“I do not claim the accomplishments of my sister, but we did have the benefit of the same tutor.” Melody glided toward the bookcase with a poise and voice that suggested more comfort with the art of glamour than Jane had yet seen her demonstrate.

“Here, I think.” Pulling a fold of glamour from the ether, Melody stitched it across the bookcase with large, awkward threads. The fold was bulky and wrinkled; light careened across the gilt titles. “You see how simple it can be.”

“Indeed.” Jane came to stand by Melody, suppressing a wince at the clumsy effect. “And with only a little effort you may adjust the folds to the brightness or shade you desire.” She plucked Melody’s stitches free and shook the folds out so that the wrinkles dropped away. “You see how I can stretch the fold to change the degree of brightness? Thinning any fold in this manner will mute its effect.”

“You make it look so simple.” Miss Dunkirk studied the air with the abstracted gaze so indicative of an absorption of glamour.

“Here.” Jane plucked the fold from the shelf and held it out to Miss Dunkirk, the light dripping in strands of gold that would have made Rumpelstiltskin proud. “Hold it so that you can feel its weight, and then I will show you how to thin it.”

Eyes widening, Miss Dunkirk accepted the sheer fabric of light from her. At first it wrinkled in her hands, sending rainbows of color at odd angles across the surface. But with gentle prompting, she was eventually able to straighten the fold so it gleamed evenly.

Laughing together, they pulled and twisted the fold, exploring the many possibilities inherent in a single fold of glamour. Miss Dunkirk displayed a greater aptitude than Jane had expected. In the end, she was able to create the effect of sunlight glancing across the books, and if it were not as subtle as Jane might have managed, neither was it as inept as one might expect from someone who had never studied glamour.

Breathing rapidly and somewhat flushed, Miss Dunkirk stepped back from her last carefully placed stitch.

Jane nodded in approval. “Very nicely done.”

Turning from the bookcase, Miss Dunkirk said, “Miss Melody, what do . . . Oh.”

From Miss Dunkirk’s tone, Jane fully expected her sister to have slipped the room again, and in this she was correct.

Somewhat more unexpected was the view through the window, wherein Melody conversed amicably with Mr. Vincent. Or, rather, she conversed. He drew.

He had turned aside from his easel and picked up a leather notebook. Judging from the angle of his gaze, he was probably sketching Melody.

They were quite alone. Jane compressed her lips. Would Melody never learn the bounds of propriety?

“Miss Dunkirk, will you excuse me? Melody and I should return home for dinner.”

“Of course.” The girl’s face was paler than Jane would like, but they had not done so much glamour that she felt cause to worry. “I have kept you too long.”