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?”

“Perhaps that is his present to you.” Melody squinted. “I do wish I knew what he was painting.”

“The abbey, surely,” Jane said, though she too wanted to see the canvas.

Melody spun, her face glowing with delight and mischief. “Shall we go out to see?”

Jane recalled Mr. Vincent’s forbidding expression when she had studied his work at Banbree Manor. “Oh, no. I do not wish to disturb him. Were I him, I should hate to have someone watch me.”

“La! Jane, you are too nice in your sensibilities. You spent an afternoon with the Dunkirks watching you play piano and work glamour. How can you think that Mr. Vincent would object to us calling on him when he is on Miss Dunkirk’s lawn?”

Miss Dunkirk bit her lower lip. “Did we trouble you, Miss Ellsworth?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jane said, “but those were pieces which I had practiced and were intended for performance. Mr. Vincent has barely laid brush to canvas, so to come upon him now would be the same as coming upon me while I am practicing a new piece. No matter his talent, he cannot enjoy having someone look upon an unfinished piece.”

Melody wrinkled her nose. “You always think you know how other people feel, but really, Jane, we saw an unfinished piece at Lady FitzCameron’s ball, and he did not seem to mind then.”

Miss Dunkirk took Jane’s side. “I am afraid I think Miss Ellsworth has the right of it.”

“Poo. Let us ask him rather than guessing.” Melody unlatched the casement, threw it wide open, and leaned out. “Mr. Vincent!”

He turned his head sharply, and a deep frown creased his face. Jane backed away from the window and stepped into the shadows, praying that all he saw was the two young women leaning out toward him, not her.