Mrs. Ellsworth, oblivious to the hints that Lady FitzCameron cast that she did not approve of the possibility of an attachment between her nephew and Melody, said, “Oh, he is such a good young man. It’s so kind of you to loan him to us. I’m sure I don’t know how we should have gotten along when Melody turned her ankle if not for him. You might almost say that Jane’s helping with Mr. Vincent was a repayment for your nephew’s aid with our poor Melody.” She blinked, clearly pleased with the analogy she had drawn between two vastly different events.

Only with effort did Jane keep the incredulity from her countenance. Even had Melody’s injury been real, her life had never been threatened. Jane cleared her throat and sought to change the subject. “And have you found a home in Bath?”

Lady FitzCameron said that they had. They had taken a house on Laurel Place, an establishment which she had occupied in years past and had even thought of purchasing so that they might always have a residence in Bath. “If you ever have reason to be in Bath, you must call on us. I insist.”

As they issued promises that they would visit, Banbree Manor’s butler crossed the room and leaned down to murmur in Lady FitzCameron’s ear. Her mouth tightened and her gaze flicked to Jane. She nodded once and waved the butler back. “Miss Ellsworth, would you be so good as to oblige Mr. Vincent with a visit?”

The butler must have misunderstood—surely Mr. Vincent had meant to ask for Melody? “I do not wish to trouble him, if his health is too fragile to admit visitors.” Jane kept her gaze fixed on Lady FitzCameron. She wanted to look at Melody to see what effect this invitation had on her, but she could not without drawing attention to her sister.

Lady FitzCameron examined a ring on her right hand. “I am informed that he will not rest easy until he has had an opportunity to thank you personally.”

With that, there was nothing for it but for Jane to follow the butler abovestairs. The walk down the hall seemed longer than when she had last taken it, and the air grew thick with apprehension as they neared the bedchamber where she had last seen Mr. Vincent.

The curtains within were drawn tight and the lights low, which lent the room a sense of gloom. All glamour had been stripped from the chamber. It was a meaner, less substantially furnished room than Jane had thought. She could not contain her surprize that Banbree Manor needed glamour to maintain an illusion of wealth.

“Perhaps you might guess at the real reason Lady FitzCameron hired me.” The dry voice at last brought Jane’s attention to the man she had come to see.

Mr. Vincent lay propped in bed. His skin was drawn and waxen with a translucence that almost let her see through his bloodless skin to the skull below. His hair lay lank against his scalp, and a gray coating of stubble masked his cheeks, though not enough to disguise the gauntness beneath. Had his health really been spent on creating the illusion of a profitable estate? “I would not presume to guess at the Viscountess’s affairs. I would rather inquire about your health.”