Shades of Milk and Honey (6 page)

When that song ended, Miss Dunkirk burst into rapturous applause, begging for another. So great was the girl’s approbation that Jane began a rondo and suggested figures
of nymphs dancing around them in time with the music. These were not as fully rendered as the glamour that adorned their walls, since it required much effort to produce a moving image extemporaneously while she played, but the effect was nonetheless pleasing.

At the song’s end, Jane could not help but notice Mr. Dunkirk’s steady gaze. He stood behind his sister’s chair and seemed still lost in the spell of the music. A greater compliment was not possible.

The room spun somewhat, and Jane decided that the wisest course would be to refuse another song, or at least an embellished one, lest she faint at its conclusion. But when Miss Dunkirk asked Jane to explain how she caused the nymphs to surround them, a particularly tricky piece of glamour, Jane could not resist re-creating it, which in turn led to another piece of glamour. Jane found herself shewing the girl how to create folds until they were both breathless and overwarm with their efforts.

Perceiving the strain on Miss Dunkirk’s delicate frame, but glad that some of the melancholy had left her features, Jane said, “You are welcome to return at any time, my dear, and I would be happy to shew you what little I know.”

“We should take our leave, Beth,” Mr. Dunkirk said, “and let the Misses Ellsworths return to their afternoon’s engagement.” He stopped and turned. “But where is Miss Melody?”

Jane suddenly realized that Melody had slipped out of the room without any of them noticing. She sprang to her
feet, forgetting the effort she had just expended on glamour. The room spun around her, darkened, and she tumbled to the floor.

A sharp burning odor penetrated Jane’s nostrils, making her sneeze. She opened her eyes. Miss Dunkirk sat on the sofa next to her, passing a small glass vial of smelling salts under her nose. Nancy, the housekeeper, stood behind her, twisting her hands together and bobbing convulsively in a series of curtsies. Across the room, Mr. Dunkirk attended to Jane’s mother, who had collapsed in her chair, as though
she
had been the one to overextend herself.

Miss Dunkirk said, “She is awake!”

At this, Mrs. Ellsworth roused from her swoon. “Oh, Mr. Dunkirk. What should we have done? What should we have done if you had not been here?”

Jane flushed with sudden understanding. It seemed that Mr. Dunkirk had lifted her to the sofa. She eased herself into a sitting position, careful lest she faint again. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dunkirk. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

“Not at all, Miss Ellsworth. It is I who should apologize. I fear we took unpardonable advantage of your hospitality.”

Miss Dunkirk’s eyes were wide with upset. “Yes, please forgive us, Miss Ellsworth. I oughtn’t have asked you to play another song, but your playing was so very pretty.”

“No need for forgiveness. I had worked a number of
other bits of glamour this morning and quite forgot the amount of strain I had undergone. I should know better than to spring up after a song, so I am far more vexed at myself than at anyone else.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed, pressing Mr. Dunkirk’s hand. “The fault is entirely Jane’s. You mustn’t give it a moment’s more thought. Truly, you mustn’t.”

Mr. Dunkirk compressed his lips and looked to Jane, his gaze seeming to carry a suppressed laugh. “Well, Mrs. Ellsworth, regardless of where the fault lies, I believe it is clear that Beth and I should end our call.”

Miss Dunkirk rose reluctantly from the sofa. “You will be all right?”

Jane smiled. “Of course. Have you never fainted from too much glamour?”

“Oh, I do not know how to work glamour.” The girl shook her head, and some of the darkness of her mood came back to her features.

“What?” Mrs. Ellsworth cried. “But how could your mother allow it? What were your governesses doing to earn their keep if not teaching you such necessaries?”

Jane interjected, “Mama, you might as well ask why everyone does not play the piano. Glamour is no more a necessary than that. I am certain that Miss Dunkirk is accomplished in other regards.”

Despite Jane’s efforts at glossing over her mother’s callous remarks, Miss Dunkirk retreated into her shy silence
once again. Mr. Dunkirk placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her out, and Jane was reminded of the girl’s youth.

They parted, with Jane promising to return their call on the morrow. Only when they had departed did Jane realize that in the flurry over her swoon, all had forgotten Melody. She almost went upstairs to check on her sister, and then, upon reflection, decided that Melody needed to learn to govern her passions.

She would have to do that without Jane.

Tapping her fingers on the brim of her straw bonnet, Jane tried to evaluate the effect of the Venetian glass cherries against a green silk ribbon. She had hoped that the ribbon would serve as leaves, but it was too pallid. She switched to a velvet ribbon in a deeper Pomona green, pinned the cherries in place over it, and nodded in satisfaction. Though it was silly to take so much care with her appearance, she had never before called at Robinsford Abbey by herself. If not for the excuse of returning Miss Dunkirk’s call, she would not have dared to go now, but there was no harm in looking her best in case she happened to see Mr. Dunkirk.

“That looks very nice.” Melody stood in the door of the drawing room.

“Thank you.” Jane considered the drape of the ribbon, pretending that it held all her attention. Melody had not spoken to her beyond the barest monosyllable since the Dunkirks’ visit the day prior. Desire to mend the breach between them warred in Jane’s breast with simple pride. She had done nothing wrong to make Melody deal her such petty slights, but she knew it would be fruitless to wait for Melody to apologize. “Are you feeling better?”

“Pardon?”

“You were cross yesterday, so I thought you must be unwell.”

“Oh.” Melody twisted her fingers together. “Yes. I had a headache.”

Jane took up her needle and thread. “I see. It was a pity you had to leave without saying good-bye. Mr. Dunkirk remarked on your absence.”

“Did he?” Melody crossed the room to sit next to Jane. “I only left because I had nothing to add. No wit or art, which seem to be the only things anyone appreciates. I am just a pretty face.” As she said this, her voice went beyond self-pity and into genuine despair.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek. She truly
had
monopolized the Dunkirks’ visit. “You are more than that. You are charming and good-hearted.”

“When I am not cross, you mean.”

Jane set down her hat, laughing. “Yes, but I have yet to meet the person who remains charming and good-hearted while cross.”

“But Mr. Dunkirk was right when he said that beauty fades. Except for artificial beauty.” Melody reached out and touched the delicate glass skin of a cherry. “I was hoping that you might teach me about glamour.”

Startled by the request, Jane could not disguise her pleasure at being asked. She took Melody’s hand in hers. “Of course. Whenever you like.”

“Oh, thank you, Jane.” Melody squeezed Jane’s hands with both of hers. “I mean to start at once so that . . .” She loosened her grip on Jane’s hand. “What is the matter?”

Without thought, Jane’s gaze had dropped to the hat on her lap. “Oh. I had promised to call on Miss Dunkirk today.” She kept her eyes lowered rather than watching the disappointment cross Melody’s face. “May we postpone until this evening?”

The room was quite still for a moment, and then Melody lifted the hat off Jane’s lap. “Of course. I would not want to interfere with your duty to our neighbours.” She set the bonnet on her head and crossed the room to a mirror. Adjusting her ringlets under the hat, she bared her teeth in some semblance of a smile. “Are you wearing this to the Dunkirks’?”

“I had thought to, yes. Melody, dear, you are welcome to come with me. I am certain that they did not intend the invitation for me alone.”

“Are you?” Melody spun in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection from all angles. Even unfinished, the hat looked fetching on her. “And yet you did not think to mention it to me until now. La! Jane, I rather believe that you did not intend for me to ever know. Well. I am certain that I do not want to intrude where I am not wanted.” She took off the hat carelessly and set it on the table under the mirror.

Despite the overly dramatic nature of Melody’s words, they stung because they bore some truth. She did
not
want to disappear into the background of her sister’s charm. To stop the guilt she felt, she said, “But I do want you to come. I did not see a time to mention it because you have been so cross with me. Do say you will come. We can work on glamour tonight.”

Melody studied her for a long moment before nodding. “I—I would like that. Thank you.”

Though she still felt the tension between them, Jane was determined to give Melody no further cause to doubt her affection.

When Melody had changed into a gown suitable for morning calls—primrose calico, trimmed with crisp white ribbons—and Jane had finished her millinery endeavors, they set out to Robinsford Abbey. They spoke of nothing consequential on the walk, merely the weather and whatever in the landscape caught their eye.

Chief among these was Robinsford Abbey itself. The long drive wound through the orchard that the monks who
had originally built the abbey had planted. Ancient gnarled trees gave way to a broad expanse of lawn, which rose gently to the Gothic splendor of the abbey. Each facet of the leaded glass in the high arched windows reflected different aspects of the view. Though its age was obvious, the abbey was so well-maintained that it gave every appearance of being as comfortable as a modern structure.

Still, as they entered the vestibule and presented their cards to the butler, Jane could not help but feel dwarfed by the grandeur of Robinsford Abbey. Melody did not seem to be affected by the echoing stone halls, as though her beauty made her immune.

Once in the drawing room, Jane at once felt more at ease. Miss Dunkirk stood, waiting to receive them, and crossed the room with evident pleasure. “Oh! How glad I am to see you. Edmund has gone on an errand, and I find myself quite at loose ends.”

“Such a shame!” Melody took Miss Dunkirk’s hand and tucked it under her arm in a shew of solicitude. She led her to the sofa, away from Jane. “That he should leave you here without amusement. La! I am quite shocked, I must tell you, that a man of your brother’s intelligence should display such an uncaring sensibility to his own sister.”

“Oh, he is not like that at all. Whenever he has been away, Edmund always brings me a present to make up for my time alone.”

Jane trailed behind them and settled on a mahogany Sheraton chair next to the sofa. The drawing room might
better be called a library, for one wall was almost entirely given over to books. The mahogany furniture reflected strong masculine tastes, even down to a pair of crossed sabres on one wall and a set of dueling pistols in a rosewood box on the mantel. A neatly rendered glamour created the illusion of fire in the fireplace, lending the room a coziness it might have otherwise lacked. For all his professed admiration of glamour, Mr. Dunkirk indulged in little other display of it. Not even the prints on the walls, which tended to hunting scenes or architectural studies, shewed any enhancement.

Small talk followed, detailing the weather, then the quality of the tea which the butler brought as well as praises of the china it was served in, which was an exquisite example of Delft bone china. During all of it, Melody held Miss Dunkirk’s attention with ease while Jane resigned herself to the background. Only two years separated Melody and Miss Dunkirk’s ages, while Jane, at eight and twenty, was a good ten years older than her sister. It was small wonder that the two young women found so much to discuss.

Jane occupied herself by gazing out the window at the expanse of lawn and the woodlands beyond, not paying full attention to their discussions of fashion and novels, only nodding or laughing occasionally as the subject warranted.

Then a man stepped out of the woods. Though he wore the garments of a laborer, the easel on his back clearly marked him as Mr. Vincent. For a moment, he seemed to stare directly at Jane. She stiffened in her chair at the challenge on
his face, then relaxed as she remembered the way the light had reflected off the leaded glass; he could not see her. Indeed, when he set his easel down and placed a canvas upon it, his intent became clear.

Jane turned her attention back to Miss Dunkirk and Melody and cleared her throat. “It appears that we have an admirer.”

Both girls exclaimed and turned to follow her gaze. “Who? Where? Well, I never! Is that Mr. Vincent?”

They fairly flew off the sofa, running to the window to look out at him. Melody leaned against the casement. “Is he painting us?”

His easel angled slightly away from them, and to Jane’s eye, their window was not the subject of his attention. “I do not believe so.”

Miss Dunkirk said, “I wonder if Edmund has asked him for a study of Robinsford Abbey?”