Glamour in Glass by Kowal Mary Robinette

Author:Kowal, Mary Robinette [Kowal, Mary Robinette]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2012-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

When she returned to the Chastains’ home, Jane practised French with Anne-Marie, who was wild to hear about the French officers. Jane found it not at all surprising that she had already met young Lieutenant Segal and was quite in raptures about him. It seemed that he had been making the rounds of Binché society without regard for social distinctions. He was quite the favourite, and Jane was forced to admit that she could understand why, for his manners were appealing even if the content of his remarks was impertinent.

Her mind still troubled by their conversation and the way in which she had been unable to defend her countrywomen, Jane retreated to the drawing room and the pianoforte. In many ways, the solitary pursuit of music best suited her temperament, and Jane applied herself to it in an effort to make up for the deficiency of glamour accompanying it. She tried to see it as a blessing that she could focus on but one aspect of performance, but in truth she missed the glamour too much to be content with mere sound.

She finished playing an air by Rossini, one which she thought the Prince Regent might enjoy, recalling as she did his fondness for the composer. She then leafed through the pages toward the beginning, in search of a passage which had troubled her.

“That was very pretty.” Vincent said from the door.

Jane turned, surprised at how much her heart sped at the sight of her husband. She could not help but compare him to Lieutenant Segal, who might have more elegance to his carriage, but had none of Vincent’s strength. “How long have you been back?”

“Since the coda.” He came in and sank into the chair closest to her, weariness evident in the sag of his shoulders. “Play it again?”

Jane did, letting her attention drift from the page to her husband’s face. He listened with his eyes closed, brows drawn a little together in concentration. As she played, his tension slackened and slowly, slowly, his head tilted forward until his chin rested on his chest. Jane kept playing long after he had clearly fallen asleep and begun to snore. She could not suppress a smile at this. Her husband had the tiniest snore in the world, more like a small cat than a barrel-chested man. It pained her to see him so tired, but she had no way to relieve his fatigue if he insisted on making the ride to Brussels so often.

Bringing the music to a close, Jane let the notes fade from the room until the only sound was the faint wheeze of Vincent sleeping. It was impossible, seeing him so reduced by fatigue, to have anything but tenderness in her heart toward him. Her husband stirred and lifted his head, his eyelids still heavy. “That was lovely.”

“Thank you.” Jane did not point out that he had slept through the most of it. “Shall I ring for some dinner for you?”

“No, thank you. I have already eaten.”

“Were you

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