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as the last of the ties on her gown came free. “I have a certain understanding of that, in this moment.”
    Jane raised her eyebrows, heat flooding her cheeks. “Oh?”
    “Indeed.” He crossed the room and brushed her hair back from her face. “Our host did ask us to sleep in. I should hate to forswear that promise.”
    “With your injury? You astonish me.”
    “I very much hope to.” Vincent picked Jane up and carried her back to bed.
    *   *   *
    When they exited their bedchamber, they discovered that their host had been called away in the morning and would not have been at home even if they had emerged when they first awoke. His staff, however, made them comfortable, and said that the signore had urged them to make use of the palazzo. It was a glorious structure, filled with rare antiques and art by the best painters.
    They had been offered a light repast on the balcony by their host’s cook, Letizia, a delightful older woman with hair still dark in spite of her years. She had left them with plates of dried figs, olives, and pastries, and a shining silver bell should they require anything else. The sunlight rippled upon the canal and reflected back upon the boats that plied the water.
    It was easy to loose oneself in watching the gondolas speed back and forth on their various errands, and though Jane knew that it was no more unusual than the street traffic in London, the novelty made it charming. The houses, too, with their marble entrances straight to the canal, seemed the most delightful of prospects.
    Signor Sanuto arrived later that afternoon as Jane and Vincent were sitting on the balcony overlooking the canal. Their host’s gondola, with the traditional low profile, had been polished until it shone. Inlaid silver picked out the details in the wood.
    The signore stuck his head out of the black coffinlike cabin on the low boat, hallooing them from the water in Italian. “I shall be up in a moment. It is good to see you.”
    The gondola turned into the water entrance to the palazzo, sliding from view to allow their host to step out of the water directly into his home. Not long after, he appeared in the parlour and limped towards the tall glass doors to the balcony. Jane rose to meet him as he walked outside, leaning heavily on his cane with his limp much exaggerated. “Signor Sanuto, are you well?”
    “I was about to ask the same of you, my dears.” He smiled at them, but the skin around his eyes seemed pinched.
    “We are well, thank you.” Jane urged him to sit and laughed. “I am afraid I must offer you your own refreshments. Your cook has been so good as to lay out this nice table for us.”
    “I would take a little wine and enjoy the afternoon with you. Letizia is wonderful. She has been with the family since my father’s time.” He shifted in his seat and winced. “I have been thinking of you all day and feeling dreadful to have abandoned you here.”
    “I have never felt so comfortable in my life.” Jane did the honours as hostess and poured a glass of the excellent amarone that Letizia had set out. She must have known her master would want some, for she had laid out three glasses.
    “That is exactly what I wished to hear.” He accepted it and saluted her. “Now. Tell me what brings you to Venice. We do not see so many Englishmen since the Republic fell.”
    Jane hesitated, trying to decide what to say. The reason they had given her family—that of visiting Lord Byron—was only an excuse, required by her mother’s want of discretion. They had therefore agreed to tell no one of the glamour in glass unless absolutely necessary. Vincent, in particular, after seeing how his Sphère Obscurcie had been turned into an instrument of war, was loath to share the knowledge that they had come up with a way not only to record glamour but also to move with it. And yet their host had been so kind, so very generous, that she felt they could trust him. She glanced to Vincent. He had a small