even if she has sinned.”
“I did not sin,” Jane muttered to herself. She had flirted with a gentleman at a provincial assembly, something she had done before and would likely do again; in fact, if she had the opportunity at this moment she would flirt and enchant any available gentleman and sink her teeth … But she could not think in those terms, however hungry she might be. She concentrated on the breath and smell of the two footmen carrying the sedan chair, strong men whose blood would doubtless be invigorating and cheering.
How she longed for an etiquette book for the Damned. Surely there were guidelines on whom it was permissible to drink from, rather as the Church of England dictated that cousins could marry but niece and uncle could not. Would a servant expect a vail for allowing you to open a vein, and for how much? More than for calling a carriage, certainly, or handing around a tray of wineglasses. Was it indeed proper to expect a servant to perform such an intimate act?
For it was an act of great intimacy, and surely it must be a sin to think of such a thing. She peered out of the chair at the brief glimpses of passersby and cream stone buildings stained with soot and tried not to think of her hunger and the anonymous bodies of blood that passed nearby. If only she were stronger … But she could only become stronger by drinking …
A slowing pace, the glimpses of fashionable clothing, and the deep toll of the Abbey bell indicated that they were close to their destination. A slight tremor and the sedan chair came to a stopon solid ground. Jane drew the curtains back and took her father‧s offered hand.
“So we are to be fashionable, sir,” she said—more of an effort to put Mr. Austen at ease than anything else. He gazed at her with a mixture of affection and guilt, and, yes, fear; and if their hands had been bare she would have felt his emotions. “I shall not be your partner at whist anymore,” she added.
“What do you mean, Jane?”
“Your face reveals your feelings too clearly, sir. You have nothing to fear from me.”
He tucked his hand into her arm and held out his other hand to Mrs. Austen, who ignored him, concerning herself with the set of Cassandra‧s bonnet and in guiding her eldest daughter around a puddle.
Jane caught a slight scent of something sulphurous and bitter—it must be the water—before she and her family were caught up with the swell of fashionable people who paraded into the Pump Room. The Austen family received a few glances that faded from mild interest to indifference.
“I feel quite a dowd,” Cassandra remarked to Jane.
“It‧s quite remarkable that you feel well dressed when you leave the house, yet a mere fifteen minutes later are hopelessly aware of your failings in your gown and bonnet,” Jane replied. She was rewarded with a brave smile from her sister.
The scent of the water became stronger as they made their way across the room.
“Sit, my dear. I‧ll fetch you a glass,” Mr. Austen said.
Jane sank into the chair he offered. A few feet away, Mrs. Austen and Cassandra stopped to exchange pleasantries with a couple they knew slightly from a previous visit to Bath. Jane could not remember their names and did not want to waste precious energy on trivial conversation.
“I beg of you, ma‧am, do not do it.”
She turned in astonishment to see who had addressed her in a frantic whisper. A man of about thirty—or at least giving that appearance—slender and of medium height, with a fine-boned, handsome face. Dark eyes gazed at her beneath a head of tousled brown hair that sparked gold in the weak winter sunlight.
“I do not believe we have been introduced, sir.” But there was no need for an introduction; she recognized him for what he was, and allowed herself for the briefest of moments to meet his gaze. For the first time since she had become one of the Damned she felt a connection, a knowledge that she was talking with someone who
“I did not sin,” Jane muttered to herself. She had flirted with a gentleman at a provincial assembly, something she had done before and would likely do again; in fact, if she had the opportunity at this moment she would flirt and enchant any available gentleman and sink her teeth … But she could not think in those terms, however hungry she might be. She concentrated on the breath and smell of the two footmen carrying the sedan chair, strong men whose blood would doubtless be invigorating and cheering.
How she longed for an etiquette book for the Damned. Surely there were guidelines on whom it was permissible to drink from, rather as the Church of England dictated that cousins could marry but niece and uncle could not. Would a servant expect a vail for allowing you to open a vein, and for how much? More than for calling a carriage, certainly, or handing around a tray of wineglasses. Was it indeed proper to expect a servant to perform such an intimate act?
For it was an act of great intimacy, and surely it must be a sin to think of such a thing. She peered out of the chair at the brief glimpses of passersby and cream stone buildings stained with soot and tried not to think of her hunger and the anonymous bodies of blood that passed nearby. If only she were stronger … But she could only become stronger by drinking …
A slowing pace, the glimpses of fashionable clothing, and the deep toll of the Abbey bell indicated that they were close to their destination. A slight tremor and the sedan chair came to a stopon solid ground. Jane drew the curtains back and took her father‧s offered hand.
“So we are to be fashionable, sir,” she said—more of an effort to put Mr. Austen at ease than anything else. He gazed at her with a mixture of affection and guilt, and, yes, fear; and if their hands had been bare she would have felt his emotions. “I shall not be your partner at whist anymore,” she added.
“What do you mean, Jane?”
“Your face reveals your feelings too clearly, sir. You have nothing to fear from me.”
He tucked his hand into her arm and held out his other hand to Mrs. Austen, who ignored him, concerning herself with the set of Cassandra‧s bonnet and in guiding her eldest daughter around a puddle.
Jane caught a slight scent of something sulphurous and bitter—it must be the water—before she and her family were caught up with the swell of fashionable people who paraded into the Pump Room. The Austen family received a few glances that faded from mild interest to indifference.
“I feel quite a dowd,” Cassandra remarked to Jane.
“It‧s quite remarkable that you feel well dressed when you leave the house, yet a mere fifteen minutes later are hopelessly aware of your failings in your gown and bonnet,” Jane replied. She was rewarded with a brave smile from her sister.
The scent of the water became stronger as they made their way across the room.
“Sit, my dear. I‧ll fetch you a glass,” Mr. Austen said.
Jane sank into the chair he offered. A few feet away, Mrs. Austen and Cassandra stopped to exchange pleasantries with a couple they knew slightly from a previous visit to Bath. Jane could not remember their names and did not want to waste precious energy on trivial conversation.
“I beg of you, ma‧am, do not do it.”
She turned in astonishment to see who had addressed her in a frantic whisper. A man of about thirty—or at least giving that appearance—slender and of medium height, with a fine-boned, handsome face. Dark eyes gazed at her beneath a head of tousled brown hair that sparked gold in the weak winter sunlight.
“I do not believe we have been introduced, sir.” But there was no need for an introduction; she recognized him for what he was, and allowed herself for the briefest of moments to meet his gaze. For the first time since she had become one of the Damned she felt a connection, a knowledge that she was talking with someone who
Similar Books
