashing figure. “Thank you, Muse.”
“Who knew that years of tying glamour would help me with the art of a valet?”
That coaxed a smile that was almost real. He picked up his coat and shrugged into it. “You have managed to avoid the issue of my inscrutability. Therefore, I must assume that you tacitly acknowledge that I am.”
Jane came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. She had to lean forward a little to reach past her own increasing waist. “To be inscrutable implies that you are a mystery beyond understanding, am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“And yet, I understand how to make you laugh.” With that, Jane tickled him.
The tension that Vincent had been carrying exploded out of him in a laugh from the belly as he bent forward and twisted away from Jane. “I yield! I yield!” He held up his hand, retreating from her. “Careful, or you shall make me wrinkle my cravat.”
“We would not want that.” Jane smiled. “Not until later.”
Vincent’s expression changed, softening, and he crossed the room in two quick strides. Pulling her into his arms, he bent his head to kiss her. His skin, fresh shaven for the evening, was soft against her and tasted of lavender. The kiss was chaste at first, and then deepened.