retrieve Vincent, her thoughts were in a tumult. What had Mr. O’Brien been discussing when she entered?
* * *
Vincent protested again when Jane came to fetch him, but the waiting carriage served as better persuasion than any of her words. It would be thoughtless to call for the carriage and then send it away unused. Jane waited until they were at home and in the privacy of their bedchamber before she felt comfortable speaking to Vincent about her concerns.
Thankfully, Melody was out shopping when they came home. Jane shut the door, reminded uncomfortably of Mr. O’Brien closing the library door on the nameless servant. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I felt fine there.” Vincent eased off his coat and hung it over a chair by the fireplace. The fire had been laid but not yet lit. They were home during the day so rarely that they had no doubt caught the servants off guard. “I would feel better if we were still working.”
She had no wish to review that question, and so changed the subject as she walked to the hearth to light the fire. “I overheard something odd at the Strattons’.”
“Mm?” He crossed to her and took the matches off the mantelpiece. “Let me. You will dirty your dress.”
“Thank you.” They could call for someone to light the fire, but Jane wanted Vincent to herself for a while. “Mr. O’Brien was talking to a serving man who was not in Stratton livery. He said, ‘If we must, we will march on Parliament itself.’”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “In what circumstance?”
“I hardly know. I heard him mention Luddites, but he does not seem the type.” Jane leaned against the mantelpiece as he struck a match. “They had been having a conversation with some heat before I arrived, but I only heard a few words. I did not mean to hear even that much.”
He held the match to the kindling and a twist of smoke rose into the air. “But it was unavoidable?”
She struck his shoulder playfully. “Stop. It was not as though I were eavesdropping. The door was open, so I could hardly help it.”
“Then it must not be anything terribly diabolical, or the door would have been shut.” The thin piece of wood caught and Vincent sat back on his heels with a grunt of satisfaction.
“But they seemed so surprised when I entered. I think they thought it was shut.”
Vincent pushed himself to his feet and grasped the mantelpiece. His hand clenched the marble and he stared straight ahead with the half-vacant expression that Jane recognised as another dizzy spell.
“Are you all right?”
He let go of the mantelpiece and turned away from her. “I was thinking of what plays might have lines such as this. They were, perhaps, practising for amateur theatricals.”
Jane frowned, considering. “But the serving man was not in livery from the Strattons. He was in green, and had left his wig off.”
“No wig!” Vincent dropped into a chair in front of the fire and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I am shocked. Shocked.”
Jane glared at him. “You are not taking me seriously.”
Vincent pulled at the ends of his cravat as though wishing to shed it. “Do you want to change out of your work dress?”
“Yes, thank you.” Jane sat on the arm of his chair. “But I can fend for myself quite well.”
“I am not actually ill. I am fully capable of untying laces. There is no need to coddle me.”
Jane held up her hands in conciliation. “I know you are not, but I want to keep you healthy. Having almost lost you once, I am perhaps overcautious, but I would rather ask you to humour me than … than any alternatives.”
Vincent let his head fall back against the chair and scowled at the ceiling. “I confess that I am not certain what you fear. About Mr. O’Brien, that is. You have made your fears abundantly clear with regards to me.”
She let his ill temper pass as the sign of fatigue that it was. Her husband could be the very definition of a curmudgeon. “My fear is
* * *
Vincent protested again when Jane came to fetch him, but the waiting carriage served as better persuasion than any of her words. It would be thoughtless to call for the carriage and then send it away unused. Jane waited until they were at home and in the privacy of their bedchamber before she felt comfortable speaking to Vincent about her concerns.
Thankfully, Melody was out shopping when they came home. Jane shut the door, reminded uncomfortably of Mr. O’Brien closing the library door on the nameless servant. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I felt fine there.” Vincent eased off his coat and hung it over a chair by the fireplace. The fire had been laid but not yet lit. They were home during the day so rarely that they had no doubt caught the servants off guard. “I would feel better if we were still working.”
She had no wish to review that question, and so changed the subject as she walked to the hearth to light the fire. “I overheard something odd at the Strattons’.”
“Mm?” He crossed to her and took the matches off the mantelpiece. “Let me. You will dirty your dress.”
“Thank you.” They could call for someone to light the fire, but Jane wanted Vincent to herself for a while. “Mr. O’Brien was talking to a serving man who was not in Stratton livery. He said, ‘If we must, we will march on Parliament itself.’”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “In what circumstance?”
“I hardly know. I heard him mention Luddites, but he does not seem the type.” Jane leaned against the mantelpiece as he struck a match. “They had been having a conversation with some heat before I arrived, but I only heard a few words. I did not mean to hear even that much.”
He held the match to the kindling and a twist of smoke rose into the air. “But it was unavoidable?”
She struck his shoulder playfully. “Stop. It was not as though I were eavesdropping. The door was open, so I could hardly help it.”
“Then it must not be anything terribly diabolical, or the door would have been shut.” The thin piece of wood caught and Vincent sat back on his heels with a grunt of satisfaction.
“But they seemed so surprised when I entered. I think they thought it was shut.”
Vincent pushed himself to his feet and grasped the mantelpiece. His hand clenched the marble and he stared straight ahead with the half-vacant expression that Jane recognised as another dizzy spell.
“Are you all right?”
He let go of the mantelpiece and turned away from her. “I was thinking of what plays might have lines such as this. They were, perhaps, practising for amateur theatricals.”
Jane frowned, considering. “But the serving man was not in livery from the Strattons. He was in green, and had left his wig off.”
“No wig!” Vincent dropped into a chair in front of the fire and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I am shocked. Shocked.”
Jane glared at him. “You are not taking me seriously.”
Vincent pulled at the ends of his cravat as though wishing to shed it. “Do you want to change out of your work dress?”
“Yes, thank you.” Jane sat on the arm of his chair. “But I can fend for myself quite well.”
“I am not actually ill. I am fully capable of untying laces. There is no need to coddle me.”
Jane held up her hands in conciliation. “I know you are not, but I want to keep you healthy. Having almost lost you once, I am perhaps overcautious, but I would rather ask you to humour me than … than any alternatives.”
Vincent let his head fall back against the chair and scowled at the ceiling. “I confess that I am not certain what you fear. About Mr. O’Brien, that is. You have made your fears abundantly clear with regards to me.”
She let his ill temper pass as the sign of fatigue that it was. Her husband could be the very definition of a curmudgeon. “My fear is
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