Vincent shook his head with his small private smile, and continued reading the letter. ‘Ah. Here, buried in the body, is his reason for address. He is a friend of Skiffy’s and proposes to commission us.’

Jane resumed her embroidery then, stabbing the cloth with particular vengeance. ‘Does he. For what purpose?’ All pleasure she might have felt at such a favour from her dinner partner turned to a sensation akin to bitterness that she would be unable to accept it.

‘A drawing room. He has a house in Brussels.’ Folding the paper, he shook his head. ‘I will write to decline later.’

Jane lowered her embroidery, gratified beyond expression that Vincent should understand the pain that a commission must cause her at this time. ‘Decline? Is that necessary, do you think?’

Tilting his head and frowning, Vincent hesitated. ‘It does seem as though it would be an imposition on our host to accept a commission which must otherwise fall to him as the foremost glamourist in the region.’

Embarrassment heated Jane’s face at the way in which she had exposed her thoughtlessness. M. Chastain, seated just to the other side of the drawing room, affected to be interested in his book, but Jane could not see how he might have failed to hear her gaffe. Putting all her attention on her embroidery, she tried to pretend that her next words had been her first thought. ‘I only meant that you could share the commission with M. Chastain. Since Mr. Gilman is British, the introduction might be desirable, as it would bring our host to the attention of different parties.’

The doubt in Vincent’s voice was clear in the slowness of his answer, but he did not betray her by pointing out her initial slight. ‘Ah. Yes, there is some sense in that.’ Rising, he crossed the room to M. Chastain and explained the scheme to him. Chastain, in turn, proved his worth as a friend by claiming he had no interest in a commission in Brussels, and not only insisted that Vincent take the commission, but offered the use of M. Archambault as an assistant.

As they talked and made arrangements for transportation to Brussels, Jane worked the only threads she could, trying with the tangible embroidery to distract herself from the conversation, of which she could have no part. Better that she become used to the restriction and leave Vincent to do the work, which he had done alone long before they met. It cannot be supposed that the embroidery was sufficient to keep her attention, and most of her mind was occupied in listening to their conversation. They spoke in French so rapid that Jane had difficulty following more than the tenor of it and realized in the process how much the household had slowed down to accommodate her own inferior understanding.