Twice Bitten Page 3

  She had been devastated. Joining her father's conversations had been the only thing that didn't make her feel as if her brain would fall out her head. At nineteen, she'd suddenly been shut out of the only arena in which she felt comfortable. So, she approached her parents with the only option she felt she had.

  She waited until the servants had served dessert one evening, and then--

  "Mama. Papa. I would like to go to college."

  Rolf and Katrine both lowered their forks and stared at her. Ursula thought she saw a flicker of pride on her father's face, but her mother's expression told her a different story.

  "Darling," Katrine cooed, "you're a girl. What would the neighbors say if a daughter of mine did such an unlady like thing as that? And what good would it do you?"

  Ursula's stomach clenched. "I have been blessed with Papa's intellect. Why should I waste it on needlepoint?"

  Rolf was a little more lenient than Katrine, but Ursula knew that he didn't want to incur his wife's wrath. Later, he called Ursula into his study.

  "My lamb," he said, gently. "You know I have nothing against a young woman wanting to develop her mind, but your mother, well, you know how she feels. She has very definite ideas of what a proper young woman should and should not do."

  Ursula followed her father around the study. "But you're always saying how everyone should be prepared for the future, for anything that may happen. Women as well as men. Well, that's all I'm trying to do, is prepare myself."

  Rolf moved to his desk and opened a ledger. He remained standing as he peered down at a long column of numbers.

  "Papa, you're always saying how one can never know too much. That knowledge is the most important thing to possess, next to health. I have my health. Now I want knowledge."

  Rolf lifted his gaze from his book and looked at his daughter. "Your eyes are so blue, so like your mother's."

  Ursula looked over at the mirror on the wall. Her eyes were not only blue but desperate. Rolf had told her that her blond hair always made him think of sunbeams. But at the moment, the sunbeams were fractured strands, askew and sticking up in odd places. As if she had been running her hands through it over and over.

  "You were a beautiful child," he continued. "You've brought such joy to your mother and me. Precocious and intelligent." He chuckled. "Even though your mother was driven to distraction over your inclination to run around and play with boys, kicking stones in the street, and climbing trees. Ah, yes. You kept us busy."

  "I know, Papa. But after Damen..." Ursula didn't want to say anything that would hurt him, but if she didn't convince him to send her to school, she would surely die. "I've tried to be a good daughter. I've tried to be everything you would have wanted from him. But I'm limited. I'm not allowed to do everything he would have done."

  At the mention of his son's name, a darkness passed over Rolf's hazel eyes. "I know I became more indulgent with you after'¦but your mother was determined to make a respectable woman out of you."

  Ursula remembered with frustration when she was twelve, and Katrine sent her to boarding school where they would teach her to be a lady. It would not do, she'd said, to have her child run around with boys any longer.

  He regarded her. "Even after that bad time, you never lost the fire in your eyes, and that gave me more courage than you'll ever know."

  He sat down and sighed. "The little tow-headed child I chased around the house is grown up now and I miss her terribly. But you've grown into a strong young woman."

  He shook his head, but he smiled. "You have my permission to attend university. I'll talk your mother into it." He let out an exaggerated sigh and Ursula's heart leapt. "That won't be easy," he said, grinning. "And now, I have work to do." He waved her off with his hand.

  Ursula went around the large desk, kissed her father on the cheek, and left the study, fighting an urge to skip.

  THAT HAD BEEN five years ago. Five long years. She felt as empty now as she had then, even though a lifetime of experiences had passed in between.

  Her long fingers ran along the spines of the tightly packed, leather-bound books on the shelf. Her eyes skimmed across the gold lettering etched along the spines, trying to decide which one she wanted to read next. She considered The Odyssey, but kept going, hoping to find something else. She paused at Charles Darwin's The Origin of Species, then glanced up at the wall that held her other fascination: Papa's weapon collection. Daggers, guns, and swords, all carefully hung on sturdy wires and nails.

  Ursula loved these artifacts...a strange thing, since she abhorred violence. There was just something about them that captured her imagination. They symbolized a kind of wild, adventurous life that she would never have. Often, she fantasized about pulling down one or two of those weapons and running off to live a life of danger and excitement. Maybe she'd be a pirate with one of Papa's swords or a western outlaw, like Jesse James or Buffalo Bill, with one of the guns.

  Sighing heavily, she turned back to the books. She would be going nowhere as a single woman and she would be doing nothing adventurous in her layered skirts.

  Chapter Five

  MAY WAS MOVING in hotter than usual. Gardens were already suffering from the onslaught and a lack of rain, and cicadas created a ruckus as early as six a.m. Fiona suffered during summer months and usually took great care not to set foot outside until nightfall. Even then, the heat and humidity made her feel as if she would spontaneously combust. Vampires didn't do well in heat and sunlight was deadly.

  It was on one of these sweltering days that Fiona braved the climate and followed Rose and her mother to the dressmaker's shop. As always, Rose was attired in a simple and practical outfit, yet she looked so pretty. Her mauve dress was decorated with tiny peach flowers and their color matched her fan and gloves, a flowered string purse, and a straw hat, also with peach flowers.

  In the shop, Rose casually perused the rolls of fabric and the model dresses pinned to the walls. She was studying a silken fabric, feeling it between her fingers, when Fiona stepped up behind her. "That's lovely."

  Rose jumped and dropped the material. "Yes, it is," she replied and stared at Fiona.

  "How are you, Rose?" Fiona asked.

  The startled look on Rose's face told Fiona that she didn't recognize her.

  "Fine, thank you. And yourself?" The expression in her eyes was one of confusion.

  "It's been a while. I've wanted to call on you but something always prevented me. You look well."

  "Th-thank you. How is your... uh, family?"

  "You don't remember me, do you? Fiona. We met at the fundraising dance for the Children's Aid Society last September. We didn't speak long. Your mother required your attention in some matter."

  Rose's jaw muscles relaxed and she smiled. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm terribly sorry. How rude of me. Please excuse my lapse." Rose blushed and a ripple of pleasure went down Fiona's spine.

  "Quite all right. Those functions are always busy."

  "How have you been?" Rose asked. "I'm surprised I haven't seen you at any of the recent Society functions. There have been four just this past month."

  "I don't attend many," Fiona said. "I'm not much for big gatherings, actually."

  Truth was, Fiona had gone to every one of those events, except she hadn't entered. She'd stayed outside, waiting for Rose to go in and come out. Rose rarely stayed for the entire party, so she didn't have to wait long. All those evenings, she'd stare up at the stars and remind herself that she just needed to be patient.

  "Perhaps a smaller gathering, then. Would you like to come to tea on Sunday? Mother and I always have tea after church, and Greta--our cook--she makes the most delicious sweets." Rose smiled, and the effect was enchanting.

  How adorable that she'd use sweets to entice me. "How delightful. I'd love to."

  Rose hesitated, as if she hadn't expected Fiona to accept.

  Fiona leaned forward. "Would you like to tell me where you live?" she asked with a conspiratorial whisper. She knew full we
ll, of course, where Rose lived, but she had to continue with the pretense.

  Rose started. "Oh, of course, how silly of me. Four thirty-five University Place. A block over from the park."

  "A pretty area. I'll see you on Sunday. Thank you very much for the invitation." Fiona stuck out her hand.

  Rose took her hand gingerly. For the first time, Fiona was touching Rose. Even though they wore gloves, she felt the solidity of Rose's flesh and bones, the warmth seeping through the fabric. At that very moment, Fiona lost all lingering doubts that she had fallen in love with Rose.

  "You're very welcome," Rose said. "I'm looking forward to it. And Mother will, too. She's always saying I should make new friends."

  "Well, Rose. Please consider us friends. I do."

  Rose started to say something in return, but once again, her mother interrupted with a question about a pattern.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were speaking with someone," her mother said.

  "Um, Mother, this is Miss Fiona Keane. We met at a Society function. Miss Keane, my mother, Marianne Godwyn."

  Fiona extended her hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Godwyn."

  "Likewise, Miss Keane." Mrs. Godwyn took Fiona's hand and her face dropped. She withdrew her hand and Fiona sensed that she didn't like her. Or, at least, she didn't like her handshake.

  "Well, now, come along, Rose." Mrs. Godwyn pulled at her daughter before anything more could be said. "Nice to have met you."

  "Goodbye," Rose called back as she was ushered to the other side of the shop.

  Fiona retreated, the brief touch of her hand enough to sustain her until Sunday. She left, and allowed herself once again to wander through a memory.

  She would never forget the moment when she'd first seen Rose. Unlike others like her, Fiona still concerned herself with humankind and felt sympathy for mortal plights. The way she saw it, if her sustenance was to be taken from mortals against their will, the least she could do was improve their lot when she could.

  Fiona never succumbed to the arrogance that many of her fellow undead engaged. The world in which she existed was of mortal making, after all...the house in which she lived, the city in which she moved, the clothing that she wore were all made with human hands. The beauty in the world, of course...the flowers, the ocean, the stars glittering in the vast night sky, the allure of a woman's face...she owed to God. Yes, she still believed in God, for without God, how could one explain the existence of vampires? If there was no God, how could a body, relieved of its soul, become resurrected to walk among the living?

  To assuage her guilt for how she had to use mortals, she participated in various charitable organizations, and the Children's Aid Society was her favorite, because children delighted her, with their wide-open gazes and hearts full of life and joy.

  At the fundraiser where she first saw Rose, she'd tried to stay in the shadows as much as possible. She did not like to mingle much, even though she liked people and fancied herself a good conversationalist. She had no desire, however, to answer the inevitable questions about how she was feeling, since she "looked so pale and thin."

  When the band had picked up its tempo and more couples took to the dance floor, Fiona repositioned herself for a better view. She enjoyed watching mortals dance. How she had loved to dance when she'd been alive. She smiled at a couple who were so enthusiastic about their mazurka that they knocked other people out of the way. Then, her attention was drawn to someone entering, just beyond the dancing couple. A young woman with fair skin and a shy expression walked into the ballroom, arm in arm with an older woman who looked likely to be her mother.

  Keeping an eye on the newcomers, Fiona made her way over to Mrs. Greenley, Secretary of the Society and the person in charge of the guest list, and tapped her on the shoulder. "Mrs. Greenley, pardon me. Could I have a word?"

  Mrs. Greenley excused herself from the women with whom she was speaking and turned to face her. Fiona knew that many of the other women avoided her because they thought she was strange, but she'd earned Mrs. Greenley's respect by working hard for the Society, and anyone who worked that hard without complaint, well, Mrs. Greenley overlooked any strangeness.

  "Are the sponsors giving you trouble again?" A look of concern crossed her wide features.

  "No, not at all. Everything is fine, don't worry." She patted Mrs. Greenley on the arm. She liked this mortal woman because she was selfless and did not judge anyone, least of all someone like her. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something. That young woman over there..." she pointed discreetly in Rose's direction. "Might I ask who that is? I've not seen her here before. Is she a new volunteer?"

  "Oh, that's Rose Godwyn. Her father is Lucas Godwyn, a generous benefactor of the Society. Yes, she is a new volunteer, just last month. Her father felt it would be good for his daughter to get involved in good works."

  Mrs. Greenley leaned forward and dropped her voice a bit. "Personally, I believe that Mr. Godwyn decided that if he is going to donate so much money to us, he should send in a spy to see what really goes on and report back to him. And who better than his daughter?" She chuckled and Fiona smiled.

  "Perhaps we should be introduced."

  "Why, of course. Come." Mrs. Greenley led the way to Rose, who was no longer with the woman who had come in with her. "Rose, dear. I'm so glad you could make it. Where has your mother disappeared to?"

  "She's gone to gossip with Mrs. Fern," Rose said with a wave toward the other end of the room.

  "Well, allow me to introduce one of our best workers. Rose Godwyn, this is Fiona Keane."

  "Pleased to meet you, Miss Godwyn." Fiona extended her hand.

  "How do you do, Miss Keane?" Rose lifted her hand to take Fiona's but before she could, her mother appeared with all the subtlety of a goose chasing after a troublesome boy. "Rose. Oh, Rose. I'm sorry to pull you away, but I must speak to you. This instant!"

  Rose gave one last glance at Fiona before allowing her mother to pull her away. "Very well, Mother. I'm sorry, Miss Keane. Pleased to meet you. I'm sure we'll speak again."

  I'm sure we will, too, she thought. That had been the extent of their interaction. But as brief as it had been, it was all she needed. The meeting of Rose Godwyn was forever burned into her mind.

  Still, Fiona keenly remembered seeing her that first time, dressed in a mint green dress with panels of pine-green fabric draped down the skirt. She'd reminded Fiona of those little peppermint candies that are complimentary in some of the finer restaurants in town. Rose's sensual face, with soft features and exquisite hazel eyes, was showcased by long black hair, tied behind her head with a green silk ribbon. For some inexplicable reason, Fiona wanted to run her fingers through the long, shiny strands.

  But beneath the physical, she had sensed a certain vibration emanating from Rose. Fiona had been told...promised...that when The One came along, she would know it. She'd think it, feel it, smell it, and taste it. She thought she'd met The One before...more than once...and she'd been wrong. But never had the pull been so strong. Never had her mental energy been so focused on any one person. Never had all her senses been activated, aroused, and sharpened by a sweet face the way they had that day. She finally understood what Ramon had meant. Rose was The One.

  As always, she used the memory of Rose to stay strong until they could be together, and to keep her company when she returned to her apartment...alone.

  ROSE TOOK HER own packages upstairs, despite her mother's frequent scolding that she should let the servants carry them. While she walked through the vestibule toward her room, Melissa came out of her room, dust feather in one hand, a bucket in the other. "Hello, Melissa. Looks like I caught you."

  Melissa nearly jumped like a startled cat, a look of terror in her eyes. "I...I...was just cleaning, miss. I didn't do anything, I swear it."

  Rose stopped in front of her "Well, yes, I know. That's what I meant. Looks like I caught you before you started on Mother and Father's room. Please bring me some tea.
I'm rather tired and want to stay in my room a while."

  "Y-yes, miss. Right away." Melissa scuttled off in a twitchy way, sloshing a little of the water.

  Odd. What was wrong with that girl lately? It seemed as if every time she saw Melissa lately, she would avert her eyes, as if afraid to look at her. Then she would go off somewhere else and Rose wouldn't see her for hours. Well, she'd have a talk with her at some point and find out what new crisis the girl was having.

  She put the bundles on the bed and removed her gloves with an irritated flourish. She tossed them onto the bed with relief.

  How she hated gloves. Especially in summer. It simply got too hot in New York to wear them. She would perspire right through them, much to her chagrin. And how unfair that men were not required to wear any.

  She unpinned her hat from her hair and placed it on the hat rack. When she turned back to the bed and saw her gloves, she thought of the encounter with Fiona in the dress shop.

  She had taken Fiona's hand, and something quite strange had happened. Even though they were both wearing gloves, Rose thought she could feel Fiona's skin through them, cold, yet warm at the same time. It was as if Fiona had put her hand in a bowl of cold water that somehow warmed suddenly. There was a surging sensation that passed through the cotton and silk of their gloves, and then their skin. Unnerving, yet somehow exciting.