The feather, you silly girl. The black feather. The beautiful black feather.
Oh yes. She melted into the darkness and licked the blood from her lips.
In the street, the officer snapped out a command, and soldiers ran to the nearby houses, pulling doorbells and hammering door knockers.
Are they likely to blame the people who live there? Jane asked.
I think not. There are some very influential townspeople on this street and many of the French officers are quartered here.
Sure enough, half-dressed people erupted into the street, complaining vehemently of the rude awakening. “I am personally acquainted with General Renard!” one gentleman shouted, his nightshirt flapping around his legs. “This is a respectable area, sir! Call off your men.”
Windows were flung open and inhabitants in nightcaps leaned out to complain bitterly and loudly about the disturbance in the street, in French and in English.
Luke took Jane’s hand and led her away. We’ll go home to dine. You have blood on your lips still; you did better than I, for mine had his sword out and I barely had time to subdue him.
I shall share with you. Emboldened by the taste of hunted blood she pressed her lips to his. The kiss began as an experiment—would she learn more of him, this way?—but she learned only the greater mystery of desire as she discovered the sweetness of his mouth and fangs, and found herself trembling and clinging to him as though she would drown.
“You need not fear.” Luke smiled with great kindness and toyed with a stray lock of her hair.
“What shall we do now?” Her voice was breathless. Despite the blood she had taken she was weak and mortified that the kiss had affected her so much and him so little.
“We shall go home. I think our hunting is over for the night.”
“No, you and I. What do we do now? What about Margaret?”
He took her face between his hands. “My dear Jane, we have eternity, you and I, and there is no hurry. Delayed gratification is a pleasure in itself.”
She knew he sensed her disappointment and hurt, for as inexperienced as she might be, she recognized a subtle rejection. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Luke, I suppose you are right. Besides, I think I would rather like another of those lemon tarts and a glass of wine.”
He gave a shout of laughter and linked her hand in his arm. “Come, then. You’re a brave girl, Jane Austen.”
“Where have you been?” William met them as they entered the house on Queens Square. “Hunting,” Luke replied.
“You closed your thoughts to me; you know that is unwise. She”—he nodded at Jane—“withholds something from us. Let us talk in the study.”
As they walked through the dining room, Jane said, “She is able to speak for herself, sir. I do not know to what you refer.”
“A French officer resides in your house; Clarissa tells me he is the nephew of Renard.” He gestured that she sit in a chair but she remained standing. She did not want him towering over her.
“You know this is of vital importance. A child could make the connection.” He turned to Luke. “Did you know this?”
“Jane,” Luke said, “you know what William says is true. Why did you not tell me?”
His gentle remonstrance hurt her more than William’s harshness. “I will not have my family hurt by what I—what we do.”
“You’re a fool,” William said. “They have no claim on you now. You belong here, with us. It does not benefit you to cling to those mortals—”
“My family, who love me.”
“You are one of us now. But since you insist on maintaining your façade, you must serve us, your true family, well.”
“We must do what is important.” Luke reached for a bottle of claret and plucked three glasses from a shelf. “Jane, you shall befriend this officer. Find out from him what the plans of the French are in the city, and anything else useful he may have to tell us. It sounds as though your family are well on the way to welcoming him into their confidence. Has he invited your family to Sydney Gardens tomorrow night?”
“Yes, but—”
William stepped forward, his eyes fixed on her. Her head swam with his presence, his closeness, his attention. “There is no argument, Jane. I created you, and I can destroy you too. Do this or leave. What sort of future do you think you have, alone as a vampire? Rejected by your Creator, and of middling blood, and with no letters of introduction? Exile from your brothers and sisters is the greatest disgrace you as one of the Damned may suffer. You shall do as I say. Use what I have given you. You are a vampire, not a silly provincial miss.”
How dare he speak to her so! She retreated from his influence, tearing herself from his stern attention. Her fangs lengthened. “Careful, William, lest I write you into one of my books. You have given me much material so far—the supercilious London visitor at the provincial assembly, the faithless seducer, the gentleman too proud to acknowledge in public the woman he has wronged—”
Luke laughed and handed them both a glass of wine. “You’ll be sorry, William.”
“And letters of introduction? I have never heard anything so absurd in my life: Madam, I wish to introduce Miss Jane Austen, who is possessed of the most elegant en sanglant and whose manners and deportment in matters relating to blood and dining are unparalleled—”
William raised an eyebrow. “You may laugh, Jane, but you have much to learn.”
“Now that is something I long to learn. Can you raise one eyebrow while en sanglant?”
“You had best teach your fledgling better manners,” William said.
Luke smiled. “Oh, you know, I rather like her the way she is. I’d hate to see her turn into another Clarissa, or, devil take it, another Margaret.”
“Indeed. Another mess you have created and which you must clean up.”
The two men glared at each other, en sanglant. Jane tried to gauge the feelings that swept between them—jealousy, resentment, love—that had to represent a complex, centuries-old relationship.
“And, by the by, I have never been a silly provincial miss,” she added as a parting shot.
William spoke to Luke. “And I say again, teach her some manners. Jane, you’ll go to Sydney Gardens with your family tomorrow night.” He slapped his empty wineglass onto the desk and left, banging the door behind him.
Luke sank into a chair. “Please do sit. You roam around like a fierce animal.”
“Isn’t that what I am now?” She sat. “What is he to you? Have you been friends long?”
“A very long time, and, no, we are not exactly friends. He created me.”
“Oh! So you and I are brother and sister.”
“Brother and sister! I should think not.” He hesitated as if about to say something else, but continued, “He and I will be civil again soon enough. As for you and me, I’ll call in the morning as your physician and pronounce you cured.”
“Very well.”
“Come, we’ll dine now. But what’s the matter?”
She sighed. “Those were empty threats I made, Luke. I can observe episodes I should like to include in my books; I hear the odd turn of phrase or absurdity, but I cannot write. I tell myself I must remember what I see and hear, but maybe it is to no effect.”
He took her hand. “I must tell you the truth. I have never heard of any one of the Damned who distinguished himself in the arts or letters. It is not in our nature. I have heard of those gifted in one way or another whose skills disappeared as they matured as vampires. Were you to return to your mortal state I cannot say if your gift would return; no one knows.”
She regarded him with curiosity. “Then why did you not say so to William and take his part?”
He gave her hand a gentle shake. “Ah. I admire courage, Miss Jane Austen, even if you were in the wrong. You stood up to William with great bravery tempered with a generous dose of impertinence, and although he would never admit it, he admires you for it too. He would rather you fight back, even if it is with teasing and
ridicule, than to accept meekly his strictures.”
“Well, I suppose you know the gentleman better than I ever shall.” She hesitated and took her first sip of wine, her booted feet stretched toward the fire; although she did not require the warmth, she enjoyed the homely familiarity of a burning hearth. “Shall you and I become like that? As I become stronger, shall you and I fight?”
“Possibly. William and I, we have centuries of grievances and real and imagined ills upon which to draw. We are too alike, too close in years. I was his first fledgling, and he was but a century old when he created me, a mere stripling in our years.” He gazed into the fire. “You and I, we have all of eternity stretching before us and who knows where we shall go. I regret that you cannot make a clean break with your mortal family; it is infinitely preferable, for it is kinder to you, but these are unusual times.”
She kicked a glowing ember from the hearth into the fireplace. “I am to lose all I hold most dear. My family and my writing.”
“But think what you gain. Eternity, knowledge, power, beauty, love—yes, those small things. Jane, you are one of us. Come.” He stood and led her upstairs, his arm flung lightly around her shoulders.
She shook his arm off as they entered the drawing room and her feet sank into the carpet. Around her the Damned took their pleasures, the air golden with lamplight and thick with the scent of blood and desire.
“You make a handsome young man, miss.”
Jane turned to meet the admiring gaze of the young man she had met this morning. “So do you, Jack. That is, you are a handsome young man.”
“So I’ve been told, miss. It would be a great honor, miss, if you—”
A bolt of hunger shot through her and her canines extended with a familiar, pleasurable pain as he loosened his neckcloth. She looked to Luke for guidance; he gave a nod of approval.
You are one of us. We are your family.
She growled and pushed Jack onto a nearby sofa.
He obligingly presented his bared throat. “Would you care for me to undress, miss?”
She didn’t bother to reply as her fangs sank into his neck and his blood leaped to her tongue.
Chapter 12
“I am happy to announce a complete cure, Mrs. Austen. Your daughter is well again.”
Jane watched in fascination as Luke, sitting next to her mother on the sofa, gazed into her eyes. Cassandra, seated in a chair nearby, let her sewing fall onto her lap and seemed equally enthralled by his presence.
“Oh, my dear child!” Mrs. Austen said to no one in particular. “Yet she looks so thin, still. Her bloom has yet to return.”
“My sister is most anxious to have Miss Jane‧s company at the Pump Room. I think those visits, and a judicious use of the waters, should put matters to rights soon enough.” He paused. “I shall continue to accompany the ladies. It is safest, you know. And Miss Jane may resume her usual social activities.”
“There, you see, Jane!” Her mother turned to her. “You are well enough to join us this evening. I do so wish you could come with us, Mr. Venning. Sydney Gardens are quite delightful and they say there will be braziers and hot punch to keep us warm.”
“I regret my sister and I are otherwise engaged, ma‧am.”
Jane was silent. As she suspected, her father had given in to her mother‧s demands.
“You and your charming sister must dine with us,” her mother said, and then looked thoughtful. An invitation to dine these days, with an uncertain food supply, was not to be issued lightly.
“When we have enough food,” Jane said.
“Now, Jane, there is no need to embarrass Mr. Venning! He understands perfectly, I am sure.”
“I am sure he does,” Jane murmured. “We should want to give the gentleman what he is accustomed to for dinner, after all.” She sent Luke a sidelong look, exposing the merest hint of canine.
“Oh, do not talk nonsense,” her mother replied.
Luke cleared his throat. Jane was sure he was en sanglant. “My sister has mentioned that she would like Jane to stay with us as her companion. No, you need not make any answer just now, but Clarissa would be glad of some female company. Please give the idea some consideration.”
“That is most kind,” Mrs. Austen exclaimed, “but I do not think we can spare Jane just yet.”
After a few more minutes of conversation, about the severe weather and the lack of news combined with the proliferation of fantastic rumors, Luke bowed and took his leave.
“What a charming gentleman! It is a thousand pities he cannot accompany us to Sydney Gardens. I think he is quite taken with you, Jane. But what shall you girls wear tonight?” Mrs. Austen asked. Cassandra responded with great enthusiasm while Jane picked through a pile of papers on the table that her sister had collected, ready to paste them into her commonplace book, which lay, along with a container of flour paste and a brush, nearby. The collection was of the usual sorts of odds and ends Cassandra liked—illustrations cut from a fashion paper annotated with Cassandra‧s notes, a few scraps of fabric and trims, recipes and poems Cassandra had written out or copied, and drawings.
She paused at a sketch she had made of Cassandra and remembered vividly that day a month before the fateful Basingstoke assembly, one of the last fine days of autumn. They had gone on a long walk, finding a few late blackberries in the more sheltered spots, while Jane had talked of Marianne and Elinor and joked that the two sisters had almost as good a relationship as she and Cassandra did.
But maybe that‧s the problem with the book. Is not discord and the return to intimacy more interesting?
Maybe that‧s what she would do if, indeed, she ever wrote again.
“Leave that alone!” Cassandra smacked at her hand in a friendly sort of way and gathered her treasured collection of papers into a pile again. “Those are in order.”
“Oh, nonsense. Your commonplace book is chaotic.” She smiled at her sister. “Do you remember when I made this sketch?”
“Yes, indeed. Such a lovely day. On our walk you jumped into piles of leaves as though you were a child.”
“And you had blackberry stains around your mouth that I was kind enough to omit from this sketch.”
When they returned home, Jane had caught Cassandra in a few pen strokes as her sister tossed her bonnet aside and sat to remove her muddy boots, her cheeks pink with cold, her hair disordered, eyes bright. She looked particularly handsome and happy, and Jane believed then that Cassandra‧s pain at the death of her betrothed, Tom Fowle, had lessened, allowing her to enjoy life once more.
“Most well done, ma‧amselle Jane.”
She turned the drawing over, annoyed both at the interruption and that she had been so deep in recollection that she did not notice his entry into the room. “I did not know you were here, Captain.”
“I have only just arrived. But your drawing—may I not see it again?”
She handed the paper to him, conscious that she should approach him with a little more friendliness.
He looked at her drawing, then at her sister, and smiled. “This is indeed well done. It is as though she speaks on the paper.”
“Captain Garonne,” cried Mrs. Austen. “Such news! The physician says Jane is recovered from her illness and can accompany us tonight. What do you think of that?”
He looked up from her drawing. “But I thought you were not willing, ma‧amselle Jane. It was a matter of principle, you said.”
“I have taken guidance from my father, sir.” She did not want to appear too enthusiastic and rouse his suspicions. “He has persuaded me.”
“Ah. Very good.” He gazed at Cassandra. “A remarkable likeness. May I keep this drawing?”
Jane hesitated. No good could come of the captain‧s evident admiration of her sister—for she was certain his interest in the drawing and the subject could mean only one thing. Cassandra, meanwhile, on the other side of the room, was deep in discussion about gloves and muffs and whether her cloak would look dowdy.
&nbs
p; “Very well.” Jane watched as he rolled the drawing and placed it inside his coat.
“Your family must be very happy that you are returned to health. The waters are extremely beneficial, I believe. Many of our officers take advantage of them.”
Not wishing to prolong the conversation, Jane excused herself and went upstairs to dress. Cassandra joined her, much excited, chattering of how many woolen petticoats they should wear, and how fortunate they were that it was a fine, if cold, night.
“I believe the captain admires you,” Jane said.
“Indeed? I find him quite agreeable. I hope my ears will not turn red in the cold, although he told us there will be braziers and the temperature will be quite adequate. I intend to dance all night to keep warm. I hope you are strong enough to dance. I believe we shall not lack for partners.”
Jane made a noncommittal answer and dropped her gown over her head. “Cassandra, do you think my book would be better if Marianne and Elinor did not agree with each other so much?”
“But I love that about the book. They are so like you and me.” Cassandra turned so Jane could tie her gown closed.
“But it does not make for a good story. They are too much alike. What if they did not confide so freely in each other?” As I am compelled to do now.
“I don‧t think I‧d like that.” Cassandra sat on the bed to pull on a fresh pair of stockings. “But I understand what you mean. Harmony is for real life, not for literature. But how can you convey the keeping of secrets if we read only letters between them?”
“Maybe there should be narrative, too.”
Cassandra paused in fastening a necklace. “I am so happy you feel well enough to write again.”
Jane tried not to watch the pulse beat in her sister‧s neck. The only positive thing she could find about the night‧s outing was that she would not need any woolen petticoats.
Garonne escorted the Austen family into the inn that served as entry to Sydney Gardens, Cassandra and Mrs. Austen on his arms, while Jane and her father followed behind. Jane could tell her father was dispirited and gloomy, both at his failure to procure passes for them and at his surrender to Mrs. Austen‧s demands.
Jane and the Damned Page 14
