The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (23 page)

“Asher, please!”

He turned and paused, then finally nodded. Then, glancing down at her feet, he remarked with surprise, “Is that a spider I see?”

Jane screamed, and she jumped a good two or three feet off the floor. “Where? Where?” Glancing back to the door, she saw her husband disappear down the hall, chortling.

The sneaky vampire had lied to her. There was no spider. Slamming the door shut, Jane could still hear his chuckles. “Well, I guess that’s that. The honeymoon is over.”

It
was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.

Yes, Jane thought, as she walked down the hallway; Charles Dickens was right, and he had accurately described her first four days as the vampire’s bride.

Asher had been conspicuously absent, leaving Jane to her own devices in his majestic Town home and in the massive ornamental gardens outside. Jane frowned, knowing her husband was avoiding her as though she had the coughing sickness—or that she was someone who had tried to stab him in the back.

Asher had communicated with her only twice, by note sent on a bronze platter. Jane recognized that the action was a small way to demean her. Asher was an inventive vampire. It was almost scary to think of all the small ways he could demean her in their married life to come. He was so thoroughly ignoring her now, she had began to despair of ever having a chance to set things right. Still, men liked to pout, even her brother Brandon.

She knew she could be strong in the face of adversity. Her father had taught her that lesson early. It was odd: The more things changed, the more they remained the same.

She only wished she were smarter. How could she care for a vampire who so obviously held her in contempt? Jane liked the fact that Asher was a handsome creature who knew his own worth. He was a pleasure to watch and to look upon. She admired his dignity and his loyalty, when he chose to give it. Her husband had a droll wit and a fine mind. He was interesting and exciting. She was intrigued by the mystery of him, and bound by an invisible pull that kept butterflies tickling her stomach whenever he was near, which unfortunately was rare since their abortive wedding night. She was definitely ready for the “for better” part of married life.

Yet, in spite of her recent travails, hope sprang eternal in her breast. She was finally married, a feat she had truly feared would never happen. In years of exile at the Van Helsing country estate, Jane had often envisioned herself at forty, an old maid, leaping out at strange men with large fangs, lurking about servants quarters, listening to maids gossiping about where their mistresses’ love bites were strategically placed, and just who had placed them. Often, late in the night, Jane had seen the dreary years marching by, while she made endless trips to the church filling bottomless vials of holy water. Countless trips to countless cemeteries had haunted her dreams. And really, when a person had seen one big yard full of dirt holes, she had seen them all.

But now, her whole world was changed. She had a new life, and she was not going to let some pesky detail like her husband’s intense dislike of her stop her from making a good marriage based on trust and affection.

Although his company was not the best, the same could not be said for Asher’s London residence. The house was an imposing structure, four stories tall, with a steeply pitched gabled roof done in pale red. Large iron balconies lined the second- and third-story windows. She had wonderful times exploring her new home, to her heart’s content and to Renfield’s disgust.

The elaborate mansion was located on the outskirts of London, with extensive formal gardens that were well maintained. Marble statues of alabaster white and cerulean blue, with ornate flowing fountains, were placed strategically around a lovely wooded area. The area abounded with birds of all kinds, from robin redbreasts to softly cooing doves. Jane had been ecstatic upon first spying them. Not only could she traipse about and watch birds to her heart’s content, but the gardens were also big enough that Orville would have plenty of room to run, play and terrorize anyone foolish enough to bring food anywhere near him.

All, in all, the Wolverton London home was magnificent; and unbelievably Jane was mistress of the impressive domain. She had even caught herself pinching her arm last night to see if she was dreaming. When she was a small girl, she’d dreamed of being mistress of just such a place, and of being cherished and adored by a devoted husband.

Passing a footman on her way down the large marbled stairway, Jane smiled briefly. At least she could say honestly that Asher’s household was run with rigid precision. His butler, two of the butler’s sons, who were also footmen, the housekeeper; and three of her daughters, who were maids and an assistant cook, had been with the earl since they were quite young. That was continuity in its extreme, since these same servants’ great-grandparents, grandparents and parents had served the earl, the housekeeper had explained upon Jane’s arrival. Although vampires kept knowledge of what they were on a strictly need-to-know basis, Jane had deduced that the earl’s closest servants needed to know, and had been somehow sworn to secrecy by a blood oath. She shuddered at the bright red images that evoked in her head.

Fortunately for Jane, most of the staff seemed proud to finally have a mistress to serve, with a few exceptions being three or four buxom maids with fair hair. The maids Jane had eyed with displeasure, wondering just who and what the maids had been serving Asher. Stabbed with sharp needles of jealousy, Jane intended to find them employment elsewhere as quickly as possible.

And then there was Renfield, Asher’s longtime valet. Renfield greatly resented her, barely concealing his contempt. She assumed that the man was her husband’s human servant. Jane also knew that human servants lived longer than most mortals and were a little stronger due to sharing the master’s blood twice every fourth year in some secret Nosferatu ritual. They were also extremely loyal; her lessons in vampire protocol had taught her that. But they had never taught her what to do if she found herself married to a roguish vampire with a human servant who sniffed in disdain whenever she gave him an order.

Besides his obvious disapproval of her, Renfield also gave Jane the shivers for other reasons. He had a smile like he was secretly eating bugs, and the valet’s beady little eyes followed her around the mansion distrustfully. Due to the circumstances of her marriage, she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

The way Asher was treating her didn’t help matters with his trusted servant either. She wanted to befriend Renfield, to confide in him that her loyalty was now owned by her husband alone—as well as a bud of affection. Still, she doubted anything would put a dent in the valet’s pompous armor.

She glanced warily around for any sign of Renfield. “Good, it looks like I’m in the clear,” she said. After four days of her husband’s silent treatment, and Renfield’s not-too-subtle spying, she was ready to scream. “I’ve got information to ferret out and an undeadline to meet. And all I’ve got so far are dead ends,” Jane joked to herself quietly, her brow furrowed with concern. If Dracul were in London, he probably wouldn’t stay long. Not with the famous Van Helsings in residence.

Yet, every time Jane tried to quiz the staff for news concerning Dracul, or to pry with wifely concern into Asher’s vampiric affairs, she would spy Renfield lurking about, her human watchdog for her not-so-human husband.

Another problem regarding living with the undead was the food. The meals left much to be desired. But, then, that was no big surprise. The tea services were in gold, which was also not a surprise. Asher’s coffin was nowhere to be found. (Also not a surprise). Not that Jane had been diligently searching. But she was curious. She couldn’t help imagining what Asher might look like sound asleep, like a slumbering prince before his lover’s kiss awakened him. In her dreams, Jane would wake him with her lips, and he would sigh and tell her how nice it was to have her near him, sharing the nightlife.

“Yes, waking Neil would be divine,” she said to herself.

Knowing that she should let sleeping vampires lie, Jane still couldn’t resist searching for Asher’s daytime resting place once again. She truly hated unsolved puzzles, and she was curious as to what her husband’s casket looked like. And while so far she hadn’t been able to elude the crafty valet in order to search the cellars of the mansion, Renfield would be occupied today in finding quarters for Bert and Orville, who had both arrived earlier this morning.

The unusually gigantic bird and his keeper had created quite a stir in the Asher household. It wasn’t often the earl’s staff saw a six-foot-something bird with such a big beak. And Bert—with his skinny seventeen-year-old body, carrot red hair and scruffy clothes, which Orville had chewed on—was certainly of a different bent from the starchy, impeccably dressed staff of the earls. Each and every one of those looked as if they had stepped out of the plates of La Belle Assemble , and knew what the well-dressed servant of 1828 was wearing.

“Are you feeling lucky today?” Jane asked herself, thinking she possibly had an hour to tour below. If a casket were to be found, it was probably in the cellars. For whatever reason, Jane had learned early in her studies that the undead had an affinity for resting places below ground level—in spite of the nasty cobwebs and vicious little spiders down there.

Carefully creeping down the basement stairs, she found a large wooden door. Taking the household keys, Jane unlocked the door, laughing under her breath. She had outsmarted both Asher and his valet. It seemed that at the ripe old age of twenty-three she was gaining wisdom.

Lifting the candelabra in her hand, she peered inside. Disappointment made her sigh. She had craftily discovered… the wine cellar. Shaking her head ruefully, Jane closed the door, then hurried to the other end of the dank, dark corridor, conscious of the sands of the hourglass sifting away her precious hunt-and-search time.

Unlocking this door, Jane discovered that it was much easier to push open than the first. As she lifted her candles high, the shadows were dispelled, revealing discarded furniture and other household items.

“Foiled again!” she exclaimed, but as she turned to leave, a voice behind almost startled her into dropping her light.

“Lady Asher, may I inquire as to what you are doing down here in the cellars?” Renfield asked with undisguised scorn. His words positively made her cringe.

Perhaps she wasn’t as wise as she thought. Guilt crept up Jane’s face, as did the beginnings of a blush. She really disliked overly clever servants. She knew the valet thought she was trying to find Asher’s coffin in order to stake him. But in reality, all she wanted was to see her husband peacefully sleeping. And maybe to steal a kiss. A kiss she wouldn’t get when Asher was awake and kicking.

“I was going to pick a bottle of wine for dinner,” she ad-libbed, thinking the answer rather clever.

Renfield glanced around the storage room. “I see. There are so many fine vintages here. How many casks ...” Renfield stressed the syllable, and. Jane could hear him mentally adding -ets, calling her credibilty into question. “Which were you looking for?”

Jane sniffed. Good help these days was getting harder and harder to find in London. “I meant, of course, that I thought this was where the wines were kept. Of course I now realize it’s merely for storing other items.” She closed the door abruptly. “Please show me to where the wine is located.”

Holding his candelabra high, Renfield led Jane back the way she had come. His light reflected on her footprints in the dust, trailing to the wine cellar door.

What rotten luck, Jane bemoaned. Every foot can tell a story.

“I
have told you time and time again that we dead men don’t wear plaid,” Asher reprimanded his valet, who was laying out a dark plaid waistcoat and a midnight blue jacket.

With a long-suffering look, Renfield disdainfully put the waistcoat back. “It would be superb with the jacket,” he complained. Then he shrugged. “No matter. You are, after all, only having dinner with your wife.” Asher shot the valet an icy look. “You’re dismissed for now. I believe I’ll dress myself tonight.”

He walked over to the balcony off his bedroom.

There he stood in perfect silence, breathing deeply of the sweet fragrance of night-blooming jasmine and honeysuckle located in the gardens directly below. Asher loved to take in these last few moments, when the sun was a hint on the horizon like a sad song. It was as close to feeling the sunshine on his shoulder that he dared.

Welcome to my life, he thought wryly. He had stood here often like this, watching the pinks and deep violets with their hints of gold, fade into the inky blackness of night. In these times, in these quiet seasons of the heart, he had thought that perhaps love would find him on some dark enchanted evening. But there was no rhyme or reason to whom one fell in love with, or when. It didn’t matter that he was a wild heart looking for home. Love came when it came, and left just as silently.

A sudden movement below in the garden caught Asher’s attention. His bride was playing fetch-the-stick with her ugly mutt and his butler’s grandson, Dickey. He could see Spot jump after the stick. He could see Jane jump, her lush breasts bouncing. He could see Dick jump. He could feel dick jump.

“Bloody hell!” It was considerably declasse for a vampire to lust after his wife, he admitted reluctantly, adjusting the bulge in his pants. It was even worse for said wife to be a Van Helsing. She wasn’t even a diamond of the first water. In fact, his wife couldn’t even be called a carat. She had freckles, for heaven’s sake!