It wasn’t always this way, though, and she knew that.
Still, the fact that she could acknowledge that life was not easy was the best bit of evidence that she was not Marianne.
I am not following Byron around because of some kind of infatuation,she said to herself, firmly.
Of course, she really was sort of infatuated with him, she had to admit that to herself. He was too young for her, too rich for her, and too much of a scoundrel for her. The idea of marrying someone like Byron was entirely out of the question.
He was too young to be looking for a marriage, anyway. Men of his class and station often waited until they were Jane’s age, ironically, while women Jane’s age were hopelessly too old for anyone to want them.
But when he did, he would marry for respectability and money, Jane was sure of it. Byron had made lots of comments about not having money. That was common enough amongst the peerage, truly, being titled but penniless. Byron would want an heiress of some kind, someone whose wealth he could pilfer himself. And he already had a reputation of being less than proper and so he would want someone who would make him look better.
Jane was not and could not ever be considered for the role.
I don’t want to marry a man like that,she thought.
She did not. The infatuation, it wasn’t that sort of infatuation.
So, that was, perhaps, the danger.
Because, would a man like Byron dothatwith her? Would he have a sordid affair with her?
Yes, in an instant, no thought, no questions asked. She did not get the impression that Byron was very choosy about that sort of thing, but men never were.
Women, on the other hand, were not afforded the option of not being choosy. They must be quite careful about which men they associated with, for if they were not, it was calamity. There was much more risk in it for women than there was for men.
You’re not considering this,she scolded herself.
Well, she was considering it, but she wouldn’t do it. Jane had never so much as kissed a man. She likely never would, and this sometimes seemed a bit of a pity to her, that she would be denied all of the experience of it, simply because it wasn’t considered proper. When she was younger, she had been much more inclined to follow the rules. Now that she was older, she felt differently. So, perhaps, in the right situation, with the right man, and if such a thing were quite plainly kept secret from absolutely everyone—most especially from her mother and Cassandra—then maybe she would indulge.
He’s entirely the wrong man for that,she thought to herself.
Even so, the infatuation was there, and she must be on her guard, must make sure that she did not let herself slide into Byron’s clutches.
When she arrived home, he helped her down from her horse, and he said he’d take this one back with him, and she wondered if his intention in all of this was to keep his horses together.
He had to touch her to help her down, and he touched her in too many places. He didn’t just clutch her hand but he put his other hand on her waist and it was heavy and male and large, and she should have told him to move it, but she didn’t.
Instead, she stood there, next to the horse, clutching his hand, looking up at him in the darkness while he searched her gaze. What he was looking for there, she wasn’t certain.
“You have to be honest with me.” Her voice was hushed. “If you killed her, I need to know.”
“You think, if I had actually murdered a woman, I would simply confess it to you because we are standing together in the cover of darkness?” His lips quirked into a smile.
“Can you not deny it, then?”
“As you say, Miss Jane, my memory of the night is patchy. I can’t say what I did.” He was rueful. He looked over her head, now, not into her eyes.
She squeezed his hand. “Well, it was likely poison. That’s, as you say, cold and calculated. So it would not point to being something one did while being too drunk.”
His gaze returned to her. “Just so,” he said softly. “Thank you for that.”
She smiled at him.
He smiled back.
Then, abruptly, he let go of her. “Quite sorry. I don’t know what I was doing there.” He backed away, brushing at hisclothes. “You’re back home, safe and sound. I suppose I shall take my leave of you.”
“Yes, good night,” she said.
