‘Jane, it is not that. You are not a distraction. It is only that this is a nothing job, and it would be a waste of effort for you.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘You said it would be easier to simply say so.’

She felt the chastisement immediately. It was unjust of her to demand his honesty and then punish him for it. And if she were honest with herself, there was sense in what he was saying. ‘I am sorry. You are correct. But I should like to come sometimes. I do like to watch you work.’

‘Of course.’ Vincent rested his hand over hers. ‘You are my muse, and I would be lost without you. Even if I am only painting sheep.’

The next day, sitting on a chair to the side of Mr. Gilman’s window, Jane watched Vincent sketch a tree into being. He had already laid the ground for the slope and the stream using M. Chastain’s technique, but rather than a transparency, he was endeavouring to have the exterior of the window show the drawing room. Very sensibly, they had both realized that it would be unpleasant to have someone viewing you if you could not see them.

Since Jane could not extend her senses into the ether, the tree Vincent worked on seemed to coalesce out of nothing, first as a rough shape, then with more detail as her husband refined the form. The bark seemed unpleasantly uniform to Jane, and she cleared her throat. ‘This might be a nice place to use an ombré. It is very easy to thin the—’

‘In fact, I am.’ He did not break his attention from his work.

Jane shifted in her seat and opened her drawing-book to sketch him working. He stood in front of the window, hands dipping in and out of the ether as he stitched the threads he wanted into place. Legs spread wide, he had doffed his coat and had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The line of his hands captivated her, the grace of his movements combined with the play of muscle in his forearms creating a quiet strength. She had begun to recognise the glamours he was working by the movement of his hands, even though she could see only their effect, not the folds he was managing.

He inhaled in a deep steady breath designed to pull as much air into his body as possible. Even so, beads of sweat stood out on his brow from the exertion of the morning. If she could do glamour, she would make a cooling breeze for him, but that was an impossibility.