Jane knew the ending of this tale. Her father had exposed most of his foes to sunlight. Still, she raised a brow. The last time she had heard the 1795 hunt story, there were five vampires. The time before, there had been four. The story kept getting fishier and fishier. The number of vampires grew bigger. It was a whale of a tale her father was telling now, with more vampires than he could fry.
Suddenly she heard a loud thwack to her right. A small arrow-stake was embedded in the wall next to a painting.
She gasped, her eyes searching around for the shooter. Her grandfather, Ebenezer, was squatted down behind the green divan, his bow in hand. She shook her head. He had almost shot a Van Dyck! Like a governess reprimanding her wayward ward, Jane held out her hand, determinedly demanding that her grandfather surrender his bow. The wiry old gentlemen glared at her fiercely, a look of wounded dignity on his face and at odds with his silver hair, which was sticking straight up.
Jane sighed, feeling like she was standing before a dike, trying to plug up all its leaks with her fingers. But the more she tried, the more holes opened. Soon she wouldn't have enough digits. Of course, she could always go to Clair's uncle Victor and ask that he add a sixth finger to her hand.
Jane's grandfather, watching her warily, shuffled backward, still in his crouch.
"Give me the bow, Grandfather," she said.
"Humbug, Jane. I almost got the sneaky devil, but the clever little imp ran in here. So, you see why you can't have it, my dear—I have to get the nasty little bloodsucker."
Her grandfather must mean some vampiric mouse he was chasing. Fortunately she knew there were no such things as vampire mice, just as there were no such things as vampire elephants. "I can't have you shooting up the house," she said. Her headache was growing' worse. She wanted to scream.
Her father stopped reminiscing about the good old staking days, and brusquely ordered, "Come now, Father. Let us put up the bow and arrows. It's still too light for the little buggers to be out of their tiny little coffins." He beckoned pompously to his sire.
Ebenezer stood, unrolling his long form and shaking his head side to side. "While Van Helsing's away, the mice will play."
"If you will give me the bow, Grandfather, I will take a watch for you. I know you're tired and you need your rest," Jane cajoled.
The old man smiled, at last handing her the tiny bow and arrows. Then he followed his son, the major, out of the room. Briskly he turned and saluted, confirming what Jane knew to be true: "I shall return."
Jane went over to the wall where the Van Dyck hung and yanked the arrow out. She wasn't even plugging the holes in the dike any longer; she was already drowning.
The Lady Is a Trap
Jane arrived late in the afternoon at the Huntsley manor, in a state of high anxiety. This ill-conceived plan of her father's to hunt the Earl of Wolverton at her friend's house party was a huge mistake. At the very least, it would likely ruin another of her gowns.
Jane felt like a traitor, wondering how she could betray Clair by staking the handsome earl in her home. Yet how could she devastate her father? She had to do one or the other.
Peering out the carriage window, Jane was the picture of a forlorn miss. Wearily, she sighed and looked around. It wasn't easy being a Van Helsing, spending your nights in cemeteries, searching for red-gold eyes in every darkening sky.
"Can I do what I've set out to do?" she asked herself. She was almost tired of asking. "It's all so confusing," she went on, knowing that with the Earl of Wolverton, she had bitten off more than she could chew. She only hoped she was more than he could chew, too.
She sighed. Would she ever be able to do things her way? These questions twisted round and round in her mind while the carriage bumped along, driving her to distraction. Not to mention giving her another slight headache. Her maid, Lucy, hadn't helped matters by continually complaining of road sickness on the journey. Fortunately for Jane, Lucy was now asleep.
As they neared their final destination, the Huntsley country estate, Jane could feel the carriage slowing down and turning up the dirt lane to the large manor house. Her maid moaned.
"We're almost there, Lucy. Just another moment or two," Jane consoled her grimly. Yet how could the maid complain? She wasn't the one with death and betrayal to face. Jane wasn't even sure how exactly she would dispatch the devastatingly handsome Prince of Darkness.
As they approached the manor, Jane surveyed everything with an artistic eye. The sun was slowly sinking behind the rolling hills, casting warm shadows on the estate's massive manor, which had twining vines of ivy curling against its sides. Lush green gardens and dark forested wood lay tangled beyond, boasting flowers of every hue and birds of every manner. On the way up the long and winding drive, Jane spotted a hawk circling high in the clouds, and several peacocks strutting about the lawn, magnificent in their finery. Swans dotted the distant lakeshore, and several brown wrens flew above. Huntsley Manor was a beautiful spot, a wild estate, barely tamed and thus fitting for a werewolf and his bride.
Disembarking her carriage, Jane dusted herself off and walked up the long front staircase, her nerves stretched taut. Fear sat heavy in her stomach. She was announced by the butler and, after a brief coze with Clair, was shown to her room where she could dress for dinner and thankfully compose herself.
For dinner Jane chose a pale green gown of shimmering silk with tiny beads at the hem and a rounded neckline. The color brought out the greenish highlights in her eyes. Studying the mirror, she sighed. "I just look like me," she complained. Just once she would like to look in the mirror and see a ravishing beauty.
Making a face at herself, Jane accepted defeat. She was what she was, and tonight she would set in motion her father's plan to stake the earl. Lucky for her, the earl wasn't aware of her repeated attempts on his unlife. She even felt fairly certain he wouldn't recognize her as the demented, tipsy woman in the Cleopatra mask at the ball, so all she had to overcome was her own plainness.
Shaking her head, she closed the door to her guest room and said, "I can't fail again." The sly jeers of her cousins about the vampire with the erection would be peanuts compared to the big white goober of another bungled attempt—and her father had promised to tell them.
Putting on a patently false smile, Jane went to the green salon, where the other guests of the house party were having a drink before dinner. "Et tu, Brutes," she murmured as she entered, feeling already like a traitor. She had been a puppet, a bird watcher, a poet, a pawn and the queen of fools, but never had she really been a back-stabber or a bad friend. Yet, what choice did she have?
She could hear bits of scattered conversation. It appeared that Lady Veronique had disappeared. How strange. Perhaps she had run away with some lover. Jane nodded. Yes, that was probably what had happened to the merry-making widow.
Clair hurried over to greet Jane, causing Jane's guilt to run amok. "You look divine," Jane said sincerely.
Her friend's tawny hair shone gold in the soft glow of the chandeliers. Her gown was a deep violet with a square bodice, cut rather high and definitely de trop.
Clair noticed Jane's glance at the bodice's unfashionable neckline, and said, "Ian won't let me wear anything lower." She laughed. "He seems to have some mad annoyance with men staring at my breasts."