A GLAMOURIST HISTORIES short story, for you, on New Year’s Eve

This is the first part of a short story with Jane and Vincent. It takes place between Valour and Vanity and Of Noble Family.

New Year’s Eve, 1817

Vienna

Despite the snow outside on the streets of Vienna, a bead of sweat tickled Jane’s nose. Hot and fatigued, she let her vision return from the ether. With each rapid breath, her ribs pressed against her stays, even laced as loosely as they were. Sweat covered her brow and dripped from her temples down to her jaw. She raised a hand to wipe it away and studied her work.

The small patch of peonies she had woven in the nursery of the home that their family had rented in Vienna added to the overall effect of a Chinese garden. At least, she hoped it did but all they had to go on were descriptions in some rather questionable travelogues and a few illustrations. It had been Melody’s particular request and, being great with child, her requests were attended to with an alacrity more appropriate to a command. Still, after their adventures in Italy, it was pleasant to work on a glamural again. She was pleased with the peonies themselves, which appeared to tremble in a passing breeze as their delicate pink petals caught the light in a blush of glory.

Jane turned to see how Vincent was getting on with the mountains he was creating on the far side of the room. To her surprise, her husband had settled in a chair and was watching her.

The mountains, rendered in a distant mist, rose above his shoulders and utterly obscured the far wall of the dining room. Like herself, his breath was still quick from his efforts. He had abandoned his coat, waistcoat and cravat in a way that made her more than a little jealous. She could shed only her fichu and retain any decency in dress. Not that a gentleman should ever appear with his shirt open in such a distracting manner.

His collar bones lay exposed and the hollow at the base of his neck deepened with each inhalation. Jane lifted her gaze, aware that she had been staring a little.

Vincent smiled at her and stretched his arms over his head. The unfastened cuffs slid down to reveal his strong forearms. “You do create the most becoming vision.”

“Thank you.” Jane glanced back at the peonies where they clustered at the base of a ginkgo tree. “I had contemplated matching the cherry tree, but decided for a deeper shade.”

“I was not referring to the glamour… Though your work is wonderful, as always.”

“I am not cer–” She returned her gaze to her husband, who lowered his arms and cocked his head with an interesting consciousness. Jane cleared her throat, as her cheeks flooded with heat that had nothing to do with working glamour. “Oh.”

“I have mentioned before that sometimes working with you is difficult.” Vincent rose slowly. “I find myself distracted.”

“I see… Is there anything I can do to help with your distraction?”

“Mm… Are you asking how you can be less distracting, or more so?”

“I hardly know. Which would you prefer?”

“More so, I think, since we are finished with work for today.”

Jane glanced about the room and pretended to misunderstand him. “But there is still more to do.”

“Yes.” He crossed the room and took her hand. “But this is the first time we have not had to work on New Year’s Eve, and… I fear you are over-heated.”

Jane put her free hand to her cheek, which was still damp with sweat. “That is true enough.”

Vincent covered her hand with his, and leaned down, lips parting. If the room had been warm before, Jane’s entire form seemed aware of the heat radiating off her husband and added her own. She leaned forward to meet him.

And the door burst open as Jane’s mother bustled in. “Oh, Jane! Sir David! Do see who has come to call.”

Vincent straightened and closed his mouth so quickly that his teeth clacked together. His face was quite red, though Jane was certain no redder than her own. He, at least, had the benefit of having his back to the door. Jane’s own blush must be fully apparent to the elderly gentleman who followed Mrs. Ellsworth into the nursery.

He was stout and had only a fringe of white hair around his pink scalp. His eyes twinkled as he glanced quickly about the room at the glamural in progress. There was about him such an blend of confidence and conviviality, that though Jane had never seen him before in her life, she was quite looking forward to making his acquaintance. She glanced at Vincent to see if he knew the man.

Vincent cleared his throat, cheeks still a little red, and turned. His face underwent a wonderful transformation as surprise mingled with obvious pleasure. “Herr Scholes!”

And then he spoke in rapid, yet stumbling German. Jane had heard him speak it often enough since their arrival to know that he was quite fluent, so the stammering must be from the emotion that showed with astonishing clarity upon his normally guarded features.

She could scarcely fault him, grateful as she was not to be immediately called upon to speak. Herr Scholes was accounted one of the great glamourists of the ages, and had taught Vincent years ago. While Jane knew that he resided in Vienna and had looked forward to meeting him, she would rather not have been in such an inelegant state.

She glanced around the room at the glamural. What would he think of her work? It was still unfinished. She bit the inside of her cheek and wished, rather desperately, that her mother had called them out of the nursery, rather than bringing Herr Scholes here.

Vincent switched back to English and held out his hand to Jane. “May I present my wife? Jane, Lady Vincent this is Herr Scholes, who taught me everything I know.”

Herr Scholes laughed. “Your husband exaggerates rather a great deal. Especially as he has told me of several things that you have taught him, Lady Vincent.”

Jane blinked in astonishment. Vincent had written to his mentor about her? To Herr Scholes. To the Herr Scholes, the world-famous glamourist. And said that he had learned things? From her? “That is very kind, and given how frequently he speaks of you, I think it is very little of an exaggeration.” She offered Herr Scholes her hand. “It is a very great honor to meet you, sir.”

He bowed over her hand. “The honour is mine.” He stood and smiled at her and at Vincent. “Now then, I have come with an invitation. Would the two of you give me the pleasure of your attendance at our New Year’s celebration?”

“I have fond memories of the party.” Vincent glanced at Jane, and in his raised brow, she read both the desire to go and also the willingness to decline if she should not wish to attend. She gave a small compression of her lips and a little nod. He turned back to his mentor. “We should be delighted, sir.”

“Good! Although…” Herr Scholes held up a finger, expression serious save for his eyes, which still twinkled. “I should warn you that I would very much like you to participate in the tableaux vivants that evening.”

“Th—thank you. Yes, sir. Yes. We should be honoured.” Vincent, who normally seemed ten years older than his one-and-thirty years, seemed now ten years younger. Jane could not recall seeing quite such an expression of earnest delight and embarrassment upon his features before.

“Very good.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, I have interrupted you at work so I shall take my leave.”

“Oh–” Vincent glanced around the room and ran his hand through his hair. “We are not working.”

With a tilt of his head, Herr Scholes regarded the sweat that still beaded upon Vincent’s brow, and Jane’s discarded fichu. She blushed, upon realizing that if they were not working then there would be only one other explanation for their state of dishabille. Herr Scholes winked at Vincent. “But I have interrupted you nevertheless, I think. I shall see you both at eight o’clock on New Year’s Night. You recall the way?”

“Yes, sir. I do, sir.”

“Good.” Herr Scholes paused in the door and looked back at Vincent. He spoke again, very briefly, in German with a warm smile. Whatever he said caused Vincent to blush and to stammer. He gave another wink, and then took his leave, shutting the door behind him.

Vincent found the nearest chair and dropped into it, staring at the door. Jane let out her own breath in a rush. The famous Herr Scholes looked altogether more like someone’s beloved grandfather than a great artistic force and yet, his presence had filled the room. Certainly, she had never seen Vincent quite so earnestly awkward. She crossed to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Hm?” He looked up with a dazed expression as though he had been deep in the ether. “Yes. Astonishingly so.”

“You seem…”

“Stunned?”

“Very much so.”

He nodded and reached up to take her hand. “I have not seen him in… ten years? We correspond regularly but the war prevented any visits.”

“And is he as you remember?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What did he say, there at the end, that caused you to blush so?”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “That I should stop calling him ‘sir’ to which I said ‘Yes, sir’.”

“Oh dear.” She bent and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “Shall we plan our tableau for the party?”

Vincent pulled her down on his lap. “I think… I think we had other plans that I should like to attend to first.”

Their plans for New Year’s Night were delayed as they were then occupied for some minutes, although Vincent did pause his attentions to lock the door.

To Be Continued…