Bite Me, Your Grace

“No, I hadn’t heard.” Angelica frowned, wondering where this topic was headed. “I wonder what happened. I saw Lord Morley at the King’s coronation and he looked to be in good health.”

 

 

“That was the new earl. It was his elder brother who died… in America.” Ian ran a hand through his hair. “He left behind a daughter, and the dowager countess refuses to take her in. Apparently she is still angry about the earl’s marriage to a chambermaid, which is why he and his wife left for America in the first place.”

 

“So what has this to do with Lord Deveril?” Angelica asked, baffled.

 

“The Deverils and the Morleys have an alliance dating back to the seventeenth century,” Ian explained. “One of the terms of the alliance is for one to become guardian to the other’s children, if such a necessity arises.”

 

Angelica gasped. “So Lord Deveril is going to become guardian to Morley’s daughter! Why would he agree to do such a thing? And what does he expect me to do about it?”

 

Ian shook his head. “Why he agreed, I haven’t the slightest idea. Perhaps he truly is as mad as is rumored. As for you, he asks you to sponsor the girl for the season so he may see her married and off his hands quickly.”

 

She opened her mouth to reply, but then burst into gales of laughter. “He wants me to usher a young lady into the Quality? Me, the scandalous Duchess of Burnrath?” Her mirth faded as the implications of such a task became clear. “To see a girl auctioned off to the highest bidder as if she were a breeding mare goes against my principles. I should refuse.”

 

Her husband held up a hand. “Do not be so hasty, Angel. At least allow me to pay Vincent a visit to further assess the situation. Lord knows, Rafe would be unfit to deal with such a delicate matter.”

 

Angelica nodded grudgingly. “Very well. I’ll tell the servants to unpack our trunks as it seems we shall be ruling London for a while longer.”

 

“And I shall dash off a note to Rafe,” Ian replied, rising from his seat.

 

“Not just yet.” Angelica licked her fangs. “All this talk has made me hungry.”

 

“Already?” He frowned. “Well, I suppose we may hunt first.”

 

She shook her head, playfully tossing her hair as she approached him. “No, I am hungry for you.”

 

His eyes glittered with desire as he bared his own gleaming fangs and locked the library door. “I see. In that case, I would be pleased to oblige you as well.”

 

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note

 

 

In 1816, Percy Bysshe Shelley and his soon-to-be wife, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, enjoyed a holiday with Lord Byron and his physician, John William Polidori. The four spent a stormy summer evening in Byron’s villa near Geneva, Switzerland, writing ghost stories. Two of the works from that fateful night went on to influence literature to this very day. Mary Shelley began the unforgettable Frankenstein. Lord Byron penned a fragment of a novel, which he abandoned and Dr. Polidori then developed into the short story, “The Vampyre,” which was the very first vampire story written in English.

 

When Polidori published “The Vampyre” anonymously in 1819 in The New Monthly Magazine, the editors credited the story to Lord Byron. In fact, “The Vampyre” was once referred to as “Byron’s greatest work.” Both Byron and Polidori were upset by this, and after strenuous efforts to clear up the misunderstanding, eventually due credit was given. The story spawned a “vampire craze” in Western Europe, and countless stories, plays, and operas based on the tale were devoured by the bloodthirsty public.

 

I relied heavily upon historical fact and speculation, as well as my author’s license, to develop my fictional portrayal of the enigmatical physician-turned-writer. Did Lord Byron have a bisexual affair with Polidori? Historians speculate both ways. I chose to go with that angle because I believe that would clarify much about their unbalanced relationship. Also, Polidori called his fanged villain “Lord Ruthven,” a name Lady Caroline Lamb, one of Byron’s former lovers, used for Byron in her thinly disguised memoir, Glenarvon.

 

Another speculation I found interesting was that perhaps John Polidori was secretly in love with Mary Shelley. I am all for this delicious tidbit of gossip, for it certainly explains the well-documented hostility the doctor had for Percy Shelley. Polidori once challenged Shelley to a duel, allegedly over a boat race.

 

There are few known details of the circumstances of John Polidori’s burial and his relationship with his family at the time of his death. Considering the fact that his family was well off but he died penniless, it can be speculated that they were estranged. I found little information on burial customs in the Regency era, but I find it logical that if someone dies, especially in the summer, and there is no one around to claim responsibility for the body, the authorities would bury the remains as soon as possible for sanitary reasons. And since stethoscopes were not yet in frequent use in those days, perhaps a person could fake their death.

 

Could John Polidori have cheated death and become a vampire? One may never know. That is one of the things that make fiction so much fun.