Release date 3/15/26
Amazon
Enjoy this sneak peek at the first chapter!
CHAPTER ONE
THE SECOND TIME Miss Jane Austen met Lord Byron, she found him considerably less pleasant than the first time. This was really saying something, because the first meeting was, by no means, very pleasant at all.
The second meeting found Lord Byron to be rather excitable and full of a great deal of anxiety. He was quite insistent that Miss Austen must assist him during the second meeting.
In the first meeting, he was, instead, quite calm, quite amused, rather droll, in fact. He seemed as if he were the sort of man who was unbothered by anything or anyone.
The meetings took place in Jane’s own house, well, the house where she lived with her mother and her sister Cassandra. It was really her brother Edward’s house, if one wanted to be entirely precise about it, for he was the one who owned it. It had been, however, reserved entirely for his mother’s and sisters’ use. They lived there with their two housemaids, a cook, and a manservant. It was nothing luxurious, nothing like wherever it was Lord Byron lived, of course, but it was very comfortable.
This, obviously, is what she said to Lord Byron. “You must forgive us for the shabbiness of our reception, but we had absolutely no warning you were to arrive today,” she said to him, and she tried to keep ire out of her voice when she said this, for several reasons.
One, it didn’t do to be rude to guests. It wasn’t hospitable, and Jane prided herself on following the basic rules of human decency.
Two, she had a tendency to be termed a bit sharp by certain others on occasion, and she was always mindful to try to keep this in check. She was rather struck by all the ins and outs of human folly, and she could not but point them out from time to time. She was aware, however, that it was not well received to have one’s own folly pointed out to one’s face.
“Oh, heavens,” said Lord Byron, “please, you mustn’t think we have any expectations of any reception at all. Why, we have descended upon you out of the clear blue sky. No one even knows where we are.”
Lord Byron’s female companion giggled quite a bit at this pronunciation.
He turned to her and giggled back, and the two went on that way for a time, giggling fools, as if they might have been drunk.
As noted, this first meeting was not truly very pleasant at all.
“Our cook has little in the way of anything sweet made up,” said Jane, glancing sidelong at her sister, Cassandra. This lack of refreshment was really Cassandra’s fault, because Cassandra had decided somewhat recently that she wished to reduce and, to this end, a moratorium was placed on all sweets. Cassandra did not really need to reduce. For one thing, she was not very large. For another, no one really looked at either of them anymore.
They were spinsters, very, very old now, both in their thirties, and there was no chance that either of them were ever going to get married. And Jane wasn’t exaggerating about this, not at all. There really was simply no chance. Not at all. So, might as well be very plump and very pleased about it, Jane had decided.
“Have I introduced Lady Caroline?” said Byron.
“No, don’t introduce me.” Lady Caroline slapped Byron on the thigh with a loud crack.
He looked at her, giving her a rather insouciant grin that seemed to indicate he had liked that slap. “I think it’s only polite, Caro.”
“Well, considering no one knows I am here, and considering we do not really wish my husband to know I am here, I think it’s better if I am entirely anonymous, don’t you?”
Jane was fairly sure that was Lady Caroline Lamb, formerly Caroline Posonby, daughter of the Earl of Bessborough. This was why she was ‘Lady,’ for her husband, William Lamb, currently held no title, though he was the heir to the Viscount Melbourne and would inherit the title upon his father’s death.
Jane and Lady Caroline did not exactly travel in the same circles, but sometimes the circles they did travel in tended to have bits of juxtaposition. She’d seen the woman from afar once or twice.
“Mmm,” said Lord Byron. “Just so.” He smiled at Jane. “Well, you must be wondering why we’re here.”
“No, of course, it’s quite a common thing for a baron and his anonymous female companion to show up in Hampshire entirely unannounced in the midst of the afternoon,” said Jane, smiling faintly. “I assure you, it happens all the time.”
Byron smirked. “You’re funny.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” said Lady Caroline, leaning forward. “You’re the one, not your silent sister.”
“You see,” said Byron, “I asked my publisher, and he told me that your brother, Henry Austen, had put up the money on commission to Thomas Egerton to publish Sense and Sensibility, and my publisher, that is Mr. John Murray, went on for some time about how Egerton mostly only publishes military books, and Mr. Murray, you know, he would be quite keen, so if you ever find yourself dissatisfied with Egerton, you might consider publishing with—”
“What are you going on about?” interrupted Jane as politely as she could.
“Anyway, I’ve never read the novel,” Byron said, “but Caro adores it.”
“I really do,” said Lady Caroline, smiling brilliantly. “It’s really just the very best. You ought to be commended.”
“Don’t worry,” said Byron, “I won’t tell anyone that it’s you.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” said Jane. “Cassandra, have you ever written a novel? I mean, one you intended to publish?”
Cassandra smiled serenely. “It would be entirely untoward for a well-bred lady to publish a novel.”
“Indeed,” said Jane. “I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else.”
“Oh, come now,” said Byron. “We know it’s you. I got old Murray to tell me about you, and I made some inquiries about Henry Austen’s sisters, and I know all about you. I know that here you are, you and your sister, in this house, and that you wrote a book about two sisters sent off to a small house in the middle of nowhere with no hope of marriage and that, by the end, both are happily settled. So, tell me, which one are you? Elinor or Marianne?”
“I thought you hadn’t read it,” said Jane, folding her hands in her lap.
He grinned at her. “It’s very good.”
Jane shook her head at him. “It’s not an epic poem about getting drunk on the continent and chasing skirts and having everything one could ever wish for and yet still being maddeningly melancholy, of course.”
His grin widened. “You’re ever so sharp, really you are.”
There it was again. She was being termed sharp. But this was somewhat different, as if he was admiring of it within her, and she felt herself flush a little, rather pleased by that.
He noticed and waggled his eyebrows at her and she smirked and looked away, wondering at herself.
When she looked back, Lady Caroline had narrowed her eyes at Byron. “We are here because of me, Georgie.”
“Right, yes, of course we are.” Byron cleared his throat. “Ask her whatever you’d like, Caro.”
“Well,” said Lady Caroline, “which one are you? Elinor or Marianne?”
“I am Jane,” said Jane. “Jane Austen. And I did not write that book, but if I had, I would point out there are three sisters. There’s a younger one. Margaret. And, if I did write something, anything at all, I would have only written it for my own amusement. I certainly wouldn’t have published it. How gauche. I would never do such a thing.”
“Yes, that’s not our Jane,” said Cassandra. “She would never do such a thing.”
