Free Without a Summer by Mary Robinette Kowal Page B

to the coldmongers.”
    That Lord Verbury was here should cause no great wonder. He was, after all, an Earl, and as a peer he was likely to be in town for the Season. And yet it was beyond anything she had looked for to come upon him unawares in this manner. At Almack’s Assembly, or in a salon, perhaps that might have been expected; but outside in the snow seemed an ill-fitted place for such an encounter.
    In spite of her deep astonishment, Jane could not help but study Lord Verbury, seeing Vincent in his height and the lines of his back. Jane had met none of Vincent’s family in the time since their marriage, and, until Lady Penelope called, had assumed that she would not. Frederick Hamilton, the Earl of Verbury, had cast Vincent off when he decided to pursue a career in glamour. Jane’s one attempt to contact the man, when Vincent’s life had been in danger, had met with silence. She had had no desire to meet him since.
    Lord Eldon’s nostrils widened. “Do you insinuate something, sir?”
    “Should I?” Lord Verbury’s inquiry chilled in the air.
    “You seem to. I would rather you said it than hide behind a façade of seeming politeness.”
    With a shrug, Lord Verbury drew his walking stick across the snow, marking a line between them. “I have no need to insinuate anything. If you tell me that the coldmongers are not creating this unnatural cold, why would any right-thinking man dispute you? Your heritage is a matter of common knowledge. ‘Common’ is perhaps the best word for a man who was born a coldmonger’s son.”
    With that, Lord Verbury gave Lord Eldon his shoulder and turned on his heel. He was now facing Jane and Vincent, though his countenance betrayed nothing.
    Vincent’s arm tightened under her hand. He murmured, “In all likelihood, he will not even condescend to notice us.”
    “There you are.” Lord Verbury crossed the snow and stopped in front of them, planting his walking stick. “I was told you would be here.”
    “I did not have the same intelligence, alas.” Vincent’s voice was steady and easy, but his hand pressed Jane’s so firmly against his arm that her bones ached.
    “You might have, if you had spoken with Penelope.” Inclining his head, Lord Verbury seemed to see Jane for the first time. “This is your wife?”
    “Lady Vincent.” Jane could almost hear his teeth grate. “Allow me to present the Earl of Verbury.”
    “How do you do?” Jane dropped a curtsy, as was owed to mere filial duty.
    “Very well, thank you.” He bowed with a surprising degree of charm. “My son spoke so highly of you that I was disappointed when he did not bring you to our home.”
    “I—we have been quite busy.” Jane had not looked for anything like interest from all she had heard of Vincent’s father. She had rather expected a dismissal.
    “Perhaps we might remedy that, since we are all in London.” That courtesy was all the attention the Earl paid her, fixing again on Vincent. “I had heard the Prince Regent honoured you with a knighthood. The Royal Guelphic Order, I understand. I congratulate you.” He tucked his chin in, the same way that Vincent did when thinking. Jane shivered. “It seems that your chosen profession is turning out to be a benefit rather than the stigma I expected.”
    “Do I hear an admission of a mistake?” Vincent’s voice was admirably level.
    Lord Verbury pursed his lips. After a moment, he looked at the ground. “You hear a wish to repair the relations with my son.”
    “I must admit this comes as something of a surprise.” Through his coat, Jane could feel Vincent trembling, but he gave no visible sign of how deeply affected his sensibility was. Had she not known him, she might have thought he was indifferent.
    “A surprise that I should have an interest in my son?”
    “You have not shown one thus far.”
    “What do you expect? You came to me a year and a half ago, asking to return so you could marry, and then threw me over again.” He