She checked the kitchen door and the windows, although it was rather pointless. Byron would be able to get into the house if he really wanted to. But it made her feel better to do it. Afterward she sat down in a chair by the fire. Although she enjoyed it, she didn’t have to sleep, and she thought she might as well stay up and make sure Lucy was safe. A moment later Tom jumped into her lap and curled up.
Jane opened up a book and started to read, but her thoughts kept returning to Byron. Would he really leave them alone? As much as she wanted to believe that the ruse had convinced him that he had no options left for blackmailing her, she wasn’t satisfied that this was the case. Lucy couldn’t play at being a vampire forever, and eventually he would see through her disguise. As for Walter, it would take only one pointed conversation with him for Byron to see that he had no idea what was going on.
Jane was relying on Byron’s pride to be his undoing. He hated losing, particularly in matters of the heart, and she hoped that what he believed to be his defeat in that arena would force him to leave. If he didn’t, she was going to have to tell Walter, and despite what she’d said to Byron, she wasn’t at all sure that Walter would be as understanding as she’d made him out to be.
“Did I make a mistake?” she asked Tom. He looked at her for a moment, yawned, and went back to sleep.
“I thought you’d say that,” said Jane.
She returned to the book. The beginning was slow, and she hoped it would get better. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 18
She longed to show the poems to Charles. She wanted to hear him read them aloud, and ached to know his opinion of them. Yet the thought of disclosing her passion to him and risking the possibility that he might laugh at her was worse even than having him turn away in disgust at learning of her involvement with Jonathan Brut.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?”
Jane and Lucy exchanged a glance as they waited for Walter to answer Jane’s question.
“He’s gone,” Walter repeated. “He left last night. Apparently there was some kind of family emergency back home. I went over this morning to do some final touch-up work on the veranda railing, and I found this taped to the door.” He waved a crumpled piece of paper at them.
Jane stifled a smile. “It was a bit rude to just leave you a note,” she said.
Walter sniffed. “Writers,” he said. He looked at Jane. “Sorry.”
Lucy, busy unpacking a box of books, said, “That’s too bad. He seemed like an interesting man.”
“That’s not the word I’d use,” said Walter. “I mean, I understand if there’s an emergency, but to just take off like that?”
Jane was having difficulty containing her excitement. If Byron really had gone (and she wasn’t completely convinced that he had), then her plan had worked more beautifully than she’d hoped. But she couldn’t appear too pleased in front of Walter, who had no idea what Byron had wanted to do to him.
“I have to get back to work,” Walter said testily. “I just had to tell somebody.”
Jane affected a look of pity. “It’s all right, Walter,” she said. “These things happen.”
Walter mumbled something unintelligible in reply. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
When he was gone, Lucy turned to Jane. “We did it!” she squealed, jumping up and giving Jane a big hug.
“Possibly,” Jane agreed. “We still need to keep our eyes open. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Too bad we didn’t have him autograph a few of these before he left,” Lucy said. She dropped a copy of The Complete Poems of Lord Byron on the counter. Jane looked at it for a moment.
“So you did hear me,” she said. “I wondered.”
“You know, I thought he seemed a little familiar,” said Lucy. “But I figured he just looked like some actor I’d seen or some guy who’d come into the store before. Then when you called him Byron it occurred to me where I’d seen him before. On this book jacket.”
Jane studied the portrait on the cover. “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” she said.
“Mmm,” said Lucy. “He’s a hottie all right. A lying, cheating, blood-sucking hottie.” She leaned against the counter. “So, who does that make you?”
“Why do I have to be somebody?” Jane asked. “Perhaps I’m just some ordinary woman who got involved with the wrong kind of man. Is that so unusual?”
“You could be,” Lucy admitted. “But I don’t think so.”
Jane squinted her eyes. “And why not?” she asked.
“Because,” Lucy replied, squinting back, “I found this on your dresser.” She held up a locket. It was open, and inside was a small watercolor portrait of Cassie.
“You spied!” Jane yelped.
Lucy shook her head. “Actually, I didn’t. I went into your room to see if you had a hairbrush I could borrow. This was open on the dresser.”
“But you stole it,” Jane said. “That’s even worse.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I didn’t steal it,” she said. “I borrowed it. To compare it to the portrait in this.” She held up one of the several Jane Austen biographies the store carried. It was opened to a portrait of Cassandra. “They’re practically the same,” Lucy said.
“So I have a picture in a locket that resembles that one,” Jane said. “What of it?”
Lucy snapped the book shut. “The jig is up,” she said. “Out with it.”
Jane shuffled some papers on the counter. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Yes, that’s Cassie. And yes, I’m …” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Jane Austen,” Lucy said in a gloating tone. “You. Are. Jane. Austen.” She enunciated each word separately. Then she stood with her mouth open, staring at Jane. “You’re Jane Austen,” she said again, this time in a voice filled with awe. “Jane Austen. You’re Jane Austen.”
“I know,” Jane said. “You don’t have to remind me quite so many times.”
Lucy shook her head as if trying to wake herself up. “This is too weird,” she said. “I was okay with the vampire thing. I mean, that’s freaky, but I was okay with it. And I was even okay with the Byron thing. But this—this is just too much.” She stared at Jane. “You’re Jane freaking Austen!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Jane said. “Yes, I’m Jane Austen. And I’m a vampire. And it is, as you say, too freaking much. But that’s how it is.” She was talking loudly. She took a moment to calm herself before speaking again. “I’m sorry,” she told Lucy. “I forget that you haven’t had as much time as I have to process this.”
“It’s all right,” said Lucy. “I think I’m over it.”
Jane looked up. “What? A moment ago you were acting as if you’d just seen Father Christmas.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m over it,” Lucy said. “I’m funny like that.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” asked Jane. “Do you need to lie down or something?”
“You look different from your portrait,” Lucy said. “Prettier.”
Jane blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “Cassandra had some talent as an artist, but I’ve always thought that portrait makes me look a bit mousy. Also, I’ve changed my hair, you know.”
A smiled flashed across Lucy’s face. “Does Walter know he’s dating Jane Austen?” she asked.
“No,” Jane said quickly. “And he’s not going to. Lucy, promise me you won’t say anything. If you do, I’ll tell him you’ve gone mad or have a terrible addiction to painkillers or something.”
“Relax,” said Lucy. “I’m not telling anyone. For one thing, I wouldn’t do something like that. For another, I owe you for saving me from being the vampire love slave to Lord Byron.” She hesitated. “Actually, maybe I should be mad at you for that.”
“I just don’t know how I would tell Walter,” Jane said. “Of course I should tell him.”
“Are you kidding?” said Lucy. “Do you know what kind of pressure that would put on the poor guy?”