that Mr. O’Brien might have meant that he is planning a march on Parliament.”
“Why?”
Very slowly, Jane enunciated, “Because that is what he said.”
“No, I meant, why would he march on Parliament?” Vincent rolled his head to regard her. “Do you want help with your dress?”
“Thank you, yes.” Jane sighed at his continued attempts to change the subject, but turned so that he could undo her laces. Resolutely, she returned to her purpose. “I do not know why he would march, but consider: his loyalties might lie in Ireland or with the Pope.”
“It seems unlikely. Who tied this knot?” He tugged at the back of her dress.
“You did.”
He snorted and tugged again. “I might have to cut it. Muse, I did not think I was fatigued, but this knot … I must have been half-asleep.”
“More than half, I think.” Jane turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, favouring him with a smile.
He humphed in reply, but she did not regret pulling him away from the Strattons. Deep circles lined his eyes, and his lids were half lowered. “Did our Mr. O’Brien say anything else of import?”
“He asked after Melody.” Her dress loosened suddenly as Vincent released the knot with a cry of triumph. “I worry, Vincent. Recall how he began to flirt with Melody at the skating party? What if he is interested in her because of your connection to the Prince Regent?”
“Again, I say this is unlikely.” Vincent pulled on her sleeve, sliding it off her shoulder, and sat up to kiss the skin exposed there.
Jane shivered. “But you saw … you saw how his manner to her changed both at the house, and again at the Prince Regent’s.”
“Yes, but, Muse…” He kissed higher on her shoulder, moving to her neck. “You are proposing that Mr. O’Brien is plotting to overthrow the government using your younger sister. How?”
Jane opened her mouth and stared at the wall. Said aloud, it made no sense. Yet she could not discount Mr. O’Brien’s very real alarm at being overheard. Vincent had not seen him. Jane did not know what was happening, but she felt quite assured that something untoward was afoot.
Nine
A Fair Exchange
Over the next weeks, Vincent’s spirits regained something of their usual steadiness. If he did not sleep well, neither did he stay up deliberately late. Jane did her best to distract him, but only met with limited success. Melody continued to come with them to Stratton House, professing that it was because of the weather and as an escape from ennui, but it was clear to Jane that the attraction was due to Mr. O’Brien.
More than once she found him in the Strattons’ music room with Melody, their heads bent over a book or engaging in some other pretext for closeness. While she never found them behind closed doors, and there was always a servant in attendance, she could not feel entirely comfortable with his attentions. It was not a possible match. Jane could only imagine the hysterics her mother would indulge in if she knew that Melody was attaching an Irish Catholic man, no matter that his father was a Baron. And so Jane was relieved when their cousin’s birthday fête finally came around, as it gave her an opportunity to introduce Melody to some other gentlemen.
On the day of the party, nature saw fit to deliver yet more snow, though it melted almost as soon as it touched the pavement, leaving only slush on the ground. A line of footmen stood outside Sir Prescott’s residence with umbrellas to convey guests into the house.
Once the Vincents and Melody had shed their wraps, they joined the throng and looked for their host in order to offer their felicitations to Mr. Colgrove for reaching his majority. The parlour had been entirely done over with a glamural portraying the Battle of Quatre Bras with the Duke of Wellington astride his horse, Copenhagen, and his sword held over his head. The work was quite good, with some interesting uses of colour to direct the eye.
Vincent
“Why?”
Very slowly, Jane enunciated, “Because that is what he said.”
“No, I meant, why would he march on Parliament?” Vincent rolled his head to regard her. “Do you want help with your dress?”
“Thank you, yes.” Jane sighed at his continued attempts to change the subject, but turned so that he could undo her laces. Resolutely, she returned to her purpose. “I do not know why he would march, but consider: his loyalties might lie in Ireland or with the Pope.”
“It seems unlikely. Who tied this knot?” He tugged at the back of her dress.
“You did.”
He snorted and tugged again. “I might have to cut it. Muse, I did not think I was fatigued, but this knot … I must have been half-asleep.”
“More than half, I think.” Jane turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, favouring him with a smile.
He humphed in reply, but she did not regret pulling him away from the Strattons. Deep circles lined his eyes, and his lids were half lowered. “Did our Mr. O’Brien say anything else of import?”
“He asked after Melody.” Her dress loosened suddenly as Vincent released the knot with a cry of triumph. “I worry, Vincent. Recall how he began to flirt with Melody at the skating party? What if he is interested in her because of your connection to the Prince Regent?”
“Again, I say this is unlikely.” Vincent pulled on her sleeve, sliding it off her shoulder, and sat up to kiss the skin exposed there.
Jane shivered. “But you saw … you saw how his manner to her changed both at the house, and again at the Prince Regent’s.”
“Yes, but, Muse…” He kissed higher on her shoulder, moving to her neck. “You are proposing that Mr. O’Brien is plotting to overthrow the government using your younger sister. How?”
Jane opened her mouth and stared at the wall. Said aloud, it made no sense. Yet she could not discount Mr. O’Brien’s very real alarm at being overheard. Vincent had not seen him. Jane did not know what was happening, but she felt quite assured that something untoward was afoot.
Nine
A Fair Exchange
Over the next weeks, Vincent’s spirits regained something of their usual steadiness. If he did not sleep well, neither did he stay up deliberately late. Jane did her best to distract him, but only met with limited success. Melody continued to come with them to Stratton House, professing that it was because of the weather and as an escape from ennui, but it was clear to Jane that the attraction was due to Mr. O’Brien.
More than once she found him in the Strattons’ music room with Melody, their heads bent over a book or engaging in some other pretext for closeness. While she never found them behind closed doors, and there was always a servant in attendance, she could not feel entirely comfortable with his attentions. It was not a possible match. Jane could only imagine the hysterics her mother would indulge in if she knew that Melody was attaching an Irish Catholic man, no matter that his father was a Baron. And so Jane was relieved when their cousin’s birthday fête finally came around, as it gave her an opportunity to introduce Melody to some other gentlemen.
On the day of the party, nature saw fit to deliver yet more snow, though it melted almost as soon as it touched the pavement, leaving only slush on the ground. A line of footmen stood outside Sir Prescott’s residence with umbrellas to convey guests into the house.
Once the Vincents and Melody had shed their wraps, they joined the throng and looked for their host in order to offer their felicitations to Mr. Colgrove for reaching his majority. The parlour had been entirely done over with a glamural portraying the Battle of Quatre Bras with the Duke of Wellington astride his horse, Copenhagen, and his sword held over his head. The work was quite good, with some interesting uses of colour to direct the eye.
Vincent
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