Jane and the Damned Read Online Free PDF

gave an annoyed squawk. “Pray lie down again, you let cold air in so.”
    “No, he didn‧t kiss me.” Had he? She remembered his mouth on hers and a sense of fading away and then fading back, if that were possible, and a deep and profound change that she could barely define. But she wouldn‧t think of that.
    “Liar. Did he kiss as well as Tom Lefroy?”
    She was silent. She rarely thought of Tom now. How foolish and innocent that seemed now; how young they had both been.
    “Jane, dearest,” Cassandra said. “We should not tease you, for you are not well, I know. But did anything—anything untoward happen with Mr. Smith? He did not hurt you?”
    Touched by her concern, Jane put her arm outside the bedclothes and hugged her sister. “He was a perfect gentleman.”
    “She‧s being ironical,” said Catherine, yawning. “We shan‧tget anything more out of her. A pity. He was so very handsome, wasn‧t he? But really, who would have thought to see their kind here in Basingstoke?”
    “I was pleasantly surprised. They were quite civilized. Why, they even danced, and Mr. Smith was quite pleasing in his manners, almost like a real gentleman.”
    “Or a duke.”
    “Not a duke. You have seen the wicked pictures of them. They are all so profligate and fat and disagreeable.”
    Their voices faded as they slid down into sleep, their bodies becoming heavier, pulses slowing and softening.
    Would she need to sleep? What would happen to her in the light of day? She ran through all the myths and rumors she had ever heard and wondered when a terrible wickedness would infect her. Was she always aware of others’ pulses in a quiet room? Or the sounds of a room that was almost quiet: the slight crackle of the fire, a rustle and pattering of a mouse (that rapid thrum—surely not the little creature‧s heartbeat?), the creak of centuries-old timber settling as the room cooled?
    So she did need to sleep after all, and she awoke hungry. Beside her, Cassandra, bedclothes up to her nose, snuffled quietly in her sleep. Although it was not quite light, it was later than they normally slept, and a maidservant, at her knees at the grate, made up the fire.
    Jane asked the girl to lace up her stays and gown, and swathed in a shawl, ventured out into the house in search of … breakfast. A cup of tea and some bread and butter would do very well, she assured herself. She descended the stairs with their elegant iron balustrade—it was a handsome house some hundred years old—and was hailed by a familiar voice, that of Catherine‧s brother, fifteen-year-old Harris Bigg-Withers.
    “Miss Jane! They told me you were here last night, but I had gone to bed by the time you came home.”
    “Good morning, Harris. Yes, we were out shockingly late; you know how dissipated Basingstoke is. You have been out walking?”
    He grinned, and slung his cloak over one arm. “Yes, and it‧s dreadfully cold.” He looked around. “Where is Flash? Why, you silly creature, come here. It‧s our friend Miss Jane.”
    Flash the spaniel growled and bared his teeth at Jane.
    “What‧s wrong with him?” she asked. Her heart sank. There was nothing wrong with the dog, but there was a great deal wrong with her.
    “I don‧t know, but if he has not better manners I shall send him out to the kennels. Lie down, sir!” He smiled at Jane, all shy boyish charm. “Will you come in to breakfast with me, ma‧am?”
    She placed her hand on his arm and, to her horror, his thoughts intruded into her head.
    She‧s so pretty but she thinks I‧m a child… Maybe when I am a man I shall marry her… I hope I shall be taller than her soon … I wish I could stop stammering when I speak to her—and that other thing, that dreadfully embarrassing thing, is happening, I do hope she does not notice …
    She snatched her hand away. “Yes—that is, I‧ll breakfast with you, Harris. And I‧ll tell you about the ball, as will Catherine, and Mrs. Bigg, and you will be heartily