Jane Bites Back

which she would refuse to do.

She thought for a long time, coming to no conclusions, and was relieved when a voice announced their imminent arrival at Pennsylvania Station. She busied herself with putting her coat on and gathering up her things. Then she sat and watched as the train crawled slowly through the long dark tunnels, until finally they came to a stop at a platform and the doors opened.

Jane stepped out and walked along the platform, the heels of her shoes clicking on the floor and her suitcase rolling behind her. Travel had become much easier since her day, but part of her missed the feeling of sophistication that had once accompanied it. Now people moved about so easily that some of the adventure seemed to have disappeared along with the inconveniences. Now it felt less like traveling and more like simply going somewhere.

As she ascended the escalator to the main concourse she noticed the boy from the train walking with his grandmother ahead of her. He turned back once and, seeing her following, pulled his grandmother quickly in a different direction. Jane cheerfully wondered how long he would have nightmares about the woman on the train, and at what point he would decide that she had never existed at all.

In the station’s cavernous main hall she stood for a moment, feeling the sea of people moving around her. She sensed their excitement, their hurry, their anxiety and joy. It rippled through her like electricity. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be in a city, particularly one as glorious as New York. Now she shivered with anticipation. Despite the passing of two centuries, she still felt like the girl from the countryside coming to London for the first time.

She hurried outside, anxious to be on the streets and among the crowds. As she passed through the doors of the station she felt New York envelop her. Its cacophonous voice filled her ears and its breath blew cold on her skin. For a moment she stood absolutely still, her eyes and ears adjusting to the many different sensations that flooded her mind.

“Move it, lady.”

A man brushed by her, his head bent toward the ground and his hands thrust into the pockets of his coat. Jane laughed at his rudeness. It too was part of New York’s charm.

Settling into a taxicab, she could hardy believe she was in New York, on her way to a publisher’s office. All of her previous books had been represented by her brother Henry. Not only had she never once visited a publisher, they hadn’t even known it was her work they had published. But all that was about to change.

I wish Cassie were here, she thought. She imagined sharing the city with her sister, seeing Cassandra’s face as she marveled at the buildings and people, hearing her voice as she chattered joyfully and reached for Jane’s hand, as she always had when they’d visited Henry at his house in London. She would, Jane thought, give anything to be able to see her beloved Cassie again.

The cab swerved in and out of the stream of traffic, ten minutes later pulling to a stop in front of the Browder Publishing building. It towered into the winter sky, its gleaming black glass reflecting the snow that fell lazily from the clouds that crowned the city

She crossed the sidewalk with her suitcase and pushed through the revolving doors, entering a lobby lined with the blown-up, framed covers of some of the most popular books of the past few years. As she walked to the elevators she gazed at them, imagining her own cover hanging among them. Then, just as she reached the elevator bank, she saw that she already was. On the wall the cover of The Jane Austen Workout Book hung between the latest novels from a popular romance writer and the biggest name in thrillers.

Horrified, she gazed at the cover image—a pen-and-ink drawing of a woman (she gathered it was supposed to be her) wearing an Empire-waist dress and holding a small barbell in each hand. It was ghastly, and she found herself feeling sick to her stomach.

The ding of an arriving elevator blessedly distracted her, and she tore herself from the poster and entered the car. Selecting the button for the seventeenth floor, she stood with her eyes closed as she was lifted into the air. Don’t think about it, she told herself. But the image of the book’s cover remained in her mind.

When the elevator stopped, Jane stepped out into a brightly lit reception area. Behind a raised copper and glass desk a lovely young woman sat speaking into a headset. “I’d be happy to connect you with publicity,” she said. “One moment.” She touched a button on a telephone, then smiled at Jane. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Kelly Littlejohn,” Jane said. “I have an appointment,” she added, fearing the young woman might not believe her.

“And you are?” asked the girl.

“Jane,” said Jane. “Jane Fairfax. I’m sorry.”

The girl nodded as if forgiving Jane, then touched the phone panel once again. “Olivia, it’s Chloe. Jane Fairfax is here to see Kelly.”

Olivia, Jane thought. Chloe. They were such stylish names. She wondered if everyone in publishing was a stylish young woman with perfect hair and beautiful clothes and names that sounded like they belonged in her novels. If the assistants are this lovely, I’m almost afraid to meet Kelly Littlejohn.

“Kelly will be out in just a moment,” Chloe said. “You can have a seat over there.” With a nod of her head she indicated a smart leather couch against the wall.

Jane sat down, tucking her suitcase beside the couch. She was suddenly quite nervous, and didn’t know what to do with her hands. She heard Chloe laugh, and for a moment feared the young woman was laughing at her, before realizing that she had simply taken another call. She looked at her shoes. How dreadful they are, she thought. What was I thinking?

She considered going to the restroom and changing (she had dressier shoes in her bag) but was interrupted by someone saying her name. She looked up and saw standing before her a handsome man of perhaps forty. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit of dark brown wool, and the knot in his red and gold patterned tie was perfectly dimpled. His hair, dark but silvering on the sides, was cut short, and Jane could smell the faint scent of violet, orange, and oak coming from him as he extended his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his voice warm and deep. “I’m Kelly Littlejohn.”

Chapter 8

She accepted the grape from Jonathan, parting her lips and allowing him to place it gently in her mouth. When she bit into it the flesh burst open and her tongue was bathed in sweetness. She raised her fingers to her mouth and covered it as she chewed the fruit. She did not want Jonathan to see her enjoyment so plainly, as if he had come into the room at the very moment she had stepped naked from the bath.

—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript

“Kelly,” Jane repeated, taking the proffered hand and feeling the strong fingers clasp hers. “Oh, no.”

“Is everything all right?” Kelly asked.

“No,” said Jane, blinking. “I mean yes. Everything’s fine. It’s just that I thought you were a woman.” Embarrassed, she spoke more quickly. “I don’t mean right now I thought you were a woman. I mean before I saw you. Because of your name. We’ve never spoken,” she concluded, feeling like an idiot. “May I just go out and come back in?” she asked.

Kelly laughed. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s not the first time someone has thought that. You should see how many query letters I get addressed to Ms. Littlejohn.” He glanced at her suitcase. “Let me take that for you,” he said.

“Oh, I can—” Jane began.

“I insist,” Kelly said, flashing a smile that lit up his whole face.

“All right,” Jane acquiesced, blushing as Kelly bent to take the case by the handle. Stop behaving like a schoolgirl, she scolded herself.

She followed Kelly as he held open the door. “After you,” he said, and again she couldn’t help thinking about