Glamour in Glass (3 page)

Jane’s perturbation was not due to any unkindness on the part of Sir Lumley. He was everything that is agreeable in a dinner conversationist: witty without being cruel, well-informed without being showy, and a gracious listener. But this very solicitude was what caused her some discomfort, for what Skiffy was most interested in hearing about was her impending trip to Europe, a trip of which Jane had no knowledge.

Indeed, the war had so recently ended that Jane was not yet accustomed to thinking of the Continent as a place to which one might go. In her mother’s day, a tour abroad was quite the thing, but they had been at war with France since Jane was a child.

Concerns of unrest seemed trivial to Skiffy’s view of the Continent. “I am so excited that you are going abroad. Travel is so improving to one’s character, do you not agree? I find that the most interesting people come from the Continent. Of course, one might be biased in that it is possible all the interesting people come here and leave only the dull ones there, but it is very much to be hoped that is not the case. In any case, I have so many friends who have gone to Brussels, some of them on the ‘economical plan,’ if you take my meaning. Financial difficulties would not be your reason for going, of course, and I am certain that with Prinny’s patronage you can gain entrée into all the best houses there.”

“That would be most generous of him.”

“When do you set out? I must know so I can write to my friends and tell them to look for you.”

Jane looked again to the end of the table where Vincent sat, wishing she knew whence this belief in their going to the Continent had sprung, but her husband’s attention was occupied by the lady on his left, who was speaking with some animation. “We have hardly set our plans. I would hesitate to venture a guess which might cause you to lead your friends astray.”

“Well then, I shall tell them they must look for you whenever you arrive.”

“But indeed, we might not go to Brussels at all.”

“Surely not Paris? Oh, that would be heaven. M. Lecomte aside, the French have quite the head for fashion. Everything is in the best taste there. I am so glad you are going to Paris.”

Across the table, Lord Chesterford snorted, saving her a reply. “All this sallying forth to the Continent is in bad taste, if you ask my opinion. We defeated those cursed frenchies, and it was deuced hard to do—begging your pardon, ladies. Why the devil—pardon—anyone would go fawn at their feet in the name of Fashion now is beyond me.”

“Oh, Fordy, you really must control yourself. The war is over. What more is there to say?”

“Over?” His moustache fairly quivered with indignation. “My brother left an arm there, and you speak to me of ‘over’? Mark me: those frogs will be no end of trouble. Giving the Corsican Ogre leave to continue to rule is a travesty, after what we went through.”

From farther down the table, Lord Fairchild abandoned his dinner partner to say, “Napoleon is ‘ruling’—if you can call it that—the tiniest of islands. I scarcely think he can mount an invasion from there.”

“But his followers might.” Lord Chesterford huffed through his moustache. “Mark me: those cursed Bonapartists will use the youth of the Ogre’s son as an excuse to place a regent on the throne.”

The gentlemen conversed across the table in increasingly heated tones until the Prince cleared his throat. “This is hardly a topic of conversation suitable for the ladies. I think it is time for us to allow them to withdraw.”

With that, the party broke up, and the ladies retreated to the Blue Room.

The moment they set foot outside the grand ballroom, the men began their conversation anew. Jane could not help but feel sorry to be shooed out, because the topic had been of some interest to her.

After the overt glamour of the ballroom, the Blue Room seemed positively staid, though it was appointed in the best manner. The walls were covered in blue damask which matched the upholstery. Gilt frames bordered the walls, with cleverly rendered oysters on the half shell in each corner. By the very absence of glamour, the Prince Regent displayed his taste and means here as much as in the ballroom, because everything from the elaborate carpet to the massive crystal chandelier was
real
.

Real gold gilded the arms of the chairs. Real candles stood in the sconces instead of fairy lights, so rather than the faint glow of glamoured light, the room truly was bright and airy.

The only glamour in the room adorned the ceiling, which had a glamural of sky and clouds drifting in a simple repeating pattern. The clouds circled the chandelier so that the crystals would not catch and diffract their glamoured folds. The effect seemed one part dance, one part storm—very like life at court itself.

The ladies echoed the movements of the clouds, drifting together in small knots. Jane found herself in a circle of five women who were comparing the merits of the gentlemen who had attended dinner. The topics ranged from the cut of their coats to their hairdressers to what subjects the ladies had been forced to endure during dinner. More than one had learned countless details about the pointer that her dinner companion favoured. Then the conversation drifted—as it tended to in these circumstances—to those who were not present, with shockingly cutting comments directed at Lady so-and-so’s gown or Miss someone’s latest conquest.

Jane had been introduced to these ladies before dinner, but otherwise had no acquaintance with them, so she tried to find it perfectly natural that they should speak so of their supposed friends. And yet they drew closer to each other as they chattered, gradually leaving her standing outside their group. Ill at ease, she wandered to the walls of the drawing room to study the portraits there.

As she worked her way slowly around the room, one portrait in an older style quite took her. It depicted a young boy mounted on a pony. He held a sabre over his head and looked as if he would charge into battle at any moment, for all the roundness of his cheeks and the becoming smile on his lips. His face possessed such an open friendliness that she felt herself steadier, even if her company were only a painting.

After a few moments, Jane sensed that someone had joined her. At her side now stood the inimitable Lady Hertford, who also gazed at the painting. This celebrated beauty’s very presence lent the room an additional elegance. Her claret velvet dress might have been chosen as a deliberate complement to the blue walls. The line of her neck would have been a welcome subject for any artist. Without breaking her attention to the painting they both looked at, Lady Hertford said, “I think that Prinny still has the same smile, on his good days.”

“Is it his highness?”

“Painted by Ramsey, when Prinny was seven. He has told me how he hated sitting still for it, but he was promised he could keep the sword if he did. He still has it, you know.”

“I did not. Have you known his highness long?”

“We have been in the same set since our parents were children, but only became familiar these last few years.” Lady Hertford took Jane’s arm and steered her down the long gallery of the Blue Room. With a contemptuous glance over her shoulder, she said, “Please do not let them bother you. They cannot cause any true harm, but most of them are too silly to know how to deal with anything of substance. Faced with a woman who can actually
do
things, such as yourself, they simply do not know what to talk about.”

At once relieved that she had not imagined being cut out of the conversation and disheartened that it had
not
been her imagination, Jane tried to brush off their rudeness. “But it is only natural that they should talk of acquaintances that they know. I shall be gone tomorrow.”

“Ah, but I sought you out because you will be gone tomorrow. A pleasure that is fleeting must be seized when it is present. I am such an admirer of your work. I wish I could do glamour as you can.”

“I am certain you could. It is only a matter of practice, as with any of the arts.”

Lady Hertford laughed, a silver, gay laugh that tinkled like bells and put Jane in mind of her sister, Melody. “That is lovely of you to say, my dear, but I rather suspect that glamour comes so easily for you that you do not recognise how difficult it is for others.”

“I do not deny that it is difficult, only put forth the argument that with perseverance anyone can overcome those difficulties. You saw this evening how I had to correct an error.” Jane faltered, wondering if she should perhaps return to the ballroom to ascertain if her repair to the fish were holding. “It is an art that I am still learning, and it takes a great deal of effort.”

“You see how you prove my point in an instant? I could not even see what it was you were doing, though your husband explained it to me when he returned to his seat. I watched you fixedly and try as I might, I could not see a flaw, nor what you were changing. I only knew that you had done something when Mr. Vincent grunted.”

“I had not intended for him to abandon you. I should apologize on Vincent’s account.”

“Now see, that is something else I find perfectly charming about you: the way you use his surname like a man. It is
très moderne
. I think I might adopt it with my own husband, should I ever see him again.”

Jane stifled the impulse to explain that Vincent was his given name but everyone in this group, save apparently Skiffy and Prinny, knew him as Mr. David Vincent, the glamourist, and not as Vincent Hamilton, third son of the Earl of Verbury. She wondered if she would rise in the other women’s estimation if they knew, then dismissed the thought as unworthy. Vincent had offered to retake his given name and his place as his father’s son when he married her, but she had refused, since it would mean giving up his art.

His art was his life, and hers as well.

“It is easier to refer to him by the same name our employer uses when working on a commission, lest they wonder who ‘David’ is, and eventually I fell into the habit of it.” Jane stopped and turned to her companion. “I can teach you the basic principles of glamour, if you would like.”

“That is too kind of you, but I cannot do glamour.”

“Truly, you do yourself a disservice by believing so without making the attempt.”

“Ah, I am unclear. My doctor advises me not to perform glamour.” She let her hand rest on her stomach so briefly that Jane might have imagined it, but Lady Hertford’s meaning was clear: she was increasing. Of course she could not work glamour in such a state, without risk to her unborn child.

“Perhaps after your confinement, then.”

“I would delight in that.”

“I congratulate you and your husband.”

Lady Hertford offered another of her laughs. “I doubt that my husband is even aware, or that he would be pleased if he were.”

“I am—I—” Jane stammered, recalling that Lady Hertford had just referred to her husband’s absence. Indeed, he had not been at dinner. Suddenly half-remembered gossip combined with Lady Hertford’s statement that she was a
familiar
acquaintance of the Prince Regent.

“I have shocked you.”

The simplicity of her response made Jane aware of how tight her bearing had become. “Forgive my surprise. I have not been much in London, and am used to simpler ways.”

“Do not let it worry you. I am past being offended. It is a subject of some confusion to me, why gentlemen are allowed their conquests and yet remain gentlemen, while a lady must bear the burden of the conquest all alone.”

Jane could not offer an answer. As they turned the corner of the room, they again faced the small groups of women chatting amiably. It was hard to miss the disdainful glances cast their way as she promenaded up the length of the Blue Room with Lady Hertford. It came to Jane, all at once, the change in station she had experienced by becoming an artisan, for the only woman in the room who was willing to speak with her at length was the Prince Regent’s mistress.

The confusion and dismay that filled her was extreme. Lady Hertford had been all kindness and interest … and yet, to have fallen into such a state. Jane hardly knew what to say or do. She could not approve of Lady Hertford’s conduct, but neither was she willing to condemn a woman who had done her no ill. “It must be very hard for you.”

“Well … it is not all difficulty. Prinny is a dear and is very good to me. These others,”—her tone might have been discussing cattle—“these others are friendly with me for his sake. Or rather, for their sake, because to cut me would be to cut their chances with him, and none have the strength of character to risk that by insisting on proprieties. And, my dear, you must understand that I chose this. I am not such a simpering fool as to not understand exactly what I was embarking on.”

Just then, the door to the drawing room opened and saved Jane from answering. The gentlemen swaggered into the room with the masculine scent of cigars and brandy. Some had been more deeply in their cups than others, as was evidenced by their too-raucous laughter. The Prince Regent was one of these, and his voice carried over the others. “I tell you Vincent, I want them gasping tomorrow, and you will do that for me. You. You will. Yes. You.” He had his arm around Vincent’s neck as if they were chums, but Jane could see the muscle tightening at the base of her husband’s jaw.

“If you will excuse me.” She dropped Lady Hertford’s arm with as much grace as she could muster and hurried across the drawing room to Vincent’s side. His brown curls were tousled in the fashionable wind-swept look that so many men struggled to attain, but which came naturally to him. He swept his hands through his hair so much, knotting them in place while he thought, that it was permanently dishevelled.

“Of course, Prinny. I will make the changes tonight.”

Jane stopped in front of them. “What changes shall we make?”

The Prince Regent dropped his arm from around Vincent’s neck and took her hand. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it. “You shall do nothing. He works you too hard.”

“Do not worry, Jane, it is a small thing. I shall attend to it now.”

“You are a good man.” Still holding her hand, the Prince Regent drew her away from Vincent. “He is a good man, your husband, with talent. A Genuine Talent.”