The Rest Falls Away
Chapter One: Miss Victoria Grantworth's Two Debuts
Vampires.
The Gardellas were vampire hunters.
Victoria was going to hunt vampires.
"Victoria, dear...." Lady Melisande's gentle voice held the
barest hint of reproach. "You may commence with pouring."
Victoria blinked and realized that her mother had been
sitting with her hands folded perfectly in her lap, whilst
their two guests waited with empty teacups. "Of course,
Mother. I apologize for my woolgathering," she added as she
raised the ivory teapot. Her mother's favorite, brought
from Italy by her mother when she wed with Herbert, Lord of
Prewitt Shore, was painted with images of Roman cathedrals.
Fortunately, the two guests at hand were Lady Melly's
oldest and dearest friends, and they would not be offended
by Victoria's lack of attention.
Three weeks ago, her biggest concern had been which gown to
wear to an evening's event. Or whether–heaven forbid!–her
dance card might not fill up.
Or, even, if she would land a suitable husband during her
debut.
But now...how on earth was she going hide a wooden stake on
her person? One couldn't just slip one into one's glove! Or
down one's bodice!
"Not to worry, my dear Melly. I'm sure the dear is just a
bit distracted, with her coming-out in less than a
fortnight." Lady Petronilla Fenworth smiled gently at
Victoria as she retrieved her steaming cup. Of the three
matrons, she bore the sweetest disposition; one that
matched her delicate, angelic face and tiny frame. She
reminded Victoria of a china doll. "After waiting in
mourning for nearly two years, I am certain she is finally
in raptures that she is to debut at last!"
"Indeed she is," replied Victoria's mother, the celebrated
beauty of the trio. "I have great hopes for her on the
mart, for though she is two years older than most of the
others, she is certainly beautiful enough to catch the eye
of a marquess...or even perhaps a duke!" She looked fondly
at her eldest daughter, who had replaced the teapot and now
tried to appear interested in the ensuing conversation.
Lady Winifred, who was the other of Melisande's life-long
friends, leaned forward to select a biscuit with plump
fingers. She looked up with eyes sparkling with
excitement. "My sister by marriage tells me that Rockley
will be seeking a wife this year at last!"
"Rockley!" The other two elder women repeated the name in
unison, their tones bordering on a squeal as if they were
the eligible misses instead of Victoria. Since both ladies
had been married for nigh on a quarter century (at least
until Melisande had been widowed a year earlier), it was
quite unnecessary and rather...earsplitting.
"Victoria, did you hear what Winifred said?" her mother
repeated, grasping her hand. "The Marquess of Rockley is
seeking a bride! We must ensure he is invited to your
coming out. Winnie, will your sister by marriage be
attending?"
"I shall see to it–and that she insist her husband bring
Rockley. Nothing would please me more than to see our dear
Victoria steal the heart–and purse–of the elusive Marquess
of Rockley." Winifred, who had been widowed a decade
earlier and was childless, had fairly adopted Victoria as
her own. Betwixt Petronilla, Winifred, and of course,
Melisande, Victoria had three full-time mothers worrying
about her marriage prospects.
She was more worried about whether the small crucifix she
sometimes wore about her neck would be enough to deter a
salacious vampire. According to Aunt Eustacia, it would;
but as Victoria had yet to come face to face with one of
the creatures, she wasn't completely convinced. In fact,
that had become her biggest source of distraction in the
last days–when would she see her first vampire?
Would one simply leap out of the woodwork one evening? Or
would she have some kind of warning?
A sharp rapping on the parlor door drew the tittering
ladies' attention from discussions of Rockley's physique
and his income. "Yes, Jimmons?" asked Melisande, when the
butler peered into the room.
"I am in receipt of a summons for Miss Victoria to Lady
Eustacia Gardella's home. Her ladyship's carriage awaits
the young miss, if she agrees to attend her aunt."
Victoria set down her teacup with a sharp clatter. More
training. And a chance to ask more questions of her aunt.
"Mother," she said as she rose rather more abruptly than
she'd intended. Fiddlesticks. The last thing she wished to
hear was a lecture regarding the smooth, graceful movements
a lady must adopt.
Especially since Aunt Eustacia's assistant, a man named
Kritanu, had spent the last two weeks teaching her to move
with quick, precise actions. And how to fell a man with the
perfect kick. How to take an attacker by surprise by
dodging and leaping in a most unladylike manner. Her mother
would expire on the spot if she had seen the way Victoria
had learned to strike with her arms, legs, and even her
head. "I would attend Aunt Eustacia if you will excuse me."
Melly looked up at her, her round face a version of
Victoria's own narrower, more elegant one. "You have grown
quite attached to my aunt in these last weeks, my dear. I
am sure it gives the elderly lady great pleasure to have
your company. I do hope she does not feel slighted when the
Season begins and you are dancing at balls or attending the
theatre every night."
Dancing at balls, attending the theatre, stalking vampires.
Without a doubt, Victoria was going to be an
extraordinarily busy debutante.
* * *
On the night of her debut, which, due, first to the death
of her grandfather, and then the death of her father, had
been delayed two years after she had attained the age of
17, Victoria sat at her dressing table looking every inch
the proper young miss.
Her ink-black hair, a mass of wild curls, had been piled
high at the back of her head and pinned to within an inch
of its life. It would not dare shift or sag, regardless of
the alacrity with which its mistress might dance, curtsey,
or otherwise hare about.
Jet beads and the palest of pink pearls had been woven into
her curls, and the black beads shone and sparkled when she
turned her head, whilst the pearls glowed with the same
pale hue of her gown. Matching gems hung from her ears and
a faint rose-colored necklet of pearls and quartz encircled
her neck. Dangling from the front was, instead of a cameo
brooch, a small silver crucifix.
Victoria's gown bore the faintest tinge of pink, and fell
in diaphanous pleats from under her bosom to the tips of
her shoes. The skirt was flowing, and very nearly sheer;
underneath she wore two more layers of translucent ivory.
The dress's low, square decollete left a rather large
expanse of creamy white skin exposed, from choker necklace
to the very tops of her breasts. And her gloves, long and
virginal white, went past her elbows, nearly touching the
tiny puffed sleeves.
Indeed. Victoria appeared every bit the demure, ingenuous
debutante that she was...except for the solid wooden stake
she held in her hand.
It was the circumference of two of her fingers and nearly
the length of her arm, from wrist to elbow. One end was
sanded smooth, and the other whittled to a needle-sharp
point. Too thick to weave into her coiffure; much too long
to fit in the small bag that dangled from her wrist.
"Under your skirts, my dear. Slip it into the knee garter
under your skirts," Aunt Eustacia told her calmly. She had
a face lined with age, but glowing with beauty and
intelligence as if every bit of happiness from all of her
eighty-some years shone at one time. Her hair, still blue-
black, she wore scraped back into an intricate mass of
coils intertwined with seed pearls, white lace, and jet
beads. It was a coiffure more appropriate to a girl
Victoria's age than for an aging woman. Yet Aunt Eustacia
carried it well; as well as she wore her high-necked gown
of blood red taffeta.
"Why do you think I gave you the garter? Be quick; your
mother is bound to return at any moment!"
"Under my skirts?"
"You must be able to access it quickly and easily,
Victoria. It will be well-hidden, and with practice, you
will easily learn to slip it from under and have it in your
hand when you need it. Now be quick!" Aunt Eustacia did not
wait for her to move; she twitched at Victoria's skirts,
exposing the ivory-lace garter tied just below her knee and
watched as her niece slipped the stick betwixt lace and
flesh.
No sooner had they finished than the door opened, and Lady
Melisande burst in, followed by her two twittering
companions. "Tis time, Victoria! Come, come!"
"You look lovely! Absolutely breathtaking!" Petronilla
gushed, peering at herself in the mirror from behind
Victoria and fussing with an immovable curl of her own.
"Rockley is below," crowed Winifred, bumping into
Victoria's elbow as she edged past her to reach for a
papery-white clove of garlic that sat amid jewelry, scent
bottles, and ornate combs. "What on earth is this?" she
asked, straightening to bring it close to her pince-nez as
if to confirm that it was, indeed, garlic.
Glancing at Eustacia in the mirror, Victoria forced a smile
and leaned conspiratorially toward Winifred and
Petronilla. "Aunt Eustacia brought it for me," she said in
a low voice. "She claims it will protect me from vampires."
Deliberately, she drew one eyelid down in a slow wink and,
making a point of glancing over her shoulder as if to be
sure her great-aunt wasn't listening, she took the garlic
from Winifred. "I'll just leave it here."
Petronilla and Winifred nodded, wide-eyed with suppressed
humor, and cast amused glances at Aunt Eustacia. Victoria
was the only one who saw the elderly lady wink back at her.
"I cannot wait to introduce you to Rockley!" Lady Winnie
burbled as they filed out of the room. "He's danced with
Lady Gwendolyn Starcasset more than once in the last week,
but he hasn't met our beautiful debutante yet! Wouldn't it
be a coup if you were to snatch him right from under her
nose?"
At the top of the long, curving staircase, Victoria
stopped, standing out of sight of the party below. It was
the goal of every matron to have such a crush; the Ladies
Melisande, Petronilla, and Winifred must be in raptures
about the number of people crowding the Grantworth home.
Despite the fact that Melly was Victoria's mother, the
other two had insisted on sponsoring her as well; and as
Winifred was the Duchess Farnham, her reputation sealed the
bargain.
Victoria stood alone, waiting to be announced, nervous and
expectant. Tonight was more than her coming-out into
Society...it was also her debut as the newest vampire
hunter in the ancient Gardella family. Not only must she
charm and delight the rich, handsome bachelors and gain the
interest of the ton, but she must somehow find and stake
her first vampire. Here. In the midst of her come-out.
"Announcing...Miss Victoria Anastasia Gardella Bellissima
Grantworth."
Victoria started down the stairs, slowly and regally, her
gloved hand sliding along the smooth wooden banister. She
took her time, scanning the crowd of upturned faces,
looking for ones she knew...and one that did not belong.
Aunt Eustacia assured her that as part of the Legacy, as a
Venator, Victoria harbored an innate sense and would
recognize the presence of a vampire in normal human form.
As she neared the bottom of the staircase, she felt it. The
cool wisp of something over the back of her neck; a breeze,
a chill...where there was nothing moving the air. Unable to
control her reaction, she turned quickly to look over her
left shoulder, behind the staircase...into the shadows
where a cluster of guests stood, watching her.
And then she was at the foot of the stairs, her mother
slipping her hand into the crook of her arm and turning her
to meet a group of distinguished men and women. The
formidable Lady Jersey, the Duke and Duchess of Sliverton,
the Earl and Lady of Wenthwren, and several others whose
names were familiar to her. Victoria did her glowing mother
justice: she curtsied and smiled and allowed her hand to be
raised and kissed; all the while slipping her attention
from the matters at hand and skimming it around the room.
It was a vast area, the foyer of Grantworth House. Four,
ceiling-high, triple-fold doors at the top of a five-step
landing, had been thrown open to the ballroom. Lamps and
candles glinted in every corner, on every surface, from
every sconce. The room's pillars were surrounded by potted
leafless saplings painted white and hung with glittering
garlands. A six-piece orchestra was ensconced in one corner
of the ballroom, nearly hidden by a cluster of white trees;
and a long table decorated with bowls of white roses held
punch and other refreshments for the party-goers. Beyond
the expanse of the gleaming pine dance floor, three sets of
French doors opened onto the terrace. Late May's welcome
breeze filtered in, and would have carried the heady scent
of lilacs and forsythia if the air hadn't been heavy with
French perfumes and floral waters.
"Do you feel it?" Aunt Eustacia had come from behind
Victoria, and she hissed in her ear as she drew her from
Melly's side.
"Yes. But how can I–"
"You will. You will find a way to corner the creature. You
are Chosen, cara. You are Chosen because you have the
skills. All you must do is listen to them." Eustacia's eyes
glittered like the jet beads filtered through Victoria's
hair. Her gaze was filled with intensity, certainty, and
Victoria suddenly felt the heaviness of the weight she
bore. Tonight was her first test. If she passed it, her
aunt would reveal all to her.
If she didn't....
That did not bear thinking about. She would succeed. She
had spent the last four weeks learning how to move and
strike at a vampire. She was as prepared as she could be.
"Good evening, Miss Grantworth," said a dainty woman
approximately her own age. "I am Lady Gwendolyn Starcassat,
and I was hoping to make your acquaintance . I'd like to
congratulate you on a lovely debut. The white-colored trees
hung with silver garlands are a beautiful touch."
Gwendolyn was daintier and smaller than Victoria, with
honey blonde hair and golden eyes. A smattering of freckles
sprinkled over her shoulders and across her back; but the
front of her bosom was lightly powdered so as to hide the
ones there. She had a charming dimple that settled to the
right of her mouth when she smiled, as now.
"Good evening to you, Lady Gwendolyn. Thank you for your
compliment; but I can take little credit for the
decorations. That is my mother's doing. She is much more
comfortable with these sorts of things than I."
Because Victoria had been in mourning for two years, after
her grandfather's, and then her father's, deaths, and the
Grantworth family had spent an inordinate amount of time in
the country at their Prewitt Shore estate, she knew very
few young ladies her age. Of course, that dearth in
friendships could have had to do with the fact that
Victoria preferred to spend time haring about the
countryside–or at Regents Park–on her mare, or reading
books instead of making calls and genteelly sipping tea.
Regardless, she felt more than a little delighted to have
the chance to converse with a girl her own age. Feeling the
renewed shiver over the back of her neck, Victoria took a
moment to look out over the crowded room. Where was he?
"So now you can join the rest of us Eligible Misses and
parade around at balls and the like, searching for a
husband."
Victoria stopped scanning the room, surprised at her new
acquaintance's bluntness. "I do rather feel like a prime
bit of horseflesh that is being trotted to and fro. I
didn't think any of the other debutantes would share such
an opinion. Finding a husband is such an important task, or
so my mother tells me."
"As does mine. And not to say that I wouldn't like to marry
and bear an heir; it's just the manner in which we're
reviewed. Although, there are several gentlemen that I
wouldn't mind being reviewed by at all." Gwendolyn's dimple
appeared. "Rockley, for one. Or Gadlock, or Tutpenney–
despite his unfortunate name."
"Tutpenney?"
"Believe me, he looks much better than his name sounds."
Gwendolyn sighed and added, "And I was greatly looking
forward to dancing with the Viscount Quentworth before the
tragedy."
"Tragedy?"
"Did you not hear?" Gwendolyn grasped her gloved arm, and
Victoria looked down at her, surprised to see that her eyes
had widened in worry. "He was found dead on the street near
his home. It looked like he'd been attacked by some animal
that nearly mauled his head from his neck. But there was a
strange marking on his chest that couldn't have been left
by an animal."
Gwendolyn had Victoria's full attention now. "What kind of
markings? And how would you know of this? Surely your mama
or father wouldn't have told you this."
"No, of course you are right. But my brothers aren't
terribly prudent about their topics of conversation once
they've had a few glasses of brandy, and I'm not so shy
about listening in on their talks. That's the only way I
get to learn anything interesting." She looked at Victoria
from under her sandy eyelashes as if to read her reaction.
"If I had older brothers–or any brothers–I would likely do
the same," Victoria told her with relish. "As it is, I must
rely on my Aunt Eustacia–whom most everyone believes is
batty in the head, but who is really quite...enlightening.
What kind of markings?"
"Oh, yes...the markings were three Xs on his chest. And I
don't believe he was the first victim with this kind of
mark." Gwendolyn likely would have continued, but she was
interrupted.
"Victoria," came a shrill voice laced with barely-concealed
excitement, "may I make an introduction?"
"I'll excuse myself for now, Miss Grantworth," Gwendolyn
told her. "The Duchess Farnham is heading this way to
collect you, and there is Lord Tutpenney, looking ever so
lonely. Enjoy the rest of your coming out."
Victoria turned to see Lady Winifred beaming an expectant
smile in her round, dimpled face. "May I present my sister
by marriage, Lady Mardemere, her husband, the Viscount
Mardemere...and his cousin, Lord Phillip de Lacy, Marquess
of Rockley."
And suddenly, the persistent chill over the back of her
neck eased. Victoria felt a sudden burst of warmth spread
over her skin...from cheeks to neck to bosom. She held off
the urge to look down and see if her skin had colored
darker than her gown.
"My pleasure, Miss Grantworth," Lady Mardemere was
saying. "What a lovely turn-out for your debut! Your mother
must be very pleased."
"She is indeed," Victoria replied before turning to curtsey
for Viscount Mardemere. "I have hardly had the chance to
meet everyone myself." And then she was looking up into the
deep-set, hooded eyes of the Marquess of Rockley.
Lady Gwendolyn had not exaggerated. Well-turned did not
begin to describe the man who stood before her, raising her
gloved hand to his lips. He stood as tall as any man in the
room, his rich brown hair gleaming with strands of gold as
he tipped his head to press a kiss to the back of her
hand. "If you have not yet greeted everyone, may I dare
hope there might be a dance left on your card?" His voice
matched his looks–clean, calm, smooth; but his eyes carried
a different cadence. Something that made her feel very
warm. And...he seemed familiar to her in some faint way.
"There is indeed, but it is one of the later ones. After
supper, if you intend to stay so long." She looked at him
from under her lashes. Victoria did not know where her
boldness came from, but it did not appear to dismay the
marquess.
"I shall be at a loss to occupy myself until then," he
replied with a meaningful look, "but wait I shall."
And then she felt the chill return to the back of her neck.
And the weight of someone watching....
Pulling her hand from Rockley's grip, she turned abruptly
to look, skimming her gaze over the crowds, and pausing at
a small cluster of people across the room.
"Victoria?" she dimly heard the surprise in Lady Winifred's
voice, echoed by the low rumble from Rockley, "Miss
Grantworth? Is everything all right?"
There. He was there....A dozen or so of the peerage stood
under the downward curve of the staircase Victoria had
descended, half-shadowed in the candlelight there; faces
bent toward each other, talking, laughing, gesturing.
And then she saw him. He was watching her even as he bent
to talk to the slim blonde woman next to him. Tall and
dark, he exuded power with the mere inclination of his head
as he smiled down at his companion. She smiled up at him,
openly delighted with his attention, and smoothed her hand
along his forearm. Helpless and ignorant of the danger she
faced.
Just as Victoria would have been.
"Yes, yes," she forced herself to say brightly as she
returned her attention to Rockley and then Lady
Winifred. "I thought for a moment that I had seen my mother
beckoning to me." A limp excuse; but since she had offered
the apology, it would be accepted. "Please excuse my
distraction, Lord Rockley," she said, smiling up at him,
suddenly realizing he was holding her hand again. "It has
been my greatest pleasure to meet you. I will look forward
to our dance later this evening."
He sent her a melting smile, and a short bow. "I will be
awaiting the pleasure with great impatience."
At that moment, Victoria felt rather than saw the tall,
dark-haired man and his companion moving from their
position under the staircase. The back of her bare neck was
cold, and her fingers began to tingle. They were walking
toward the doors that led to the terrace, the slim blonde
woman looking up at him with a soft, glowing smile. If they
went outside....
Victoria started across the room, weaving quickly betwixt
and among the crush, slipping past people who wanted to
stop and talk. "Pardon me," she said when a particularly
formidable-looking matron attempted to block her path. "I
must catch my–my aunt before she retires for the evening."
Because he towered above the rest of the party-goers,
Victoria was able to track his movements as they wended
toward the French doors. They were most certainly planning
to step outside to catch a breath of air.
Victoria slipped out onto the terrace, hoping her mother
hadn't noticed the beeline she'd made across the ballroom.
It would be rather difficult to explain deserting her own
debut to wander on the terrace.
And even worse for that tiny blonde if Victoria did not
intervene.
Hurrying on silent feet, she clung to the shadows of the
noisy, well-lit house as she scurried across the brick
terrace. Listening for the murmur of voices, she paused
near a statue of Aphrodite, peering around its cold stone
base to see if she could spot the man and his intended
victim. She had to hurry; he wouldn't waste any time for
fear of being discovered.
Then she remembered, and slipped her hand under the silky,
flowing skirts to tug free the wooden stake she'd slipped
into her garter. Gripping it the way Eustacia had taught
her, Victoria left the protective shadow cast by the statue
and hurried along the main path, listening intently.
And then she heard a throaty murmur, followed by a husky
laugh. Turning to the right, she moved silently toward them
and at last came to the end of the path. The couple stood
under the canopy of a branch heavy with lilac blooms. The
blond woman was looking up at the man, all innocence and
delight; and he smiled down at her. Even though it was not
directed at her, Victoria felt the power of his beckoning
smile. She tightened her fingers on the stake and moved
closer.
She was close enough now that she could see the rise and
fall of the woman's bosom, and the sharp curve of her
target's high cheekbone. He looked like an arrogant
aristocrat, standing tall and dark with his handsome face
and square-jawed chin.
What would it feel like to slam the stake into his chest?
Would she have to shove it hard, through clothing and bone?
How hard would she have to push? Or because the heart was
his weakness, was it unprotected and easy to penetrate?
She touched her crucifix, praying that she would have the
strength. She would only have one good chance.
She couldn't wait any longer. He was smoothing his hands
along the woman's bare arms, and she was smiling up at him,
curving toward his body. They looked as though they were
about to kiss; but Victoria knew better. At any moment, his
face would change...his eyes would turn a burning red, and
his canine fangs would grow, ready to sink into the pure
white flesh of the woman.
Now. She must move.