Rises the Night

Chapter 4 In Which Verbena Has Her Way

" 'Tis long past time to see ye in a color other than black." Verbena clucked as she tied Victoria's stays. "Ye cudda gone to half mournin' six months ago and been wearin' that pretty pearl gray. Even when ever'one was mournin' for Princess Charlotte, God rest her soul, they went to grays after six months. But no, no, you woulden and can't say't I blame ye, what with losin' the marquess so horribly, but my lady, yer skin's been missin' the pretty colors like yeller an' that peach. It's right to be liven your cheeks up a bit."

Victoria knew better than to attempt a word when her maid was in lecture mode. Likely Verbena had been saving it up the last nine or ten months and wouldn't be dissuaded from saying her piece regardless of what her mistress might wish to interject.

"All I can say is, I'm glad I talked ye into leaving all them black and gray gowns back at home. This is a house party, and ye should have fun. Ye deserve it, my lady. Ye deserve it." Her impossibly hued orange hair was gathered into two springy bunches, one below each ear, and stuck out like fistfuls of stiff netting.

Their eyes met in the mirror, one pair a sparkling, good-humored blue, the other thick lashed, almond shaped, and serious. "But I'm glad't'see," Verbena added more gently, "that ye didn't leave off your vis bulla. What would we do wit'out ye, and the other Venators?"

Verbena, whose cousin was Barth the hackney driver, had recognized Victoria's vampire-hunting amulet immediately after she'd begun wearing it more than a year ago. How she knew of vampires and Venators when the rest of London was blissfully ignorant, Victoria was uncertain; but it was a relief that her maid, who also inexplicably knew how to treat vampire bites and was not frightened of visiting places like the Silver Chalice, was aware of her secret. Having one's maid in on the most intimate details of one's life, especially when it involved much sneaking around and wearing clothing belonging to the opposite gender, was a great serendipity.

Victoria shook her head, drawing in a breath that was more restricted now that she'd been laced into her stays. "I feel better when I am wearing the vis; that is certain. Though I don't expect to have need of it whilst here at Claythorne. To be sure, I would not have agreed to leave London had Aunt Eustacia not assured me she would send for me were there any threats to be contained. I've seen only one vampire, other than the one I killed, and found no sign of any others since that night I met Mr. Starcasset."

"Yer Aunt Eustacia is one smart lady," Verbena said, digging carefully through the pile of gowns so as not to muss them. "Though that butler of hers, Charley… he sure does know how to keep his mouth shut. Can't say I haven't tried to get'm to talk to me about the goin's-on there, but his lips are's tight as a clam's. And that friend o' hers, Mr. Maximilian Pesaro. He's a right fascinatin' Jemmy, too, if I do say. Frightenin'ly handsome, in a bold sort of way." She shivered. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think he was a vampire; he's got the elegant, dangerous look o'one."

"You aren't the first to think that of him," Victoria replied dryly. She stood, pushing away from the bleached-wood dressing table, and turned to what was sure to be the difficult task of refusing to let Verbena dress her in bold carmine or bright jonquil for her first dinner at Claythorne. "He is a formidable Venator; that one thing is certain. I can't say that I understand why he left so quickly after Phillip died, but my aunt says he was needed in Rome. Though it wasn't as if he were needed here. I think I shall wear the navy gown tonight, Verbena."

"Wavy? My lady, that's near's bad as the black! Wouldn't this lovely mulberry color be more fittin'? See how't brings out that dusky sort o' rose color in yer cheeks? And next to yer black curls? An' it makes yer lashes look darker'n a boar's-bristle brush." She thrust the preferred gown in front of her mistress. "Well, that Mr. Pesaro cert'nly helped ye last summer, when ye were tryin' to keep Lilith from gettin' th' special book she wanted. Maybe he'd decided he'd stayed too long here and needed to get home."

"Perhaps," Victoria commented, rather wondering what it would be like the first time she saw Max again. She felt that the animosity that had simmered beneath their politeness and forced proximity might have eased quite a bit, after all that had occurred, even though she was still annoyed that he'd left London so suddenly.

After all, she'd seen the impressive Max brought under the control and thrall of Lilith, showing a weakness she never would have attributed to him… and he had seen Victoria learn how to fight like a Venator and grow from an average debutante into a fierce, brave vampire hunter.

The gown of Verbena's choice was fluttering down over Victoria's shoulders before she realized the moment to stop it had passed. "Not the mulberry!" she exclaimed in vain. " 'Tis too bright!"

But the gown was on, and swiftly being buttoned up the back as Victoria looked at herself in the mirror. She did look well in the gown. Heavens, it had been more than a year since she'd been dressed so, and Verbena was right: it did bring out the faintest pink in her cheeks. She bit her lips, bottom, then top, and they plumped and reddened as though they'd been kissed.

"Very nice, my lady," Verbena told her, making a narrow braid from one long curl at the top of her crown. "Ye have nothing to feel guilty fer, now. You've mourned your husband fully and completely, and whilst ye'll never stop loving him, ye must remember: You're still here, and ye still have a life to live." She finished the braid and wound it around the rest of Victoria's hair, piled at the back of her head.

"Yes, a life. And a duty." Her green-brown eyes glittered above her flushed cheeks.

Verbena's blue eyes met her gaze again. "A duty you are well suited for." She slipped the last pin into her hair and smiled with satisfaction. "But it don't mean ye have to be a nun."

Victoria nodded at her reflection, then rose from the chair. "Time to go down to dinner, then. Perhaps I'll have a bit of gaiety before duty beckons me back to London."

"I'm hoping you do, my lady. Ye deserve it."

Victoria left her room on the second floor and made her way down to the drawing room, where the rest of the guests would gather before going in to dinner. She'd arrived only two hours earlier, and thus had had a short visit with Gwendolyn, and then had repaired to her room to change for dinner.

Now she walked into the large drawing room and found that several of the eleven who would be dining had already gathered. Three gentlemen stood near one side of the room, and appeared to be holding hostage a bottle of some golden liquid. One of them Victoria recognized as Gwendolyn's father, Viscount Claythorne. He was speaking with Baron Front worthy, Gwendolyn's most ardent suitor.

"Victoria! You look lovely." Her friend rose and came to her side immediately. She was accompanied by an older, elegant woman. "May I make my aunt, Mrs. Manley, known to you, Lady Rockley."

Victoria curtsied and complimented the woman on her gown.

"Good evening, Lady Rockley."

Victoria turned at George Starcasset's voice. He bowed over her proffered hand, and she made a brief curtsy. "Good evening, Mr. Starcasset. I must thank you again for making me one of your party."

"Gwendolyn and I are so very pleased to have you with us." He smiled and tucked her hand over his arm. "May I provide you with a sherry?"

"Indeed, that would be lovely." Victoria cast a smile over her shoulder at Gwendolyn, who appeared to be not at all surprised at her brother's attentions. In fact, her friend's twinkling eyes told her that she was quite pleased with the situation.

"The others shall be joining us shortly. Mr. Berkley and his sister Miss Berkley, you might perhaps know, along with Mr. Vandecourt. And our other guest," Starcasset told her as he presented her with a tulip-shaped glass, "I am certain you will be quite pleased to meet. He is rather a celebrity."

"A celebrity?" Victoria sipped the sweet sherry, looking up at Gwendolyn's brother with her head tilted gently to the side. How wonderful it felt to be thinking, not of vampires and stakes, not of losses and grief, but of the handsome gentleman who stood before her.

"Indeed. Dr. John Polidori, the author."

Victoria blinked. No, apparently even here she could not get away from vampires.

Mr. Starcasset took her expression for confusion, and explained, "He wrote the book The Vampyre. It was published in New Monthly under Lord Byron's name, but just recently it became known that Polidori is the true author. Though it is said that he based the vampire character of Lord Ruthven on Byron himself!"

"Indeed," Victoria murmured. It would be interesting to converse with Dr. Polidori. She wondered if he'd ever met a vampire. Quite unlikely, for he wouldn't be writing romantic novels about it if he had.

"Dr. Polidori and Mr. Vioget arrived only some minutes ago, and they hastened to change for dinner. We will wait for their arrival before going in to supper. Lady Rockley, is something the matter?"

"Dr. Polidori is not traveling alone?" Victoria managed to make her voice casual, but what should have been a small sip of sherry turned into a rather large gulp and set her to suppressing a rough cough.

"He travels with his friend Mr. Sebastian Vioget, whom he met, I believe, while lately in Italy with Byron."

"Italy? I see." So it was Sebastian, and he was here. With the author of a book about vampires. How very unexpected.

Victoria finished her sherry. The last time she'd seen Sebastian, she'd left him in his carriage after a most intimate interlude—which ended quite abruptly as he delivered her to a group of vampires out for her blood.

He'd had her half-undressed in that carriage, and lazy with desire, as she recalled, her face warming. He'd been delighted to learn that she'd broken her engagement with Phillip, and had attempted to take full advantage of her newly unbetrothed status… until she sensed the presence of vampires.

Since they had been riding in his carriage, under his direction, and Victoria hadn't seen any vampires for weeks until these three suddenly appeared, surrounding their vehicle, she couldn't help but suspect Sebastian's hand in the matter. His way of denying had been to protest that he had saved her life before; why would he endanger her at that moment…? But Victoria hadn't fully believed him.

"He seems a very amiable gentleman, if a bit shy," commented Starcasset, hovering rather close to Victoria in a gentle waft of balsam.

"Mr. Vioget? Shy?"

"I meant, rather, Dr. Polidori, although Mr. Vioget is also very pleasant. Ah, and here they are now."

Starcasset moved toward the door, but Victoria impudently remained across the room and with her back to it, pretending to be admiring an arrangement of tall purple lupine. She would find out soon enough if Sebastian was as surprised by her presence as she was by his.

Behind her, the other guests were being introduced to Dr. Polidori and Monsieur Vioget, as Sebastian identified himself. At the sound of his familiar voice and its intriguing accent, Victoria felt an uncomfortable prickle.

Then, at last… "And Dr. Polidori, and M. Vioget, may I introduce to you my sister's particular friend, Victoria de Lacy, Marchioness of Rockley."

Victoria turned to face the three men. "It is a pleasure to meet a man of such renown, Dr. Polidori. Your work has made quite a reputation for you," she said, offering her hand to the man with messy dark hair. A quick skim of her attention over Sebastian told her that she had the advantage of him. She had never seen such a look of discomposure on his handsome face. It would be comical if she weren't as taken aback as he.

"Madam, I am very well pleased to make your acquaintance. And thank you for your kind words." Polidori bowed and released her hand, then turned to take a glass of brandy from the viscount as he remarked on his trip from London.

"M. Vioget," Victoria said, and offered her hand to Sebastian. Obviously recovered, he took it gallantly, closing his fingers over her gloved ones and raising them to his lips.

He'd not changed in the last year: still impeccably clothed in the highest of fashion, with tawny hair curling over the high collar of his shirt and the same superficially charming smile that always seemed to have a hidden message behind it.

"May I express my condolences, Lady Rockley," he said as he raised his face from her glove. He let her fingers slip through his as she returned her hand to her side, looking at her intently. "I was terribly sorry to hear of your loss."

Considering the fact that he'd been quick to take advantage when he'd learned she broke her engagement with Phillip, Victoria found that highly unlikely. But there was that hint of abashment in his face… perhaps he was feeling contrite over the events that had left the Silver Chalice in flames, and Phillip and Max ultimately in the hands of Lilith. Although whether it was the loss of his business or the cause of Phillip's death that he regretted, she was not certain.

"I was terribly sorry to experience it," she replied coolly, and turned back to Gwendolyn's brother with a warm smile. "Who is that lovely woman in the painting over the mantel, Mr. Starcasset?"

Happy to oblige her interest, Starcasset removed her from the presence of his guests and strolled with her to the portrait in question.

Victoria took care to keep him in conversation for the next several minutes, whilst they waited for the last members of their party to join them. As she continued to ask questions regarding this painting and that vase and the statue on the table thither, she kept the edge of her attention focused on Sebastian.

He watched her without appearing to do so, covertly scanning her whenever he turned to speak to someone, letting his eyes wander in her direction whenever he lifted his glass to drink. Instead of the chill over the back of her neck that she felt when a vampire was watching, Victoria felt Sebastian's attention as a never-ending prickle between her shoulder blades. It was accompanied by an unfamiliar squirming in her stomach. She and Sebastian had unfinished business to attend to.

When it was time to walk into the dining room, Mr. Starcasset remained at her side and led Victoria to a seat between himself and Dr. Polidori. Sebastian was placed at the other side of the table, near the opposite end, between Miss Berkley and Gwendolyn.

"I have had the pleasure of reading your work, Dr. Polidori," Victoria offered, removing her gloves and folding them neatly in her lap. She'd read The Vampyre even before becoming aware of her Venator calling. "It is very unique, as most other stories about vampires portray them as mere beastly creatures of low class, while your gracious and charming Lord Ruthven could easily find himself a place in the ton. How did you ever come to this different understanding of these creatures?"

"Indeed, it was rather Byron's fault. I was visiting him along with Shelley and his wife in Switzerland, and she thought up a game for each of us to write a story about a supernatural or monstrous creature. Byron dabbled with the story for a bit, then moved on to something else, and as the idea piqued my interest, I decided to pursue it." Polidori's reply was glib, as though he'd given it many times. His hair was an explosion of wild black curls that could not, no matter the amount of pomade, be tamed. They framed his round, youthful face and curled in every direction. Yet, despite his easy carriage and words, a wariness limned his eyes, as though something worried at him.

"You wrote so convincingly, Dr. Polidori. Do you believe that vampires exist? That they actually can move among us in Society? Could any one of the peers really be a vampire?" Mrs. Manley, Gwendolyn's aunt, who sat across from him, appeared quite taken with the idea that a vampire might be sitting at the very table.

Victoria refused to exchange glances with Sebastian, although he tried. She hoped quite heartily that the woman never came face-to-face with a vampire, in Society or no. "Only members of the peerage who do not show their faces during the day," Victoria commented with a smile. "According to Dr. Polidori, they do not come out in the sunlight. If they did, would they die a horrible death… or merely be burned?"

"I believe they would suffer terrible burns, but they would be unlikely to die unless overexposed."

"And what of flame?" Victoria asked, remembering last summer, when she and Max had been trapped with vampires in a burning building. "Would that also burn them?"

Polidori brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Flames from a fire do not harm a vampire, at least"—he gave a gentle laugh—"in my imagination."

And in reality as well. Victoria thought it quite interesting that Polidori seemed to have an accurate knowledge of the bloodthirsty creatures.

"Dr. Polidori is lately returned from Italy." Sebastian's comment was directed to Miss Berkley.

"Italy? I have never been, but I have heard that Rome and Venice are lovely cities. Where in Italy did you travel?" asked Gwendolyn.

"I spent much of my time in Venice with Byron, until several months ago, when we parted ways. He felt he did not need the personal services of a physician any longer." he added with a self-deprecating smile. "I traveled throughout the country and then returned to England near the beginning of the year."

Victoria's attention was drawn from the physician-turned-author to Mr. Starcasset, when he leaned closer and said, "I shall promise you, Lady Rockley, that the gentlemen will not leave you ladies long alone in the parlor after dinner. I am hoping you might partner me in a game of whist this evening, as my sister claims you are a devilish good player!"

"Does she indeed?" Victoria replied, trying to recall if she had ever played whist with Gwendolyn. She didn't believe she had; so now she wondered whether Mr. Starcasset had her confused with some other lady, or whether he was merely attempting to make an attachment to her. Smothering a smile, she turned back to him with a demure look and said, "I should be quite pleased to be your partner in whist, if you will agree to sing when Gwendolyn sits at the pianoforte. She has spoken quite often of your pleasing voice!"

He smiled down at her, his teeth wide and white, and his eyes warm. "I think I must call you on that exaggeration, madam, as Gwendolyn scarcely allows any of her siblings to sing whilst she plays… but I will happily make the attempt, if all for your hand at cards."

Indeed, Starcasset made quite well on his promise, ushering the men from their cigars and brandy back into the parlor with the ladies less than thirty minutes after they had separated following the end of the meal. A rousing game of whist ensued, with he and Victoria partners, playing across from Miss Berkley and Mr. Vandecourt.

Victoria, who was not known for her excellence at cards, despite Starcasset's claims to the contrary, managed to keep from embarrassing herself… even when Sebastian happened to stroll along behind her and peer over her shoulder as though to ascertain whether her mediocre playing was due to lack of good cards or skill.

It was also possible he was using the opportunity to look down the bodice of her gown, as he stood behind her for quite a long enough time, but since he already was acquainted with exactly what it covered, she rather doubted he would need to stare quite so long.

Victoria felt her face warm at the memory that this man behind her—who, by all outward appearance, was a stranger to her… had actually had his long-fingered hands on her bare skin. And she had allowed it.

"I believe I am quite finished with whist," she said calmly, as the last hand of the second game ended and she stood from her seat. "Perhaps Gwendolyn and her brother will entertain us at the pianoforte."

The Starcasset siblings obliged her request, and their lovely duets soon ebbed into a more rousing set of country songs. The others joined in with the singing, and imbibed more brandy and sherry, and soon Gwendolyn's fair cheeks were flushed, Miss Berkley was fluttering her eyelashes quite noticeably at Sebastian, and Victoria was feeling cheerier than she had for months.

But when she saw the way Mr. Vandecourt hovered near Gwendolyn, solicitously assisting her to rearrange the pillow on which she sat, and the way his expression softened when he looked at her, Victoria felt a wave of loneliness. It had been that way with Phillip. So kind, so thoughtful, so handsome… she had lost him so very quickly.

Even once she moved beyond this grief that would rear up when she least expected it, grabbing her by the throat when she thought she'd kept it at bay, she would not be able to think about finding a husband or having children. She'd never be able to be like Gwendolyn, happy to be in love, planning a family life, looking forward to the next Season.

Thus was the life she'd chosen, and Victoria was not bitter about it. She'd done it for the right reasons, and the freedoms she received, the things she learned, the ability to rely upon and protect herself were compensation enough.

But there were times, like now, seeing her happy friend, that she realized how deep the sacrifice had been.

"Lady Rockley, is something the matter?" asked George Starcasset, who had stepped away from the pianoforte to move to her side. "May I offer you a breath of air on the patio? You look a bit warm."

"No, thank you, sir," she replied. "I fear it is simply that I am fatigued from the ride from London. I believe I will excuse myself and say good night."

"Of course. Perhaps you will feel better in the morning. Good evening."

Victoria bade the others good night and left the revelry still in progress. The last things she noticed as she left the room were Miss Berkley and Sebastian in a'tête-à-tête in the corner by the whist cards, and Mr. Starcasset's gentle blue gaze trailing her movements.

Back in her room, Verbena helped her to prepare for bed. She seemed unaware of her mistress's pensive mood, instead filling what would have been silence with giddy observations about the male species of Claythorne's staff. One in particular seemed to have caught her attention, and Verbena waxed poetically about the underbutler during the entire time it took to unpin Victoria's hair, brush it, and braid it into one wrist-sized plait.

"That will be all tonight," Victoria said, slipping beneath the covers of her bed. "Now take yourself off and see if you can find the impressive John Golon and bat your eyelashes at him a bit."

Despite her relatively early departure from the party downstairs, Victoria was certain she wouldn't find sleep easily. But the next thing she knew she was awakened by a sudden dip on the bed next to her.

She came fully awake and felt the movements of the large body on the mattress as hands groped toward her own person.

"Lady Rockley. Vi'toria."

Along with the low murmuring of her name came a waft of spirits. It was so strong it had Victoria turning away and holding her breath. A hand brushed over her face, and another along her arm… alarmingly close to her bosom.

"Mr. Starcasset? What are you doing here?" Slipping away from his grasp, she slid from the bed and lit a candle. The illumination was enough to show him blundering about in the blankets, then the lifting of his glassy-eyed face.

"V'toria… if I may c-call you that," he said, the syllables meshing into one another in a strange cadence. "I knew it… I knew the signs…"

"Mr. Starcasset, I can't imagine what you are talking about, but you are completely foxed." Victoria nearly had to laugh at the bemused, earnest expression on his face. Perhaps she should be affronted by the man's impropriety, but at the moment he appeared so completely harmless and befuddled that she could almost find the humor in it. The very proper George Starcasset would be mortified if he realized his inebriated self had barged into a lady's bedchamber in the middle of the night.

Certainly it was a common occurrence at house parties such as this one. Victoria had no illusions about the purpose of large parties set on an estate in the country—they were often the perfect excuse and opportunity for illicit trysts. But for some reason she did not picture George Starcasset as one who sneaked about, looking for a chance to tryst.

It simply appeared he had imbibed more than enough brandy after she had gone upstairs. Perhaps the overindulgence was to build up his courage… perhaps it was merely that he'd played too many games of whist.

Or perhaps he got lost on the way to his room. Victoria stifled a soft laugh.

There was nothing left for it. She had to get him out of her room and, hopefully, back to his… or at least to a different area of the house.

A quick glance down reminded her that traipsing around a strange household dressed in a frothy nightgown of little more than French lace and silk was not a prudent thing. With a glance at her late-night visitor, who appeared to have found comfort in her pillows, she pulled a pelisse from the wardrobe where Verbena had hung it, slipped her arms in, and buttoned the three buttons tightly over the bodice. She had to tug on the sleeves of her nightgown to adjust them beneath the narrow sleeves of the pelisse so they didn't bunch up. The cut of the long coat would do little to hide the long silk skirts of her nightgown, but at least her bosom would be covered. Snatching a pair of slippers, she tucked her feet into them and turned back to the bed.

"Come along, dear Mr. Starcasset. I suppose after this I. can call you George… at least for tonight." She giggled and tugged him off the bed. Thanks to her exceptional strength, it was no difficult task to pull him to his feet and sling an arm about his waist. He was beginning to lose track of his eyes; they would focus on her, then suddenly roll up into his head… then come back down and look at her again.

It wouldn't be long before he was out, and so she must move quickly to get him out of there. She could only imagine the horror on his face if he awoke the next morning in her room.

Smiling at the thought, Victoria walked him to the door and out into the hallway. She held the candle in one hand and half lifted, half dragged him with her other arm around his waist.

He was a bit taller than she, and his head began to loll alarmingly. Victoria realized she had no idea where his room was, or even which wing of the house it would be in. So she opted for the safest, easiest route: the library immediately belowstairs.

Thump, thump, thump… She directed him down the sixteen steps and by the time they got to the bottom she was dragging him, as he'd lost the battle with his eyes and neck. His head hung, bobbing easily, and when she peered down to look, his eyes were nearly closed, the lids fluttering as though he were dreaming behind them. His pale blond hair fell in a thick swoop over one temple, and his mouth made the slightest gap. Probably not the way he would want her to see him, Victoria thought, and smiled again, thankful that he would likely not remember much of what occurred. Thus if she said nothing, his pride would be salvaged.

Into the library she went, thankful that it was one of the rooms Gwendolyn had pointed out to her that afternoon. She deposited George in a large wing-back chair near a silent fireplace and tugged the collar of her pelisse back into place.

Something glinted on the floor; she nearly missed it, but the cast of her candle had unexpectedly glanced over it. One of George's buttons, perhaps? Victoria bent and, with a sudden intake of breath, snatched it up from the hooked wool rug.

No, not a button.

The disk was round and bronze and bore the image of a sinuous hound on it. It was identical to the one she'd found at the Silver Chalice.