Of Noble Family

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  Louisa followed her through the house to Lord Verbury’s room. Jane had made only the smallest effort to tidy her appearance. The unexpectedly useful thing about wearing mourning clothes was that none of the stains from the day showed. Miss Sarah opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise to find Jane there. Jane was able to keep her own countenance calm.

  “Could his lordship spare time for conversation?”

  “One moment, please.” Miss Sarah made as if to step away and shut the door, but something caused her to look suddenly to her right and open the door further. “Come in, please.”

  Aside from the first day in Antigua, two months prior, Jane had not been in Lord Verbury’s room. It had made little impression on her beyond his presence. She had thought that he was perhaps confined to one room, but the gracious sitting room she found herself in had three doors off of it. Through one of them, she could see a library. The sitting room itself was done in a soothing green, with elegant furniture in the Egyptian revival style. The most notable thing about the rooms was the space between the items of furniture and the distinct want of rugs. Lord Verbury sat in his wheeled chair, making those features of the room instantly understandable.

  Louisa followed Jane into the room and took a place by the door, her eyes cast down. In her role as the perfect lady’s maid, she stood so still that she became part of the furniture.

  Lord Verbury did not acknowledge Louisa and barely recognized Jane’s presence. His face was serene, without the suspicion she had expected to encounter. On the other hand, Jane knew better than to take anything of his appearance at face value. Lord Verbury sat back in his chair. “I will admit this is a surprise.”

  “To me as well.” Jane offered a curtsy, though he had neglected his own courtesies. “I hope I find you well.”

  “I very much doubt that you do.”

  Jane disregarded the cut the way she disregarded her mother’s petulance and smiled instead. “May I ask for a few moments of your time?”

  He considered her, then raised one finger on his good hand and waved it. Miss Sarah instantly left the sitting room with speed and grace. Jane watched her go, using the movement as an excuse to look at the walls of the room, wondering where Frank was standing.

  When the door shut behind them, Lord Verbury beckoned to Jane. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Her heart was beating wildly, but Jane hoped that little of her agitation showed. She settled on the sofa opposite him, judging that that would be the easiest vantage for him to see her without rearranging his chair.

  “Delighted though I am to have your company, I must wonder why are you here, and not my son.”

  Jane folded her hands in front of her, knowing that it emphasised her stomach. “My husband has many wonderful features, but his temper is not one of them. I am hoping that you and I will be able to discuss a few things without unnecessary rancour.”

  “And do you plan to tell me what those things are, or keep me guessing?”

  “If I have satisfied your questions about why I am here and not Vincent, then yes.” She was vexed at herself for rising even that much to his provocation. “Shall I continue?”

  “By all means.” Verbury smiled with just his mouth, while his dark eyes remained fixed on hers.

  She swallowed, reminding herself that she could end this conversation at any time simply by standing and leaving the room. “I presume that you have been told about the accident at the distillery. I have a list of the wounded and where they have been placed, if you would like to make any alterations to our plans.” If he was anything like her mother, then offering him the chance to consult would remove much of his crossness.

  He made a sour face and waved for her to continue.

  “Have you been told that Vincent found it necessary to fire Mr. Pridmore?”

  Lord Verbury rolled his eyes. “I expressly told him not to do so. He will have to take Pridmore back.”

  “Mr. Pridmore made the error of challenging Vincent’s authority in front of other planters. If they had been alone, I think there might have been another resolution. As it was, Vincent had to do so, or risk losing face for himself and the estate.” She would say nothing of the philanthropic reasons for firing the man, suspecting that those would mean little to Verbury. “Regardless of your wishes, it is done, and there is no taking it back. Our concern is that Mr. Pridmore will attempt to expose that you are still alive. Have you any suggestions on how to ensure his silence? He made a request that he said was based on a promise you made to him, but I could not bear to accede to it.” Jane sent up a silent prayer that he would stay true to type. She resolutely did not look at Louisa.

  “You do not have the right to decline.”

  “He has made his designs quite clear, and I cannot send an innocent anywhere near such a man.”

  Lord Verbury barked with laughter. “An innocent? My dear, I promised her to him, because he had already had her.”

  The room became suddenly, intolerably warm, and Jane had to clench her fists in her lap to keep from slapping Verbury. She did not care that he saw the movement. She swallowed, and, with as much calm as she could summon, met his gaze. “Be that as it may, I cannot do without Louisa, regardless of promises made. It would distress me.”

  “Give him the girl. Your distress is worth less than my life.”

  Jane smoothed her gown over her stomach. “I hope you understand that the distress would affect more than my sensibilities. I cannot do without Louisa.”

  He stared at her stomach and then grunted, but gave no other sign of acknowledging her point.

  “So the matter before us is how to hide the fact that you are alive. I have a proposal, if you will hear it.”

  What she found most disturbing about Lord Verbury was his resemblance to Vincent. Though he was old and infirm, in his high forehead and strong brow, and even in the line of his jaw, she could see how Vincent would age. If all the wrinkles on Lord Verbury’s face had come from sneers and frowns, it would in some ways be easier to hate him. Yet at the corners of his eyes, he had clear laugh lines, as if there had been a point in his life when that had been a frequent behaviour.

  He shifted in his chair, picking at his lap blanket with his good hand. “I am curious about your plan.”

  “With Louisa in residence here, Frank has an empty room at the house you built for him. It has two entrances. We propose to move you there—not permanently, but just until the immediate danger has passed. If Mr. Pridmore brings anyone to the estate to look for you, they will certainly start at the great house, which will give us ample time to get a warning to you and hide your presence using glamour. If you can ask Sir Ronald for assistance in discrediting Pridmore, then we should be able to maintain the deception as long as needed.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself. And if I refuse?”

  “I hope that you would not refuse without reason. You know the principals better than any of us, and certainly better than I. If you see a deficiency in the plan to remove you, I should very much like to know about it.”

  He snorted. “You are not what I expected.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” He so clearly wanted her to ask him what he had expected, in the same way that her mother would make profligate remarks—though of a wildly different sort—simply to provoke a response. Suddenly, Jane recalled her father saying that all her mother wanted was to know that she was not alone. She tilted her head to one side and gave as much of a smile as she could. “Frank’s youngest daughters are still at home. I suspect that they would be glad to have you and Miss Sarah to themselves for a while.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Have you met them?”

  “I have not had the occasion.” Jane suddenly felt that that was a great negligence on her part. “Frank says that Rosa is showing a great deal of talent in the arts.”

  Lord Verbury nodded slowly, as though he were thinking through the various points. He drummed his forefinger on the arm of his chair. “And what are you offer
ing in exchange for my agreement?”

  “Keeping you safe is not enough?”

  “I was safe, until my son defied my directives and you refused to part with your maid. You must know that there will be consequences to that.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am being generous in allowing you to set the conditions for his apology.”

  He was an awful, awful man. Jane had to bless her long training as a young lady, which had given her the ability to govern her expression, although she was fairly certain that her complexion had given away her rise in temper. It was always so much more difficult to maintain her composure when he made an attack on Vincent. Jane sighed, understanding the balance that Vincent had spoken of having difficulty with. Well, then … if she was angry, she would use it.

  Jane shook her head. “You have a misapprehension about this conversation. My family does not, as a rule, indulge in the same games of intrigue that yours does, so I will speak to you plainly. You speak of wanting an apology, but any ‘conditions’ you set would clearly be punishing Vincent for defying you.”

  He clapped slowly. “Brava, for your insight.”

  “I am not finished.” Jane rested her hand on her stomach. “You want contact with this child, because you think it likely that Richard will not sire an heir. My entire knowledge of you gives me no reason to ever allow it.”

  “I see why Vincent hides behind you. At least one of you has a spine.”

  “Do you offer insults as a reflex? Because nothing I am seeing here convinces me that my estimation of you as a dangerous influence is incorrect.” Jane leaned forward. “If you want to have any contact with this child, you will need to show that you are capable of kindness and generosity of spirit. I will measure that by how you treat Vincent.”

  “You want me to coddle him.”

  “I do not care how you choose to frame it. You are perfectly aware of what behaviour I expect.”

  He snorted. “So you expect me to submit meekly to your plan of being confined to a slave cottage, and to dote over Vincent to reward him for defying my direct orders.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “And when I do not?”

  “Then I hope that you have a plan for avoiding Mr. Pridmore.” Jane smoothed her gown. “I very sincerely hope that you will not refuse to go to Frank’s house simply to spite me or Vincent.”

  Verbury stared at her until Jane began to grow uncomfortable, but she held his gaze and waited. If there was one thing that a young lady learned, it was how to wait with a tranquil expression. Jane had spent many dances in her youth perfecting an easy and disinterested countenance while waiting for someone to ask her to stand up with them. She counted it as a small triumph when Lord Verbury reached for the silver bell on the table next to him and rang it.

  “You may go. Send Frank to me.”

  “Of course.” Jane stood as the door to the library opened and Miss Sarah reentered the room.

  As far as she understood Vincent’s father, he had been on very good behaviour. He could not agree to her terms immediately without feeling that he lost face. Jane’s mother would also lament things, but given time to calm down and reflect in private, she always found a way to justify a decision as being her own choice. Jane had to hope that Lord Verbury would show at least as much sense as her mother.

  Her fear was that his bile would outweigh his reason.

  Jane curtsied to Verbury and turned to take her leave. Louisa still stood by the door, perfectly composed if you ignored the tears on her cheeks. She turned with exquisite grace and held the door for Jane.

  Only when they were out of the room and the door had shut carefully behind them did Jane acknowledge what had occurred. “My dear … I am so, so sorry.”

  “He promised me? To Mr. Pridmore? But he stopped him—he made him stop—” Louisa’s voice cracked into silence and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Please don’t let Papa know about—I never told him. Please, please don’t let him know. He would be so angry.”

  “I promise that your father will not be angry at you.” Jane kept her voice low and gentle as a section of the wall opened and Frank stepped silently into the white parlour. The grief on his face nearly broke Jane.

  “Not at me.” Louisa lifted her face, eyes red with tears. “If he knew, he would hurt Mr. Pridmore, and then they would hang him, and it would be my fault, and—”

  “Shh…” Frank put his hands very gently on his daughter’s shoulders.

  She turned and flung herself on her father, sobbing. He folded her in his arms and rocked her back and forth.

  Jane stole away as quietly as she could. There were some parts of the story that did not belong to her.

  Twenty-six

  Good Counsel

  Hours later, Vincent returned to the house, bringing Frank with him. The men were discussing something as they came down the hall, and Jane caught only the end of it as they entered. “… other daughters will be excited to see him.”

  Vincent shrugged out of his coat. “Well, he was always kinder to my sisters.” His cravat was missing and his waistcoat stained with dried blood. Soot marked his brow. “The sherry is on the sideboard.”

  “After today…” Frank went to the sideboard and retrieved the carafe and glasses. “Thank you, yes.”

  Jane rose from where she had been resting on the sofa. “How is Louisa?”

  “Shaken, but well. Better, when I explained that we wanted to send her to London.” Frank’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “She is at home with her mother and Zachary. Both are packing, and with luck we will have them on a ship tomorrow.”

  Vincent added, “And I have written a letter to Richard explaining the whole of the situation here.”

  “Miss Sarah was able to do the forgery?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank God.” Frank cleared his throat, and poured a measure of Manzanilla for them each. “Your conversation with Lord Verbury, by the way, was a triumph of negotiation.”

  “Did he agree to remove to your house, then?”

  “Yes. I do not know how you did it, but he did.”

  “Honestly? I pretended that he was my mother.”

  “Good lord! Do not let him hear that.” Laughing, Vincent leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I am glad to see you sitting. I was worried you would work yourself too hard.”

  Relieved that he had any laughter in him, Jane caught her husband’s hand as he straightened. “Me? You were the one too dizzy to stand earlier today.” She pulled him down again so she could look at his face, but no bruises seemed imminent. “Well … you seem to have been telling the truth when you said Pridmore did not hit you hard.”

  “I am constantly amazed at how useful my father’s insistence that I study pugilism has been.” He grimaced and rubbed the side of his face. “It stung a little. No more.”

  “Should we ask Dr. Jones in to take a look? And perhaps have a glass of sherry with us?”

  Frank said, “We asked if she would take a glass, but she had a patient she wanted to sit with until…” He sighed. “I think she will not be joining us.”

  A sobbing moan sounded from one of the rooms. Jane straightened in her chair, relieved only a little when she heard someone moving to help. Face grave, Vincent nodded to the interior. “How bad is it?”

  Jane settled back in her chair. “We have eighteen wounded. I am not certain how many dead.” She thought of Letitia, whose husband had been working the furnace.

  “We have at least six. Four bodies.” Vincent rubbed the back of his neck. “Two not accounted for, but both of them were in positions to be caught in the blast.”

  Setting the glasses on the table, Frank’s mouth tightened. “I will ask Ben for the names and let their families know.”

  “Anthony, Bonthorn, Cuped, Fortune, Jackey, and Handel. I stopped on the way back, but their families had guessed.” The anger, which had dimmed earlier, lit Vincent’s eyes again. What had changed, for Jane, was that it no longer appeared to be coupled w
ith despair or fear. Vincent picked up the sherry and stared into it. He took a sip, grimacing. “I should have fired Pridmore the moment I saw the boiler. I knew that patch would not hold. And of course there were the inconsistencies in the accounts.”

  Vincent had always been a man of action, and the months of being unable to effect changes had taken a toll on him. Jane rested her hand on his. “The reasons you stayed your hand made sense at the time, remember that. Aftersight will do none of us any good.”

  Nodding, Frank sat across from Jane. “I also did things that made sense at the time, but I regret now. I cannot change my actions in the past, but I can work to make sure that I repair their damage in the present.” He sipped his sherry and cleared his throat. “May I tell you about one?”

  “There is no need, unless it will ease your mind,” Jane said.

  “Thank you. I would rather you hear it from me. The first day, I lied to you about the ship. Lord Verbury ordered me to tell you that the packet ship, the Marchioness of Salisbury, had left. She had not. She was in harbour for two more days. Second … there is almost always a private ship bound for England.”

  “We could have left at any time?” Jane scarcely recognised the sound of her own voice.

  “Please believe that I would not make the same choice again.”

  “You did not know us…” Still, the idea that they might have left this place, even be in England by now, made tears of upset spring to her eyes. Jane wiped them away hastily before she could cry. With the hold that Verbury had over Frank, was it any wonder that he acted as he did? “You did not know us.”

  Vincent leaned back in his chair, face mild, but he drank half the contents of his glass without seeming to notice. “Were there any other deceptions?”

  “Nothing after the first week.” Frank held up his hands as Vincent stiffened in his chair. “Those you know about already: the coldmongers, Louisa’s spying, my spying … but after your attempt to escape your father, I became convinced that you were as you presented yourself to be and not an instrument of his. It is … it is not what I had come to expect from the Hamiltons.”