Jane and the Damned (15 page)

She leaned forward and placed a hand on his wrist. His pulse hurtled and she sensed the pain and humiliation that lay beneath his stoic façade—the burden of his defeat and the men for whose deaths he had been responsible.

“I trust I may provide you with some solace, sir. Will you not call me Jane?”

“My pleasure, ma’am—Jane, that is. My name is John.”

She laid her fan on the sofa and slipped her hand inside the collar of his shirt, overwarm skin and rough hair. She’d never touched a man so, never even thought of daring to slide her hand below the cambric of a shirt. His heart thudded in time with the pulse in his neck. His hair was touched with gray and curled into the back of his neck and over his ears.

She leaned into him, placing her other hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep, sudden breath.
I have power over him.
She touched her tongue to his neck and to the taste of sweat and bay rum, wine, and tobacco. Her canines sank into his neck and the blood pulsed onto her tongue, a rich tide of pleasure and strength.

He groaned and placed his hand on hers, large and rough, the hand of a soldier, as she drank his sadness and defeat away.

Jane woke on the sofa where she had settled after dancing for several hours and reflected on how she had spent the previous night. In fact she had enjoyed herself thoroughly. She wished she could tell Cassandra about it, but that was impossible. What would Cassandra say if she knew her sister had languished in the arms of a gentleman she barely knew, and if that wasn’t bad enough, had drunk his blood to their great mutual enjoyment? She didn’t know which would shock her sister more.

On the other hand, there had been some very interesting gowns and headdresses, and she had danced and flirted with several partners, including Poulett, who was shy and grateful and apt to tread on her toes. To her relief there was no sign of him, for meeting in cold daylight after the intimacy of the previous night could only be awkward.

“Devil take it, daylight,” someone else grumbled; so at least one of the household was awake.

“I’m hungry,” said a familiar, plaintive voice.

“Stow it, George.”

“But I am. I’m a big fellow, you know.” The Prince of Wales loomed over her. “Good morning, Jane.”

“Good morning.” She sat and looked around the room and wished she hadn’t. Opposite her on a sofa, Luke lay asleep between two women whose gowns were more off than on and wearing little else besides. Clarissa sprawled close by on a pile of pillows with three men clad only in cotton drawers.

“Messy, ain’t it?” said the heir to the throne with great cheerfulness. He walked over to the fireplace and tugged the bellpull to summon a servant. “They—we, that is—tend to favor sleeping in heaps. You’ll learn to fight today, you know. I want a cup of tea.”

Jane struggled to connect these seemingly unrelated sentences. Someone on the floor beside the sofa sighed and she looked down to see a young man who wore only a cushion on his lap. Really, she should be a little more shocked, should she not?

“I’m Jack, miss,” he said.

“Good morning, Jack.”

He blinked long beautiful eyelashes at her. “I need to be revived, if you please, miss, for I have to get to work.”

“To work?”

“Yes, miss, I’m a stonemason. I repaired an angel on the Abbey. It’s the one on the bottom on the right-hand side.”

“Stop chattering and get your bottom down to the kitchen, where it belongs,” a masculine voice growled. “And for God’s sake put some clothes on.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

After some scuffling around, Jack emerged more or less dressed. He bowed in a vague sort of way to the room at large, and left.

George gave a cry of triumph and pounced on a half-naked
woman, rolling her aside to pluck a gaudily embroidered waistcoat from the floor. “I knew I’d left it somewhere. I’m going downstairs for some tea.”

Jane rose and followed him, stepping carefully between sleeping bodies sprawled on pillows.

“One thing puzzles me,” she said to George as they went down the stairs. “Everyone seems to tolerate daylight quite well.”

“If you stay up all night you sleep most of the day. I never go to bed before four, generally. It’s thought to be vulgar to be seen in daylight, that’s all. I daresay they—we—might have fried in sunlight once upon a time, but that’s long past. Of course, some of them don’t sleep at all, but they’re old.” He opened the door to the dining room. “Good morning, sir.”

William, impeccably dressed, sat at the dining-room table, drinking tea with a slender young man. He nodded at George and ignored Jane. She had not expected him to be other than indifferent to her. Could he feel her misery at his coldness? She suspected that he could and attempted to block off her feelings from him.

The other man, dressed in an elegant dark blue coat and tan buckskins, rose. Glossy dark brown curls tumbled over his brow, and his face was just saved from prettiness by a bumpy nose. “Why, Your Highness—George—it’s true—you’re one of us!”

“George!”

“You cannot both be called George, it’s damned confusing,” William said. “Try numbers.”

“I may anticipate myself by taking on the number four,” the Prince of Wales proclaimed.

“But damn it, we can’t find two more Georges for your sake; your head will be even more swelled than usual,” said the other with easy familiarity. “And which number would I take? But won’t you introduce me?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the future King said. “This is Jane. She’s a lady novelist, you know.”

“Indeed? Your servant, ma’am. George Brummell.” He looked at Jane with interest. “What do you write?”

“Very little, at present.”

“Of course, these times are not conducive to literature. George, go and find Luke, there’s a good fellow.”

Jane had been trying to adapt herself to the laxness of life among the Damned, but seeing the Prince of Wales ordered to fetch someone as though he were a lackey was astonishing, far more shocking than the casual nudity and debauchery she had witnessed upstairs. Even more surprising was the enthusiasm with which George left the room on his errand. She stole another look at George Brummell, admiring his pale, handsome face, and thought he might well be much older and more important than she had at first thought.

“Well?” William said.

She stared back at him and poured herself a cup of tea she didn’t want, pleased that her hands did not shake. “Good morning to you, sir.”

As she left the room she met Luke and George coming down the stairs, Luke rubbing his hair and yawning. “Ridiculously early, but I hope there’s some good news from London. What are you doing down here, Jane?”

“I invited her,” George said, and muttering again of cups of tea, returned to the dining room.

“You did quite well last night,” Luke said.

“I’m gratified I did not cause you any embarrassment.”

“I too.” He paused. “You may return to your family. Oh, heavens, don’t look at me like that. You will return, of course. Clarissa will call on you later this morning to invite you to take the
waters and you’ll return here. We must teach you to fight with the others, after all.”

“Very well. Luke, I don’t understand. What can we do that the militia cannot?”

He smiled. “We are not just a handful of the Damned in Bath. There are thousands of us all over the country, fighting the French, and we do not need the Royal Mail to keep us informed. We are superior at night, curfews mean nothing to us, and by nature we are stronger and faster than any well-trained soldiers—even a fledgling such as you. What’s wrong?”

“When … when first I met William I accused him—us, the Damned—of being merely irresponsible and interested only in self-gratification.”

“And so we are,” Luke said. “We do this for our own amusement and because the royalty of England, sorry clods though the present lot may be, have been kinder to us than the revolutionaries of France.”

“I see.” She lingered while Luke tapped one impatient foot. “I don’t want to go home. Well, it is not my home, but I hate being there. I hate deceiving my family.”

“The choice was yours,” Luke said.

“I see I am to get little sympathy from you.” Greatly daring, she extended her canines at him.

He laughed. “I’ll send a footman with you.
Au revoir,
my dear jane.”

“Every morning I wake and for a few seconds all is well.” Cassandra stabbed her needle into her embroidery. “And then I remember that England is invaded and you are unwell and there is a French officer here in our house—well, not our house, but our aunt and uncle’s house, and we don’t even know if they live or not—and we cannot send letters. And I must keep my spirits
up because maybe that will help Mama. At least you have some friends.”

“Fellow invalids,” Jane said. “We have the most tedious conversations about our illnesses. Where is the Frenchman?”

“Out. He’s out most of the time. He did not dine with us last night but came home late, and we were glad for there was more food for us. Oh, Jane, you look so thin and pale.”

“I am well enough.” What Cassandra interpreted as a sign of illness Jane recognized as the pallor and lean beauty of a vampire. She stole a look at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the morning-room fireplace; sure enough, her cheeks, formerly round and pink, inspiring her brothers to compare her to a well-fed dormouse, were now hollow, her cheekbones sharp. Was there a slight fuzziness in her reflection?

She reached for the teapot. “I’ll take Mama some tea. Where is Papa?”

“Out trying to get us a pass to go home, for when you are well, that is.”

Jane laid a hand on her sister’s, bracing herself against the wash of emotions. “I am sorry. I feel you deal with everyone’s distress.”

“I do. And the worst of it is, Jane, that I am so bored!” Cassandra gave a little gulping sob. “It is a dreadful thing to say, for this is a terrible time, and I daresay we shall tell our grandchildren of how we lived through this historic event; in fact, we shall bore them to death, I am sure. But everything is so wretched, and the servants complain to me interminably of how difficult it is to buy food, and I hate cooking, but I must do something.”

“You do quite enough, acting as the only sensible person in this house.”

“But I don’t want to be sensible. I want to go shopping! I want to go to card parties and assemblies! I want to dance and flirt!”
Cassandra gave a horrified laugh. “Oh, heavens, Jane, you know what I mean. I want none of this to have happened.” She tossed aside her embroidery and laid her face on her folded arms. “To think that a visit to Bath was once synonymous with pleasure.”

Jane patted her shoulder, helpless. “I am so sorry,” she mumbled. “Believe me, there is nothing I should like better than for everything to be as it was before.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Cassandra’s voice was muffled. “None of it was anyone’s fault.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’amselle Austen and ma’amselle Jane.” Captain Garonne stood at the doorway. He held a newspaper in his hand. “I came to bring you this … it is the newspaper. I do not wish to disturb you.”

Cassandra straightened and grabbed her embroidery, her head turned aside so the captain would not see her reddened eyes.

“Thank you, sir. Do you dine with us tonight?” Jane tried to make the question as unfriendly as possible.

“I believe so.” He crossed the room to lay the newspaper on the table. “Here it says there is to be a concert and fireworks at Sydney Gardens tomorrow night to celebrate the friendship between the French and English in this town. I should like to offer to escort you ladies, if it is agreeable with all. I know my uncle, our commander, General Renard, would find your company delightful.”

“I regret my health does not permit me to attend such events,” Jane said. “Neither do I feel, Captain, that there is much friendship to celebrate.”

He bowed. “I shall wish you good day, then.”

Cassandra waited until the front door closed as the captain left the house. “Jane, what has come over you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It is not like you to be so rude. Would it harm us to go out and have a little pleasure?” Cassandra picked up the newspaper and leafed through it. “Why, here is the announcement. There are to be refreshments and a concert and fireworks, as the captain said. You know, he is quite a handsome man now he has rested and shaved. He looked like a brigand when first he came into the house. I shall ask Mama—”

“I beg of you that you shall do no such thing!” Jane cried. “We are at war, Cassandra! He is an unwelcome guest in this house, this city, this country—
our
country. How can you even think of such a thing?”

Cassandra looked taken aback at Jane’s show of passion. “Don’t you see, Jane—he has high connections. Maybe he can help Papa obtain a pass.”

“Oh. I suppose he could. I beg your pardon; I never thought of that.” Jane took the now cooling cup of tea she had poured for Mrs. Austen. She looked over Cassandra’s shoulder at the newspaper. “What a sad rag—all advertisements and no news. But Cassandra, we should not fraternize with our enemies. It is not right. I am sure Papa would agree.”