She reached the drawing room, where many of the guests remained, anxious about the fate of Mr. Vincent. By their faces, she could see that some worried for the man himself while others cared only for the gossip. Mr. Dunkirk came to her straightaway and, taking her arm, guided her to a seat. “Your father had to see Mrs. Ellsworth home. He asked me to see you back to Long Parkmead.”

Letting Jane regain her equilibrium, he did not ask the question that must surely be on everyone’s mind.

Lady FitzCameron was not so patient.

“We saw the surgeon arrive. What has he said about dear Mr. Vincent?” The cold glitter in her eyes belied her words. Jane could almost believe that Lady FitzCameron would be pleased if the man died, for it would increase the value of her glamural.

Jane straightened in the chair and told them all that had passed. When she explained that he might not regain his senses, Beth burst into tears and turned to her brother for comfort. Mr. Dunkirk looked as though strong emotion would overcome him.

Then the party must discuss the shock and horror of the case. Each avowed that they had either known he was too weak and should have advised him not to attempt any more glamour for a fortnight at least, or that they had absolutely no idea anything was wrong with him. Someone—Jane did not remember who—had pressed a glass of cordial into her hand, and she sipped it reflexively as person after person came to ask her to repeat some detail of Mr. Vincent’s collapse. At last, Mr. Dunkirk said, “You can do nothing for Mr. Vincent here. Let me take you home, and in the morning we shall inquire.”

Though Jane was loath to leave while Mr. Vincent was still so much in danger, she had to concede the intelligence of Mr. Dunkirk’s proposal. During the carriage ride home Jane did not have the strength to speak to Beth, who kept repeating a litany of her upset. Her words invoked the horror of the moment when Jane had first seen Mr. Vincent lying on the floor. She replayed it in her mind as surely as if she had caught it in a loop of glamour. His heels drummed endlessly, and he grunted as his breath was forced out of his body each time it arced backwards. Jane pressed her face against the carriage window for the feel of the cool glass, but it did nothing to drive the image from her mind.

Mr. Dunkirk said, “Hush, Beth. We are all of us upset.”

Grateful for his intervention, Jane roused herself. “Yes, but you are closer to him than I.”

“But the stresses of the event involved you more intimately. I would be astonished if you felt nothing.”

His assurance did little to soothe Jane’s worn nerves.

Shortly after that, Mr. Ellsworth and Melody met them in the front hall. Melody’s pale face shewed her tension. “How is he?”