If it were possible to take ship and flee to England at that moment, Jane would have abandoned her trunks and gone. She had no place and no purpose for being in Belgium now, and worse, forced everyone to accommodate her simply by being in the room. Jane rose from her place by the fire and walked to the window, staring disconsolately out into the courtyard. Her breath fogged the glass, and a chill crept across to cool her cheeks.

Vincent approached, the heavy sound of his heel marking his stride as if each footstep were trying to press the world beneath him. ‘Are you not cold?’

‘I was too warm by the fire.’

‘Then let me draw your chair farther away.’

‘No. Thank you.’ They stood silently and Jane reproached herself for being needlessly morose. She had that which other women craved, a loving husband with the prospect of a family in the not too distant future, and yet the discontent would not leave her. ‘When will you go?’

‘Mr. Gilman asked me to wait on him tomorrow, but the carriage is engaged, so I shall ask him for another day.’

‘Could you not ride?’

‘To be sure. But a horse would not suffice for you, I think.’

‘Me? Of what use could I be there?’

‘I—do you not want to go? I had thought you would want to see the space, and be involved in the design.’

Resigned, Jane faced her husband. ‘Vincent. I cannot do glamour. I cannot help you in this.’

‘But, the design. You can still think and paint.’ He wiped his hand down his face. ‘I want your help. Please?’

Touched by the earnestness of his plea, Jane acceded to his request, and a day was set to meet Mr. Gilman and his drawing room.

Mr. Gilman’s residence commanded a view of Brussels Park, which anchored the town, and was nicely appointed without being ostentatious. The Vincents were greeted by the butler at the front door and shown into the drawing room in question, where Mr. Gilman greeted them. He was a slender, dashing young man with a nose that bent as if he might have taken a turn as a pugilist.

His surprise at seeing Jane could not be concealed, and she began to wonder how Skiffy had described her to make Mr. Gilman expect a great beauty. ‘Well.’ He clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. ‘I suppose we should get to business. Mrs. Vincent, our front parlour has quite a lovely prospect, if you cared to take it in while we talk.’

‘Did you also intend to have us do the front parlour?’

‘Er. No. I only thought that we might bore you.’ He gestured between the two gentlemen. ‘Business is so often trying to the ladies.’