Minda Webber: The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing

Clair was surprised. This was too good to be true. "Are you perchance husband-hunting?" She knew just how deeply Jane had been hurt by two would-be suitors when both gentlemen defected. Having desired something and failed not once but twice, Jane would be beyond timid to try again.

Although she lived in her own little world, where reality changed day to day and monster to monster, Clair was astute enough to recognize that Jane was too aware of self-perceived flaws. She was not a beauty in the traditional sense of the world of 1828 London; Jane didn't have fair skin and hair, or eyes the color of the sky. Still, she was a wonderful person and needed to know it.

"Jane, you would make anyone a grand wife. Your soul speaks from your remarkable-colored eyes, and you have a very fine character and caring disposition. There is none better," Clair complimented.

"I'm certainly no beauty. We all know that," her friend replied morosely.

"Ha! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Look at Frederick. Many people find him hideous to look at, but I think he is a fine specimen of many men."

Jane Van Helsing looked at her friend and laughed. Clair was indeed good and kind. "Yes, Frederick is as fine a men as any. And I'm hunting all right," she added. Was that an understatement! Then, realizing what she'd said, Jane resisted kicking herself. The Earl of Wolverton, whom her friend had once mistakenly believed to be a werewolf, was Clair's confidant now. And Jane's blood oath prescribed saying any more about her mission.

Clair clapped her hands together. "I can't believe it! You always told me you would never get married. I'm so happy you decided to give matrimony another chance. It can truly be wonderful if you find the one you love." She looked delighted, scheming even.

Jane shook her head. Clair always saw the silver lining in every storm cloud. She was always hopeful. But the silver was often tucked away or absent. Jane's own hopes had long been dead on the vine, dying a withering death as she contemplated the long years ahead. Those years were decorated in bleak shades of gray, were shadow years, spent in darkness, her precious youth wasted in haunting cemetery after cemetery, always on the prowl for those monsters who feast on blood. She would spend her life reluctantly queasy at her stomach and casting up her accounts, fending off hairy little spiders and ruining fashionable gown after fashionable gown. All to be a Van Helsing.

"I was teasing about husband-hunting, Clair," she said when she noticed her friend's expression. "You know I am close to becoming an ape-leader at my advanced age of twenty-three. Besides, you must remember how my only season in Town went. It was a disaster of the first order." Jane needed to throw her friend off the trail; if Clair caught even a hint of the scent of intrigue, she might as well go home now, empty-handed except for a full flask of holy water.

"Your first season wasn't that terrible."

Jane gave a short bark of laughter with a hint of resignation mixed in. "Yes, it was. I was extremely plump, and my father insisted on those out-of-date sausage curls and gowns better suited for a dowager."

"Exactly. I always thought your father sabotaged your chances. Although I never understood why. But, then, Major Van Helsing is not a man easily understood—unless it is his love of the hunt," Clair remarked thoughtfully.

"Indeed! Truer words were never spoken. The major lives for that thrill. Foxes, birds and his prey of choice—the undead," Jane affirmed. "My father can ride the hounds to within an inch of his life and stake a vampire to the last inch of his."

Clair nodded thoughtfully, suddenly realizing the truth: The major probably wanted Jane to remain unmarried so that she could continue to hunt vampires and carry on the glory of the family name. Well, the major could just cry in his brandy 'til the cows came home. Marriage was heavenly bliss, and Jane was going to get married and so was Asher. To each other. Just, neither one of them knew about it yet.

Despite Jane's lineage, Clair knew very well that Jane would never be a danger to Asher. The girl was too softhearted. When Jane was nine, she had pulled the tail off a lizard. Clair had caught her trying to put the tail back on, woebegone and crying that she was sorry. She had only stopped weeping when Clair explained that lizards' tails grew back automatically—and sometimes their heads, if Uncle Victor was around. Later that same day, Clair and Jane had buried the tail, complete with eulogy. Clair had been quite proud of herself, using knowledge gained from her aunt Mary's work as a pet-funeral director and taxidermist to conduct the service.

Jane gave Clair a let-us-not-discuss-this-subject-further face, pursing her lips and furrowing her forehead. Clair did what all good friends do at one time or another and ignored her.

"Fiddle-faddle. Rome wasn't built in a day, and love doesn't grow on trees." Although it might hang from them, she mused wryly. "If you'll recall, I was a wallflower for many seasons. I didn't think there was anyone for me. I thought I would die an old maid aunt. Although… Uncle Victor did promise that he would create a husband for me if I hadn't found one by the time I was thirty," Clair admitted.

Jane couldn't help but shudder at the image.

Clair laughed. "I know! As much as I love my adopted cousin, Frederick, I wouldn't want to be married to so many different men, even if they were all sewn together. Needless to say, it wasn't one of my uncle's better ideas."

Jane agreed.

"Anyway, Jane, I am twenty-five years old and only recently fell in love and married."

"Clair, you would have had more than an offer or two if your head hadn't been up in the clouds. What with your supernatural studies and your bluestocking conversation, you ran most poor gents off."

Clair smiled shrewdly. "It's a good thing I did, or I would have missed my Ian. Speaking of him," she said, glancing around the ballroom, "where, oh where, has my little were gone? Where, oh where, can he be?" Perhaps her husband was in the gardens, getting a breath of fresh air since the full moon was still two nights away. She shivered, anticipating the nights to come. Call it moon glow, being moonstruck or moon-mad, but Ian was an animal in the bedchamber, taking her to unheard of heights of pure pleasure. Every night was a howl.

Since her friend was ignoring her wishes, Jane took it upon herself to change the subject. "Speaking of Frederick, I don't see him here tonight," she said, slyly peeking through the crowd in hopes of seeing that polished Peer of the Realm, the Earl of Wolverton.

"No, he's still with Uncle Victor in Germany. They're researching mushrooms. Something to do with seeing forty-foot pachyderms and twenty-foot daffodils after eating them."

Personally, to Jane, most of Dr. Frankenstein's research sounded like a big white elephant. Who really cared either way—except maybe really large mice? Next, the dumbo would be trying to prove elephants could fly. But Jane smiled faintly at Clair and nodded her head in what she hoped was an approving manner.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of something happening. Turning slightly, Jane spotted him: Neil Asher, the Earl of Wolverton, alias the Prince of Darkness, alias Dracul. He was entering the ballroom.

Jane couldn't help but notice him at once, his vital, youthful energy seeming to pulsate in the air. He had an Old World charm; but, then, upon reflection, Jane remembered that he was from the oldest world there was. In mortal years the earl, Dracul, appeared to be in his mid-thirties. But appearances were deceiving, especially when dealing with vampires, who were the unholy guardians of the fountain of youth. Neil Asher, the Earl of Wolverton, was likely older than Methuselah.