Of Noble Family

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  Jane sat forward to draw Lord Verbury’s attention away from Vincent. “We are doing an homage to the Northwest Passage expedition. Have you read anything about it?”

  Miss Sarah smiled. “Oh yes. I saw that in the newspaper. Ah—here is Zeus with the second course.”

  As Zachary carried in the dishes for that course and set them on the table, the conversation turned again to the quantity and quality of the food and gave them safe ground for some time.

  Miss Sarah sent the dish of sliced pineapple around to Jane. “Please have more. It is accounted to be excellent for an expectant mother.”

  Discussing her expectant condition openly in mixed company caused Jane’s cheeks to warm. At home a woman’s state was only ever alluded to as being “in a family way.”

  Jane lowered her gaze as if more embarrassed than she was but silently thanked Miss Sarah for reminding his lordship of Jane’s state. The blush could only make the topic seem more artless. This was the first time that Jane had ever had the occasion to thank her transparent complexion.

  It was interesting to see that she and Miss Sarah had a mutual goal. “We have not wished you joy, yet.” Lord Verbury lifted his glass. “To your health.”

  The glasses flashed in the candlelight as each member of their small dinner party joined in the toast. Jane blushed again, in more earnest, and murmured, “Thank you.”

  Setting his glass down, Lord Verbury turned to his son. “Have you thought of names?”

  “Some.… Nothing we have settled upon.”

  “I should like to make the request again that you consider Frederick.” He held up his hand to forestall any protest. “It was my father’s name as well, so he need not be named for me.”

  “I will take that under consideration.”

  “You do not need to decline so quickly.”

  “I merely said that we would consider it.”

  “Recall who taught you how to say ‘no’ without using the word.”

  Jane laughed, trying to lighten the moment. “I do not think we shall be able to name the child until we meet him. My own father was originally to be a Gilbert, but upon his birth my grandparents decided that the name did not suit and chose Charles instead.”

  Lord Verbury snorted. “If all children were named in that manner, they would all have the names of drunken old men, for I have never seen a baby yet who did not appear thus.”

  Vincent inclined his head. “You may have something there.”

  “Children grow into their names. Your first mark of shaping them is by your choice of names.” He nodded to Vincent. “Vincent Daniel St. Lawrence Erasmus Hamilton. It has a balance and masculine rhythm to it, but you see how I had to offset the weakness of the first name with the latter ones?”

  “I have always liked the name Vincent.” Jane applied herself to the asparagus in front of her. She had expected to spend the evening helping Vincent govern his temper, but her own was in danger of expressing itself. “I thought it was lovely that you chose to honour his maternal grandparents by using their surname in that manner.”

  “His mother expressed such a wish for it that I could not do otherwise.” Lord Verbury smiled and for once looked the very picture of a proud father. “And he has certainly grown into it.”

  One might almost miss the cut and mistake it for a mark of affection, but Jane could not overlook the fact that he had so recently expressed an opinion that the name “Vincent” was weak.

  Her husband replied, “I shall have to write to my Latin professor to let him know that he was incorrect about the definition vincere. I had been taught my name had the root ‘to conquer,’ but now I find it means ‘weakness.’ Of course, I should not be surprised, since ‘Erasmus’ means beloved.”

  Verbury cocked his head in acknowledgement. “Looking at the root of a word is much like looking at the roots of a tree. The foundation is important, but even a tree with a strong root can still bear sickly fruit if it is subject to mismanagement.”

  Jane looked across the table hoping to catch Vincent’s eye. “The naming of children is such an inscrutable thing.”

  Vincent had been giving his plate an intense scrutiny, but now lifted his gaze to meet hers. The corners of his mouth tightened in the slightest hint of a smile. “It does seem so. Besides … it may be a girl, and then all this consideration of boys’ names will be for nothing.”

  Lord Verbury waved for Zachary to clear his plate. “For now, perhaps, but this will hardly be your only child since you have given up glamour.”

  Vincent stopped, fork half raised and set it down again. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It cannot have escaped your notice.” Lord Verbury sat back in his chair in frank astonishment. “Good lord. It has.”

  “Your meaning is obscure.”

  “Surely, you can consult a calendar as well as the next man. You were travelling and not working when your wife conceived. There is a reason glamour is considered a ‘womanly’ art, after all.”

  The muscle in the corner of Vincent’s jaw bunched. He swallowed and turned his attention to Miss Sarah. “Speaking of glamour, I must thank you for training Louisa. She has been a great help to my wife.”

  “There it is…” Lord Verbury shook his head and sighed.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Nothing…” He leaned towards Jane and lowered his voice as if he were confiding in her. “I forget that he is a tender soul, and I have made the mistake of pushing too hard in the past. It is unnatural for a father to not want his son to excel, but I must remember that he does not like difficult conversations and respect that.”

  Vincent tilted his head and gave a short smile. “I have not avoided them while here.”

  “No … I suppose not.” Lord Verbury rested one finger along his cheek and regarded his son. “Shall we excuse the ladies, so that we can drink our port and discuss your concerns?”

  “Perhaps that is best, as we are starting to move that way already.” Vincent laid his serviette carefully on the table and slid his chair back. He rose to help Miss Sarah, while Zachary came around to assist Jane with her chair. She rather wished it had been Vincent, but given the nature of the dinner she could not expect it.

  If she felt half the strain that Vincent did, she did not know how he managed. Her heart stammered against her ribs and she had to keep one hand on the table to steady herself while the grey spots clouded the edges of her vision. She would not faint. Not here. Not in front of his father. Jane smiled. “I shall be glad of an opportunity to better acquaint myself with Miss Sarah.”

  “Yes, the evening has been so pleasant. Do not keep yourselves from us too long, gentlemen.” Miss Sarah put a hand gently on Vincent’s arm and said, “I hope you will oblige us with a tableau vivant this evening. Your father speaks so highly of your work.”

  “You will have me take you for a flatterer.” Vincent bowed over her hand with the fluidity of a courtier.

  “Ah … but I do praise you.” Lord Verbury lifted his chin. “I may not have wanted you to pursue glamour, but you have always been good at it.”

  Vincent’s face stilled with a casual smile etched upon it. He stood with his chin tucked into his collar and his hands clasped behind his back. “I appreciate your consideration in saying so. Now.”

  That conversation was not going to end well. Jane walked to the end of the table in order to break Vincent’s gaze on his father. Affecting a light tone, she said, “You gentlemen are speaking too much of the ineffable art of glamour! You must leave some of the conversation for us.”

  “Yes, Frederick.” Miss Sarah shook her finger at him with a little smile. “Promise me that you will not discuss glamour without us.”

  Both men made the same sort of little inhale, as if they had been called back into themselves. The similarity of movement made the hair on the nape of Jane’s neck stand on end.

  Vincent ducked his head—not a tucking of the chin, but a gesture of submission—as he reached into his coat and pulled a s
et of papers from the interior pocket. “Rest assured, we shall only discuss men’s business.”

  Across the room, Lord Verbury inclined his head towards Miss Sarah in a similar gesture. “I promise, Sarah. No discussion of glamour without you.”

  Jane followed Miss Sarah into the parlour, very much wishing that she were staying in the room with Vincent. Never had the proprieties of being a lady been more vexing than now, with the necessity of retiring to the parlour. Nothing of note ever happened there.

  Twenty-two

  Constant Vigilance

  No sooner had Zachary shut the door behind them than Miss Sarah turned to Jane. The easy smile she had worn throughout dinner dropped and she reached for Jane’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much for freeing my son.” The exquisite modulation that had marked her conversation vanished in a tremor. “I could not mention the subject during dinner, but you must imagine my profound gratitude.”

  “Of course. We could do no less.”

  Miss Sarah gave a bitter laugh. “I know for a fact that is not true.” She glanced at the clock upon the sideboard. “Shall we sit and pretend to be at our leisure? We have perhaps twenty minutes before one of them suffers a defect of temper, and there is much that we should discuss.”

  “Twenty? You may be more hopeful than I.”

  Laughing, Miss Sarah wiped her eyes. “Only because I know that Frederick is trying.” She gestured to the small sofa set near the window. “Vincent is astonishingly like his father.”

  “They seem very different to me.”

  “Given the conditions in which you have met Frederick, I am not surprised.” With a sigh, Miss Sarah sat and arranged her dress around her. “I will grant that their interests are very different, but their headstrong nature and temper bear the same stamp.”

  Slowly, Jane sat on the sofa beside her. “Vincent has never hit anyone, and would not.”

  Miss Sarah raised a single brow. “You did not see him with Sir Ronald?”

  Jane barely had memories of Vincent entering the room that night, but she had seen his hand and the deep bruises upon it. She had seen the lingering rage in his eyes. “But … under the circumstances—”

  “Frederick always feels justified as well.” Miss Sarah glanced at the clock again. “And there is real anger between them, which dinner will not be enough to cool. But—we have other things to discuss.”

  Jane could not help but compare Miss Sarah with Vincent’s mother, the Countess of Verbury. The only other time Jane had dined with Vincent’s father, she had progressed to the parlour with the countess and the other ladies. Both the countess and Miss Sarah were elegant and had retained their beauty in their later years. But the countess had been placidly elegant and directed the public conversation away from any topic that might have even a touch of contention. Miss Sarah, in spite of the controlled composure she had exhibited during dinner, showed real emotion. Jane would have expected that, as a slave, she would have been more assiduous about avoiding any topics which might endanger her, but Miss Sarah had been direct.

  “What would you like to discuss?”

  Miss Sarah bit her lips and lowered her voice. “I can mimic Frederick’s hand. When you go—and I know you will the moment the baby is born—will you take Louisa with you? I know it involves asking you to deliberately lie, but will you please?”

  “Only Louisa? Why not your other grandchildren?”

  “I do not worry about them in the same way. Louisa is too pretty. She done catch Mr. Pridmore eye. He has been kept from her only by constant vigilance.”

  Jane had seen that interest firsthand and it turned her stomach. “Of course. But I want to also reassure you that Mr. Pridmore is on his way out.”

  Miss Sarah shook her head. “No.… Vincent and Frank found evidence of embezzling?“

  “Yes. So you see, Mr. Pridmore no longer has a hold over Lord Verbury.”

  “He never has.” She leaned towards Jane and lowered her voice. “Frederick told him to do it.”

  Jane stared at her and was aware that her mouth had dropped open. “But … but to what purpose? If he wished to pay Pridmore more, why not simply increase his salary?”

  “Because Frederick is supposed to be dead. It was presented, of course, as a way of thanking him, with the understanding that Garland would raise his salary when he arrived. But, of course, it was also to create a lever to use against Mr. Pridmore.” She clasped her hands together and addressed one of the walls, as though she had gone mad. “I am sorry, Frank. Frederick did not tell me until he and I were dressing for dinner.”

  Frank was clearly standing in one of the coldmonger’s boxes and had likely been there all evening. Jane’s instinct was to rise, throw open the door, and pull Vincent bodily from the room. Her mind churned, trying to put together the information that Miss Sarah had presented to her. “But why would he invite us to dinner if he had no intention of agreeing to fire Mr. Pridmore?”

  “Because he wanted to see you.”

  One of the candles on the sideboard fluttered out, caught in a sudden breeze. A thin trail of smoke bent away from the wall.

  Miss Sarah glanced from the smoking candle to the door as if it were a signal. “They are coming out.” She leaned back on the sofa and composed her features into an easy smile. “The fashion plates from London show such a widening of silhouette that I have half expected hoops to make a return.”

  The fact that Jane was sitting on the sofa with her back to the door now seemed like a calculation by Miss Sarah. It was appreciated, as Jane could not quite match her ease of manner, though she did manage to appear tolerably tranquil when the doors opened. “I had no complaints when my dressmaker in Vienna suggested corded petticoats, because the extra warmth was appreciated. Here, though, the fashion seems at odds with the climate. I find myself longing for the simple white muslin of my youth.”

  The faint squeak of Lord Verbury’s chair rolled into the room. Miss Sarah smiled and made a show of mock displeasure. “Now we shall have to leave off. The gentlemen will have no interest in a discussion of the most feminine of arts.”

  “Flirtation?” Lord Verbury chuckled.

  Jane turned on the sofa to face the gentlemen. Zachary pushed Lord Verbury’s chair into the room. Vincent entered slightly behind them. His chin was buried in his cravat and his hands clasped so tightly behind him that she could see the strain in his shoulders. He met her gaze and held it as a drowning man holds a rope.

  “Flirtation is an art that belongs to both sexes.” Jane’s pulse thundered in the joints of her hands.

  “Then perhaps we should turn to an art that is yours exclusively?” Lord Verbury raised a brow. “We were promised a tableau vivant.”

  Jane could not hear Vincent’s thin keen of protest. Nor, with the armour of his coat, could she see him hold his breath, but both must have happened in the face of such a request, delivered in such a manner. Verbury’s ability to turn any comment into a blade was staggering. With the knowledge that continuing the conversation would do nothing to promote their cause, Jane could find no reason to remain.

  “I do hate to break up the evening early, but I am afraid fatigue has been getting the better of me these last few weeks.”

  Lord Verbury frowned. “Do not let us keep you, then. Although I will ask you to indulge me and let me retain my son for a while. You do not mind, do you, Vincent?”

  “I am your servant, as always.”

  “Of course.” Absolutely not. Jane would not leave her husband with that man any longer. But she could do nothing obvious without betraying Miss Sarah’s confidence. “Do not keep him too late, though—we have a glamural to work on tomorrow.”

  The feminine arts contained many permutations, and Jane found this moment an ideal time to exercise one of her mother’s favourites. She stood, took a step away from the couch and the small table and into a clear area on the dense carpet, and let herself tumble to the ground in a faint.

  The response was immediate.

>   Vincent shouted her name and sprang across the room. As he knelt beside her, Jane forced herself to stay limp, while wishing she could signal to him that it was entirely feigned. Miss Sarah called for Frank, but Jane suspected that she recognised the ruse.

  In moments, Vincent had lifted her. “Send for Dr. Jones, please.”

  Jane fluttered her eyes open. “No … it was only a faint.” She kept her voice weak but pressed her hand against his chest as firmly as she could. He looked down sharply and she thought, but was not certain, that he understood. “You know how easily I have fainted since … since I was bled. I only stood too quickly, as I did in Murano.”

  “It is common with expectant mothers.” Miss Sarah stood behind them. “It happened frequently when I was with Zeus.”

  Lord Verbury grunted in response, no doubt studying Vincent and Jane closely.

  Vincent’s frown deepened as he studied her. “I will insist on staying with you.”

  “I want nothing else.” She leaned her head against his chest and took comfort in his warmth and solidity.

  Without another word, Vincent carried her towards their rooms. Frank met them in the passage, appearing from a hidden panel in one wall. He held the door for Vincent, face tight with concern, though Jane thought it was about what he had overheard more than her state.

  Only when they were safely in the room with the door shut behind them did Jane lift her head. “You may set me down. It was entirely feigned.”

  “When you mentioned Murano, I hoped as much.” In spite of that, Vincent set her down on the bed, not on her feet. “Since you never fainted there.”

  In fact, she had fainted in Murano, but this was perhaps not the best time to enlighten him on that front. “I am sorry I could not alert you ahead of time.”

  “Understandable.” He brushed a strand of hair off her brow. “Now … why?”

  Jane sat up and met Frank’s eyes. “You heard?”

  He nodded and pulled out a chair at the table. He rested his hands on the back of it and regarded Vincent. “Will you sit?”