‘Often does not equal always, and to all ladies.’ Jane offered him a smile to reduce the bite of her words. ‘I assure you that I am not one of those women who are put off by such things. My purpose here is entirely to focus on your commission. So.’ She clapped her hands together, in mimicry of him. ‘I suppose we should get to business.’

Mr. Gilman straightened as though he were little accustomed to a woman who spoke so directly, and Jane coloured slightly. She had been long enough in Belgium that her manners had quite changed. But she had not said anything outside the bounds of propriety even to an Englishman, and his assumption that she must be feebleminded quite annoyed her.

Vincent held his hand over his mouth to hide a smile and affected to study the walls. He winked at Jane and walked a little away from where they were standing. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘My wife is coming over in the next month and . . . we are but newly wed, you see. I do not want her to be homesick, and she has a favourite window at her parents’ home. In Yorkshire, with lambs gambolling.’

Vincent turned entire, his spine straightening. ‘In Yorkshire? With lambs gambolling. How many lambs will you have, sir?’

‘Three at this time, I believe.’ He glanced back at Jane, and offered a brief smile. ‘She likes lambs.’

‘I see.’ Jane walked the room, considering where they might place an additional window. ‘Did you have a spot in mind?’

‘I had thought perhaps the front windows, so that she might have one room in which there was no reminder of Brussels.’

Jane almost answered that this was not a possibility, given that those outside the house would see the same glamour as those within, which would make it appear that lambs gambolled upon the lawn of the house. Strangely rendered lambs at that, as they would be foreshortened to provide perspective for those viewing from within the house. Fortunately she remembered M. Chastain’s new technique. ‘Vincent, do you think we could combine the Chastain Damask with the Sphère Obscurcie to create that? It might be possible for the illusion to be clear on the exterior and present from within.’

‘Hm?’ He studied the window and rubbed the back of his head. ‘Interesting. Possible. Mr. Gilman, have you a picture of the view?’

‘I do. My wife, you see, she often paints it.’ He directed their gaze to a watercolour hanging over the mantel. While not lacking in talent, it had that stiffness which so often characterizes the amateur artist. The lack of spontaneity and life betrayed a mind too cautious and a reserve too great to pass from technical skill into art. Still, it was a better rendering that Jane had hoped for when Mr. Gilman said his wife painted.