When his gaze returned, a flush of warmth swept over Jane at the brightness in his eyes. He leaned in so that his breath brushed her cheek. “When you work, you develop the most becoming furrow between your brows. I was distracted.”
It was a very great pity that they were standing in the middle of a ballroom. Jane’s knees felt weak enough that she rather thought she would like to lie down. She swallowed. “I am hardly working at all.”
“Hm. It is perhaps best for me that you are not. Now, your idea…” He pulled a fold of white out of the ether and stretched it as she had suggested. “Huh. That could … you would need to add a glaze on the exterior—say, something like a Chatel finish, to give a lustre. I think.”
He could be so wicked at times. “You are correct. Otherwise it will have a matte finish, which is all wrong.”
Vincent wiped the experiment from the air. “Do you honestly think that is what she is going to do?”
“Well…” Jane studied the column, where Mrs. Ransford was adding another stripe of blue.
“You just came up with a technique that does not even have a name, and you did it without being able to handle folds.” He leaned in and whispered in spite of the silence. “You forget how good you are at this.”
Blush overspreading her cheeks, Jane bent to study her drawings. “I think she is leaving after tea, so we can tear it out then. I say ‘we,’ but … perhaps Louisa can do it? She is proving to be quite adept, and I think enjoys the work.” She glanced over to where the young woman was engaged on another ice column. With her head tilted up, her habitually guarded expression was more open. Even with the abstracted gaze of a glamourist deep in the ether, her eyes were bright with interest. “Meanwhile … how to redirect Mrs. Ransford so she does not feel slighted.” Jane tapped her pencil against her chin as she considered the designs.
“Perhaps we should ask her to do some reindeer without antlers, and then we might have some credible sled dogs?”
“Please be kind.”
“That was.” Sliding one of the other drawings over, he indicated the front of the ballroom. “What about your snow curtain? It is central, which should make her feel important. If she spins the threads, we can always alter the placement later if need be.”
“That is a good thought. The snowflakes themselves are not that different in effect from cherry blossoms, and she did do a lovely job with that cherry tree. I will use you as an excuse, since she seems still in awe of ‘Sir David.’”
He snorted at that. In spite of Mrs. Pridmore’s preference, while working on the glamural Jane had taken to calling Vincent ‘Sir David’ again, professedly to remind Mrs. Ransford that he was the Prince Regent’s glamourist, but truly to remind him of himself.
“You do not mind speaking to her?”
“Given that we want to retain her good opinion, I think that is probably best.” Jane patted his arm. “You can be curmudgeonly.”
He shook his head and pretended to scowl, but the corners of his eyes creased with a suppressed smile. He unstitched the muddied silence and returned to the folds he had been laying in one of the upper corners of the ballroom. Most glamourists would need a scaffold to reach, but he stretched glamour and threw it into place as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Jane waited for a few moments so that it was not quite so obvious that they had been discussing Mrs. Ransford. Armed with the drawing of the snow curtain, she approached the woman and waited until she tied off the thread she was working with. “Mrs. Ransford, may I trouble you?”
Breathing quickly, with a flush to her usually pallid cheeks, Mrs. Ransford stepped back from her work. “I am only too happy to take a break, so please trouble away.”
“Would it be possible to move you to a different project?” She showed her the drawing of the snow curtain. “I need a touch of delicacy here, and thinking of your cherry blossoms, I wondered if I could ask you to take this on.”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Ransford straightened a little. “I should not be much longer with this.”
“I can have Jeannette or Louisa finish that for you.”
A little frown creased Mrs. Ransford’s mouth. She glanced at where the stout, matronly woman was working on one of the other columns. Her eyes narrowed a trifle and slid back to her own work. Jane had the uneasy sense that Mrs. Ransford recognised the inferiority of her own work.