Of Noble Family

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  “For me? I assure you, my thoughts are more occupied with you.” She put a hand on his back.

  He flinched away from her touch. “Again, apologies. I am not myself.”

  Jane withdrew her hand and stood back, aching for something to do for him. “Should you prefer to be alone?”

  He shook his head.

  She waited as he leaned against the rail. He wheezed like an asthmatic with each deep breath he drew in. Jane crossed her arms, clenching her hands into fists. Witnessing this unprecedented level of distress, she could not imagine the effort it must have cost him to be so composed when addressing his father. A rush of anger heated her through at the thought of that man. Jane bit her lips, finding it severely taxing to conceal her vexation. She must be steady for Vincent.

  He coughed once and cleared his throat. “Is there water?”

  “I do not—yes.” By the bed, she spied a carafe of water with slices of lime floating in it, and she sent a silent blessing to Frank for having it ready for them. Jane hurried to the bed and poured a glass. A pair of fine linen napkins lay on the table, so Jane picked up one and doused it with the water. Thus armed, she returned to her husband’s side.

  Standing well back, she held them out to him. Still not looking directly at her, he reached for the water. Tremors shook his hand, but when it closed on the glass, the shaking was nearly concealed. He took a sip, staring at the horizon, then spat the water over the side of the veranda to rinse his mouth of the sick.

  God. Her heart ached for him. Jane held out the cloth again, longing to embrace Vincent and keep him safe. Right now, though, he was as a man flayed.

  “Thank you.” He took the cloth, setting the glass on the broad rail of the veranda. He wiped his mouth, and then slowly let his breath out. Much of the wheeze was gone. Vincent cleared his throat again. Lowering the cloth, he coughed into his fist, still looking at the hills in the distance.

  The sun had touched the horizon, turning the clouds into a confection of orange and pink. With the blushing of the sunset, the wattle and daub houses were picturesque shadows in the distance, the neglect and dirt masked by the warm evening light.

  Vincent turned a little to sit on the rail. “Forgive me, I should have asked sooner. Are you all right?”

  “Well enough.” Truly, Jane was by turns angry at Lord Verbury and frightened for Vincent, but he did not need to hear that in the present moment.

  “Good.” He glanced down to the flowerbed below the veranda and scowled. “Well. Someone will report the mess to my father. It has been years since we have had that conversation. How delightful to revisit old times.”

  Jane could only stare at him, aghast.

  “Muse … I know I look a fright, but it is not so bad as it seems. There was a period at Eton when I did…”—he gestured at the mess in the flowers below them—“this, with some regularity. I enjoyed school, until the holidays, when my father would come to fetch me himself. He terrified me.”

  There must be something she could do. “What helped you in the past?”

  “I replaced my fear with anger.”

  Accompanied by pinpricks of chill, Herr Scholes’s words returned with force: Your husband was marked by fury …

  “Truly, Muse, it will pass, and I ask for your patience.” His voice did sound steadier, and when he sighed, the wheeze had gone. He glanced at her, then away quickly, as if meeting her gaze hurt. “But he will take great joy in reminding me of my weakness.”

  She swallowed. “I do not think anyone saw.”

  He surveyed the grounds. “Perhaps not, but with shrubbery this extensive, he must have a gardener who tends the flowers with regularity, and I did make a notable mess.”

  “We could tell people that I was sick. I have reason enough.”

  “God! No!” Vincent rose, eyes wide with terror. Then he caught himself and screened his expression with an unlikely laugh. “I would rather he not know you are with child.”

  “We can hardly hide it for long.”

  He looked at her midriff with the sort of calculation he usually reserved for glamour. “Unless someone were to know you, the fact that you are increasing is not yet obvious. You might only be stout. I think the secret is still safe.”

  “The birth of a child will give the game away eventually.”

  Vincent shuddered. He turned to the rail as if he were going to be sick again, but only leaned against it.

  “He has no hold on you. We have an independent living through our work as glamourists, and even were that not the case, he is an exile and a traitor to the Crown.”

  “Yes, well, I also thought he was dead, and you see how well that is working,” he snapped. Then he winced, lowering his head. “Sorry. My tongue might be a trifle keener than I would like tonight.”

  “I am not surprised. You handled yourself well in the moment of discovery.”

  “The irony is that we may thank my father for what control I had. Years of training in governing one’s expression under duress. Like so—” He shifted his posture, standing once again in that painfully correct manner, with his hands clasped behind him and his chin tucked into his tall collar. “My hands shake when I am angry, so this posture hides that. With my chin down, the collar masks that I am clenching my jaw. Also, it makes it easier to sneer, which is greatly prized.”

  “I had no idea so much thought went into your deportment.”

  “And the way I walk, my speech, my handwriting.… There is little about me that did not receive corrective training.” Vincent grimaced. “Muse … sometimes my first instinct comes from him. I am shaken enough that you may see a side of me that I dislike. Vehemently.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you? Patience I have in abundance, but if there is anything more than that…”

  He stared into the growing darkness. After a moment, he shook his head. “Thank you. Having you here is a comfort, though at the same time, if I had known my father was alive I would never have permitted you to come.”

  “Then we are well matched, as I would not have permitted you to come, either.”

  He gave something like a laugh. “I wish there were a moon tonight so we could leave now. It is too dark for the road to be safe.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Jane sagged against the rail. “I was afraid you would insist on staying here to see things through out of some misplaced sense of duty.”

  “If I were not terrified of what he will do when he finds out that you are with child—and he will find out; you are right about that—perhaps I would. As it is, I propose that we return to England, expose my father’s fraud, and leave the entire thing in someone else’s hands.”

  “That sounds entirely sensible.”

  He compressed his lips in his small private smile and held a hand out to her. Biting back a sob of relief, Jane took his hand. She had not been certain how long he would keep her at a distance. She slid into the warmth of his embrace and leaned against her husband as the last rays of the sun sank behind the horizon.

  Vincent kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you, Muse.”

  “For?”

  “Only thank you.”

  * * *

  When Jane awoke in the morning, she was alone. The sheets beside her were cool, so Vincent must have arisen some time earlier. The sheer lawn curtains had been tucked back under the mattress to protect her from mosquitoes, and they fogged her view of the room. She pushed them aside to slip out of bed. The room was astonishingly cool given how warm the day had been. That might have been due to the door to the veranda standing open.

  Jane pulled her shawl from where it hung over a chair and went to the door. The veranda was in shadow, but the air had already begun to acquire a certain muggy warmth. She had fully expected to find Vincent engaged with working a massive glamour and was a little relieved to find him sitting quietly with a newspaper. He had a wicker chair that she did not think had been there the night prior, and he sat with his feet up on the rail. He was still in his nightshirt, with o
nly a banyan robe wrapped around him for modesty.

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  Vincent shook his head, and then lowered the paper. “Did I wake you?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “How are you this morning?”

  Jane opened her mouth to reply and stopped. She had not a trace of nausea. “I feel quite fit, actually. Perhaps I was merely seasick after all.”

  Vincent raised a brow and looked pointedly at her stomach. Though the fullness of a day dress still obscured her figure, in nothing but a shift, it was obvious that Jane was increasing. He cleared his throat, lowering his feet. “I am glad you are better. Frank has sent someone ahead to reserve a place on the Marchioness of Salisbury. Although … if the ship’s motion makes you ill, I wonder if it is advisable to travel in your condition.”

  “Vincent, I am not staying here a moment longer than it will take me to dress.”

  “Not here. Clearly. But we could stay in town until after your confinement, and—”

  “No.”

  “Jane, I am only thinking of your health, and—”

  “No. First of all, my health will be best if I am near my family. Second, and more significantly, you are not staying anywhere near that man. He was here for close to a year before the stroke and yet had not been removed to England to face trial.” She almost stopped, seeing his face grow pale, but felt the need to make it clear to him why they could not stay. “Meaning that someone is in his debt here. But in England, he is very much out of favour. Let this be someone else’s concern.”

  Vincent lowered his gaze and folded the newspaper in half. “You are right, of course.” He folded the paper in half again, smoothing the crease. “Of course. I should know that better than you.”

  “Shall we dress?”

  “Yes.” He stood, tucking his hands behind his back.

  Jane looked at the posture and tilted her head in consideration. “Are you angry with me?”

  “What? No.” He looked down, seeming to recognise his posture and what he had told her about it. “No. It became a habit to stand this way always, so that it did not give me away when I needed it.”

  “Herr Scholes.… He said you were angry all the time when you came to him.”

  Vincent gave a cheerless smile. “Why do you think I learned to work such shapeless glamours when I was discomfited? No fine control.”

  And what could she say to that? He had once kept his past as the Honourable Vincent Hamilton entirely separate from his life as Sir David Vincent. She had long understood why he kept such a rigid wall around that former life, and she had respected the boundary. The fact that he now trusted her behind that wall was a sign of how much their marriage had strengthened, and yet, every glimpse of Vincent’s history made Jane ache for him.

  As they dressed, the black of Jane’s mourning clothes seemed to make a mock of their situation. She clenched her jaw against anger, starting to have some understanding of why Vincent had learned to stand with his hands behind his back. While growing up, Jane had had little to vex her beyond the frustrations of being a plain girl with a very pretty sister. Those old cares seemed trivial now, and she was ashamed of herself for having ever been put out by such a trifling thing. She shoved her gown into their small case with more force than strictly required.

  Vincent cleared his throat. “Have I ever told you that you frighten me a little when you are angry?”

  “Forgive me. It is not directed at you.”

  “I know. You are still a force of nature when disturbed.”

  She closed the case, taking care not to slam it. “Well, let us hope that I have no reason to—”

  A knock sounded at the door. Both of them stiffened, staring at it, until Vincent relaxed and murmured, “He would not knock.” Raising his voice, he called, “Enter.”

  Frank opened the door, stepping into their room. “My apologies. Zeus has just returned from town. The Marchioness of Salisbury left with the tide this morning.”

  Jane had fully expected Vincent to curse. Instead, he picked up the paper and folded it into a narrow roll. “I see. And when is the next ship bound for England?”

  “It may be a month or more, I am afraid.”

  “A month!” Jane frowned, shaking her head. “But Ibrahim told us that packet ships call every two weeks.”

  “That is correct, but they do not all return directly to England.”

  “But there were so many other ships at the port.”

  “I am afraid that none of them are bound for England.” He tilted his head, considering. “You could take the Lady Arabella, which departs in three days, but it is going to Portugal. You would have to make your way back to England from there.”

  Vincent twisted the paper around, likely doing the same math that Jane was. A month sailing and then another month from Portugal to England … It would take as long as waiting a month in Antigua and then sailing directly, but with a more arduous trip. Given her history, that seemed imprudent, even to Jane. “What about lodgings in St. John’s? Could you arrange for a place for us to stay until the next British bound ship?”

  “Yes.…” Frank wet his lips and eased the door shut. “However, may I ask you to reconsider your departure? While I understand your wish, the great house is large, and Lord Verbury does not leave his rooms.”

  “I am afraid remaining here is not possible.”

  “For my own benefit, may I ask you not to go?” Frank turned his attention from Jane to Vincent. “There are serious issues with the estate, as I am certain you saw on your way in. I have charge only over the great house and grounds, but can see what is happening with the rest of the estate. I have concerns that the overseer—” He cleared his throat. “While his lordship was in good health, matters ran smoothly. However, Lord Verbury’s stroke has put the estate heavily into Mr. Pridmore’s hands.”

  “I commend your concern for the rest of the estate, but this does not require my presence.” Vincent’s voice was coolly aristocratic. “Once my father is removed, then I will recommend to my brother that he replace the overseer. Will you arrange for the carriage?”

  Frank stared at him, expression guarded. Then he shook his head. “I cannot allow you to go.”

  “Pardon?” Vincent tilted his head. “You cannot allow us? Cannot allow?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I think your time managing the house has led to a misapprehension of your circumstances—”

  “I am a freedman, sir. Not a slave.” Frank’s hands were behind his back. His chin was tucked into his collar. “When I say that I cannot allow you to go, I am in full possession of my senses.”

  Jane put a hand on Vincent’s arm to stay his reply. “Forgive me, but you must offer a more pressing reason than his lordship’s poor health. Neither of us has reason to grant him any charity.”

  Whatever tricks Vincent had learned to govern his expression, Frank seemed to have learned them as well. No hint of his emotions peeked through his smooth façade. He stared at her coolly for a moment, gaze moving between her and Vincent, and then back again. He gave a small nod, as if coming to a decision. “Lord Verbury freed me in exchange for my assistance in hiding him. At the time, I accepted it as a gift, but as a freedman, I will be charged with aiding a traitor to the Crown.”

  Vincent cursed, suddenly and liberally. He turned away from Frank and walked to the window. “That is like him. To offer a gift that will then hang you.”

  Jane asked, “But why not simply leave, or turn him in yourself?”

  “Lord Verbury still has friends in the Admiralty. And even if I could find someone impartial, he has an additional assurance for my continuing aid.” Frank’s control faltered for a moment. He paused to clear his throat before continuing. “Lord Verbury still owns my family. If I cooperate, they stay on the plantation, with a promise of being freed later. If I betray his lordship in any way, including allowing Mr. Hamilton to depart, then they will be sold to different people. In particular, my daughter h
as been promised to the overseer. He has already expressed his … interest in her.”

  Vincent pressed his fingers against his temples. “Did my father offer you suggestions on how to stop us if we choose to go? I presume he told you to play upon our sentiments in this manner?”

  Jane was frankly shocked that Vincent’s mind leapt straight to that conclusion. It was true that her motivation to depart had weakened significantly upon hearing that Frank’s family was in danger, but it had not occurred to her that this might be a scheme.

  Frank shook his head. “He suggested that a carriage accident would be unfortunate.”

  “And you agree?”

  “No, but neither will I allow Zeus or Jove to take you to St. John’s.” He studied the floor, and not even his high collar could hide that his jaw was clenched. “I would rather that we worked together to resolve our mutual difficulties.”

  Jane took a step closer to him. “Could you give us some time to discuss matters?”

  “Of course, madam.” Frank offered her a bow. “Sir.”

  He left them standing in the room with no more ceremony than if he were simply a house steward dispatching his duty. Jane bit her lip. His duty. She supposed that was what he was doing. She only wished that his duty did not involve holding them captive.

  Six

  A Frank Discussion

  When the door had shut behind Frank, Jane let her breath out in a rush. Her stomach churned, but the nausea had little to do with her morning ailments. Vincent remained at the window with his hands still pressed to his temples. He would need some time, and, truth be told, so did Jane. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to think of what choices they might have. The carriage was out of the question.

  How far away was the port? Three hours by carriage, but part of the way had been uphill, so perhaps it would only take four or five on foot. They could take the small case, but they would have to leave the trunk. She sighed. Well, they had lost their clothing before, and Jane would gladly be shed of the mourning clothes.