The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein

It took less than two seconds for Clair to decide. She had much to do today with her studies, especially since Baron Huntsley had turned out not to be the leader of the London nest. And he was a mere mortal. Still, he was a fascinating man and only the second man she had ever kissed. An hour or two shouldn't hurt her project. 'That would be lovely.'

Not as lovely as you, he mused. 'At four, my lady.' Then Ian left the room, his long strides taking him down the hallway.

On the way out, a commotion by the stairway caught his attention. Three ladies dressed all in black were marching in what looked like a funeral possession down the corridor. It was a scene straight out of Macbeth, with old crones murmuring chants. Two more ladies joined the procession. The fourth was small and plump with the same tawny hair as Clair, but with a hint of silver at her temples. The fifth was very tall and very thin. Even though she wore a black veil, Ian could tell she was crying copiously.

The plump lady held the veiled woman's arm, trying to gently comfort her, while the first three women fluttered about the room in high anxiety. Before Ian had the chance to retreat, the plump lady glanced up at him. She had a quiet serenity, a graceful beauty that time's march would not mar. He judged her to be somewhere in her forties. She also had Clair's eyes. It had to be Clair's aunt Mary.

He spoke quietly. 'I am sorry. I am intruding at a bad time. I take it you are leaving for a funeral?'

Clair's aunt gracefully raised her hand and pointed to a small brown coffin. 'This is the funeral. We are doing the march. Clair was busy, or else we would have had her playing Mozart's Funeral March. She is quite talented on the piano,' the woman boasted. She knew exactly who had come to call, and her little matchmaking heart was beating a furious rhythm.

Ian stared at the tiny coffin, trying to decide what on earth would fit in it, but in this asylum, anything was possible.

'You must be Baron Huntsley. I am Clair's aunt, Lady Mary Frankenstein. And this is Mrs. Heston.' Mary nodded toward the gaunt, grief-stricken woman.

'I am pleased to make your acquaintance and only sorry it is at such a trying time,' Ian said politely, glancing again at the tiny coffin. Beside Mary, Mrs. Heston had suddenly snatched the tiny casket, hugging it to herself. Her shrieks filled the hallway.

'Polly, my sweet dear Polly! How can I go on?' The old lady's voice broke as Mary enfolded her in her arms.

'There, there, Mrs. Heston. It will be all right. Just think, Polly is in heaven and probably has loads of those crackers she likes so well.'

Appearing in the hallway, Clair took Ian's arm, gently pulling him away. As they walked to the door, he glanced back once. 'I didn't mean to intrude upon a funeral. Who is Polly? Is she a relative of yours?'

Brooks, his face solemn, glanced down the hall at the last of the procession as he opened the front door for them. He said nothing.

'She's a parrot,' Clair explained.

'A parrot?' Ian asked, confused, as he took his hat and gloves from Brooks. The butler was bearing up quite stoically in this cuckoo's nest he occupied.

One of the old ladies was adjusting her large black ostrich fan hat, covering both her ears. Another was crying into a black handkerchief, hiding her eyes. Still a third covered her mouth, hiding her sobbing.

'A parrot?' Ian asked again, trying to wade through the confusion of Frankenstein logic.

'Yes.'

'Uh… did you know this parrot well?'

'Never saw her before in my life. Although I did hear she had paranoid tendencies. Afraid of people stealing her crackers, you know.'

Ian shook his head, a strange expression filling his green eyes. 'Then why is the funeral at your home?'

Clair smiled as the baran stood in the doorway, hat in hand. 'Aunt Mary does pet funerals. That is her specialty. Last week we had a funeral for Charleston the monkey.'

Ian bowed at once and left, escaping into the cool light of lucid day. Pet funerals! He had heard it all now. He grimaced. He was on the planet Frankenstein, and it was a madhouse.

To Be, or Not to Be, a Frankenstein

Later that afternoon, Clair studied the tall, brooding figure of Baron Huntsley. He was a commanding presence, tooling his flashy green high-perch phaeton toward Hyde Park. The horses' hooves made a smart rapping on the cobblestones. They arrived a little before the fashionable hour—the fashionable hour being a time for promenading every type of conceivable carriage with teams of matching horses all decked out in their Sunday best, and the occupants of every carriage dressed in finery, wanting to see and be seen as they made slow progress along the countrylike lanes.

The brisk wind whipping about, Clair adjusted her bonnet, glad that Baron Huntsley had picked her up early. She enjoyed having the man to herself. He was such an intriguing specimen, even if he wasn't a vampire.

This afternoon, the baron was dressed in the height of fashion, in a tailored riding coat of dark gray superfine which only enhanced his very broad shoulders and slender waist. With a hungry glint in her eyes, Clair observed how he filled his doeskin breeches to perfection. He was very muscular, and the breeches were very tight.

Clair bit her lip, beginning to feel like a Peeping Tom or a trollop. She had never noticed things like this before the darkly intriguing baron. Normally breeches were breeches and men were men, unless those men were werewolves or vampires. But the baron made her sit up and take notice. He made her feel distinctly feminine.

Slyly, she studied him. His ebony hair was tousled by the wind, and his cheeks were red. There was a nervous energy about him that she quite liked. He was brimming with life and with something wild that reminded her of primeval forests in the dead of night. She could easily see how she had made her mistake in thinking that the baron was one of the seductive Nosferatu.

'I can see why I thought you were a vampire.' She spoke her thought aloud. 'It is a shame. You would make a most distinguished one. You are so dark and… I don't know. There is something wild in your bearing. And you have such big white teeth.'

Ian slowed his matching team of chestnut bays, thinking how pretty she was in her blue velvet pelisse with dark gold braiding on the collar and cuffs. Clair was also wearing a saucy poke bonnet in the same blue hue. The white feathers fluttered in the breeze. The clothes deepened the color of Clair's gray eyes, making them appear a smoky blue, and gazing into them, Ian could feel himself getting lost.

'You have mentioned the teeth before.' He grinned, showing them off. 'All the Huntsleys have them—broad, strong teeth, that is.'

He would have loved to tell her what else he had that was overly large, but figured that would pop her cork. In spite of her scientific bent, which appeared to lead the little imp into areas other ladies feared to tread, Clair Frankenstein was still an innocent.

For personal safety, it had been a long time since Ian had wooed a virgin. He was considered a prime catch on the marriage mart, which was a fact overanxious mamas and drooling debutantes reminded him of often. That had kept Ian away from innocence untried, for if he took a lady's virginity, he would be at the wedding chapel at the drop of a hat as honor and society demanded.

'So your teeth are a family trait, like a large nose or thin limbs?' she teased.

'Something like that.' He glanced back to the road leading to the park. 'Are you terribly disappointed I am not a creature of the night, drinking blood and sleeping in coffins?'

Clair laughed. 'Last night I was devastated. Today I am more resigned. After all, if you were a vampire, then we would not be having this drive in the park. I think I shall count my blessings.'

'Yes, the bright light of day does often bring sanity. And logic and most certainly reality.'

A beetle landed near his boots, and he glanced around. To his left a blackbird took flight to here, there, and everywhere. A few noted Corinthians on horseback pranced in the Norwegian Wood just off the park. Four brightly colored curricles filled with couples drove slowly down the long and winding path nicknamed Penny Lane. Their