Mrs. Beaumont’s eyes filled with tears as she rand her hand over the baby’s tiny head, stroking the little wisps of his hair. “He is perfect, is he not?”
“You are clearly quite well enough to be up and moving, so we shall work out our daily schedule to go and see him from now on. I have been remiss in thinking you needed more time to rest. Obviously, you need to see the babe.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Beaumont. “Yes, this is enough. This is all I need. I don’t need to see him after all.”
Mrs. Attleby’s brow furrowed and she met Jane’s gaze across the room.
Jane found it curious, also.
“See whom, ma’am?” said Mrs. Attleby.
“No,” said Mrs. Beaumont, shaking herself. “No, no, what am I saying?” She tightened her grip on the babe. “I have him, do I not? He is right here in my arms. Yes, of course, all along, I wished for my little one. That is who I wished to see.”
Jane did not think itwasthe babe. But before she could open her mouth to ask a question, Mrs. Attleby said, “Perhaps you need a bit of time to yourself, ma’am. We shall leave you to it.”
“Of course,” said Jane and started out of the room.
Mrs. Attleby followed.
“Jennifer,” called Mrs. Beaumont from the bed. “Stay.”
So, Mrs. Attleby stayed, but Jane left the room.
Outside the bedchamber, she was in a hallway upstairs in the Beaumont house. She knew the general direction of the stairs, and she started off for them. She was not quite sure what she was going to do now. Her errand had been to find Lord Byron, but now, perhaps she should simply take her leave and walk home. She had walked far and wide, what with going out after Mrs. Beaumont and back again. She was a bit tired.
She got to the stairs and descended them.
But upon alighting on the main floor of the house, she thought to herself that she had not come all this way for nothing. She could not say that she had been walking and not paying attention to how she got here, she supposed, but she could use the excuse with Mrs. Beaumont for her presence. He might still be awful about it, teasing her for coming after him, but she didn’t care. She was already here, after all.
She went to find a servant and inquire about Lord Byron, and the servant’s face got pinched. “I doubt he’s in any shape to receive visitors.”
“What are you saying?” said Jane. “Is he ill?” To think, she hadn’t even considered that.
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” said the servant. “But only from too much drink and not enough sleep.”
Truly?
“I can take you to him, ma’am, but I can’t account for whether he’ll be amenable to allowing you in.”
They went through the house to a sitting room on the main level, but the sitting room was shut up tight, and when the servant opened the door a crack, Jane could see it was dark in there.
A voice from within. “I have told you not to enter, have I not? I shall ring if I want anyone to come in!”
“You have, my lord,” said the servant, very dry. “But there is someone here who wishes to see you.”
“Tell them to go away,” called Byron’s voice.
The servant shrugged at her.
“My lord?” called Jane.
“Miss Jane.” Suddenly, there was the sound of movement from within the room. A moment later, Byron appeared, leaning into the open door, pushing it open. He was not dressed. She could see his shirtsleeves. His waistcoat was half undone. He was wearing no cravat. His hair was sticking up in strange ways and his eyes were bloodshot. He rubbed at the back of his head and looked her over. “What day is it?”
“What day is it?” repeated Jane.
“Did I promise to come to collect you?” he said.
“You, in fact, did not. I don’t know what I was expecting,” she said.
