Sleepless at Midnight (2 page)

Sarah looked at the beautiful Lady Emily, whom she’d befriended five years earlier through her sister. She’d taken an immediate liking to the energetic Emily, whose green eyes often twinkled with mischief and whose imagination matched Sarah’s own. At one and twenty, Emily was the eldest of Lord and Lady Fenstraw’s six children. Thanks to her family’s recent reversal of fortunes due to her father’s unfortunate penchant for unwise investments and expensive mistresses, Emily had no choice but to marry well.

Sadly, Sarah’s observations of the ton had shown her that Emily’s father was not the only gentleman of his class whose profligate tendencies and lack of business acumen had thrust their families into such dire financial circumstances. And had further shown that even a beautiful girl such as Emily was rendered less attractive by the lack of a dowry. Which of course meant that for someone like her plain and lacking a fortune and who’d reached the advanced age of six and twenty spinsterhood was a foregone conclusion. Which was quite agreeable to her, as her observations had also led her to conclude that men were far more trouble than they were worth. Clearing her throat, Sarah said, “Do mad scientists such as Dr. Frankenstein truly exist…a perfect question to begin our discussion of Shelley’s book.”

Julianne, the only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Gatesbourne, one of England’s wealthiest families, cleared her throat then said, “If Mama even suspected I’d read that book, she’d succumb to the vapors.”

Sarah turned toward Julianne, noting her deep blush. Sarah knew that some people found the beautiful blond heiress cool and aloof; indeed, she herself had thought as much when they first met several years ago. But she had quickly realized that rather than aloof, Julianne was merely painfully shy. She meekly deferred to her overbearing mother, yet Sarah suspected that beneath Julianne’s perfectly poised, reserved exterior lurked an adventurous spirit that longed for something more titillating than a stroll through Hyde Park under the close watch of her chaperone and Sarah was determined to bring that spirit into the open so it could soar. She barely refrained from allowing her outspoken nature to overtake her and state that a good dose of the vapors would do Julianne’s dour-faced, sharp-eyed mother some good. Instead she said, “By calling ourselves the Ladies Literary Society of London, a name that implies we read and discuss the works of Shakespeare while we’re actually reading what we want, we should be safe enough. And since The Modern Prometheus or Frankenstein, if you prefer is, in spite of the scandals surrounding it, considered a literary work, no one can accuse us of lying.” Her lips curved upward. “Those very scandals being the exact reason I chose it for our first book.”

“I have to admit, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” said Carolyn with an enthusiasm that defied her usual sedate manner, filling Sarah with hope that her idea to draw her sister further from her self-imposed shell was working. Already she could sense the change in her two friends as well. This small act of defiance in reading a scandalous book by a woman who’d had an affair with a married man and bore him two children before they’d finally married marked Julianne’s first timid steps from her mother’s tight control, and was proving a much needed diversion for Emily from her family’s financial problems.

“A very fun venture,” Sarah said with a nod. “I think we can all agree that Mary Shelley possesses a vivid and formidable imagination.”

“I can see why it was at first believed that the book was written by a man,” Emily murmured. “Who would suspect that a woman could conceive such a chilling tale?”

“That is just one of the many unfair aspects of today’s society,” Sarah said, touching upon a subject close to her heart. “Women are constantly underestimated. A grave error in my opinion.”

“An error, perhaps,” Carolyn said, “but it is the way of things.”

Emily nodded. “And the people who constantly underestimate us are men.”

“Precisely,” said Sarah, shoving up her spectacles. “Which simply proves one of my pet theories: there is no creature on this earth more vexing than a man.”

“Are you speaking of any man in particular,” asked Carolyn, her voice laced with amusement, “or simply in general terms?”

“General terms. You know how I enjoy observing human nature, and based on my detailed observations, I’ve deduced that the vast majority of men can be effectively summed up in one word.”

“A word other than vexing?” asked Julianne.

“Yes.” Sarah raised her brows and paused expectantly, like a teacher waiting for her pupils to answer a query. When no one ventured a guess, she prompted, “Men are…?”

“Enigmatic?” said Carolyn.

“Er, manly?” suggested Emily.

“Um, hairy?” said Julianne.

“Nincompoops,” stated Sarah with an emphatic nod that sent her glasses sliding once again. “Nearly without exception. Young or old, they believe that women are nothing save brainless ornaments to be either ignored or just trotted out and then tolerated with gritted teeth. Patted upon the head, then sent back to whichever corner he plucked her from whilst he resumes his brandy drinking or flirting.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d that much experience with gentlemen,” Carolyn said mildly.

“One can draw conclusions from observations. I’ve no need to jump into a fire to know it would burn.” Still, warmth flushed Sarah’s cheeks. In truth, she had very little direct experience with men, as their gazes always seemed to skip right over her to land upon someone more attractive. Being of a pragmatic nature and fully aware of the limitations of her appearance, she’d ceased to be hurt by such goings-on long ago. And being nearly invisible to men had afforded her many hours to observe their behavior while she sat in the corners at the numerous soirees she’d attended in recent months with Carolyn all in her attempt to encourage her sister to step out of her mourning. And based upon those observations, Sarah felt fully confident and justified in her opinion. Nincompoops.

“If your theory is to hold true,” Carolyn said, “then clearly gentlemen believe women are also good for flirting.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners, but Sarah caught the flicker of sadness in their depths. “Or are they flirting with the potted palms?”

Guilt pricked Sarah for her unguarded words, and she plucked at the ribbon tied at the end of her long braid, from which unruly curls sprang. Carolyn’s husband, Edward, had been a paragon amongst men devoted, loving, and loyal. Not at all a nincompoop. Yet, more than anyone else, Carolyn was certainly accustomed to her outspoken nature.

“They only flirt with the potted palms after imbibing too much brandy. Which happens with shocking frequency. But I only mention nincompoops as we are speaking about our book selection, and as far as I am concerned, Victor Frankenstein was a nincompoop.”

“I absolutely agree,” said Julianne with a vigorous nod, her usual reserve temporarily forgotten, as it often was when the four of them were together. “All the bad things that happened in the story, all the murders and tragic deaths, were his fault.”

“But Victor didn’t kill anyone,” Emily said, scooting closer. “The monster was responsible.”

“Yes, but Victor created the monster,” pointed out Carolyn.

“And then utterly rejected him.” Sarah pressed her palms together, vividly recalling her dislike for the scientist and her deep sympathy for the grotesque being he created. “Victor discarded that poor creature as if he were yesterday’s trash, running away from him, leaving him with nothing. No knowledge of life or of how to survive. He created him, then showed him not even a moment of human decency. Simply because he was hideous. It certainly wasn’t the monster’s fault he was so. Not everyone is beautiful.” She gave a philosophical shrug and forced back the suspicion that her empathy for the monster perhaps reflected a bit too closely some of her own personal struggles.

“The monster was worse than merely ‘not beautiful,’” Julianne pointed out. “He was wretched and huge and hideous. Very frightening.”

“Still, even if no one else could have found it in their hearts to treat him decently, surely Victor, his creator, should have extended some tiny crumb of kindness to him,” Sarah insisted. “The monster didn’t turn harsh and cruel until after he finally realized that he would never be accepted. By anyone. How different his life would have been if just one person had been kind to him.”

“I agree,” said Carolyn. “He was such a tragic figure. If Victor had treated him with decency, I think others would have followed suit.”

“But Victor suffered greatly for his sins as well,” said Julianne. “The monster killed his brother, his best friend, and his wife. I found I had sympathy for both Frankenstein and his monster.”

Sarah pursed her lips. “I must admit my curiosity was piqued by the fact that other than vague references to visiting charnel houses and digging about in graveyards for bodies, Shelley was very evasive on how the creature was actually made and came to life. Makes me wonder if such a thing is really possible.” She glanced toward the window where the rain slashed and lightning flashed. “You realize that the monster was created during a storm just like this.”

“Do not even consider such a thing,” Julianne said with a visible shudder. “Don’t forget, it was Victor’s obsession with knowledge and learning that led to his downfall.”

“There is nothing wrong with the pursuit of knowledge,” Sarah protested.

“I suspect Victor Frankenstein, and his monster, would disagree with you,” said Carolyn.

“Personally, I think Victor’s downfall was creating a creature that was so repulsive,” said Emily.

“Surely he could see that it was hideous before he brought it to life. I may not be a scientist, but if I were going to create a man, I would set my sights on fashioning the perfect man. Certainly not one a person couldn’t bear to gaze upon. And definitely not one who would resort to murder.”

“The Perfect Man…” mused Julianne, tapping her finger to her chin. “Do you think such a thing exists?”

Sarah glanced at Carolyn. Saw the shadow of sadness that clouded her sister’s eyes. And could almost hear her thinking, I know he does. I was married to him.

Emily sighed. “I’d like to think so, but I cannot say as I’ve ever met him.”

“Nor have I,” said Sarah. “And over the past few months, we’ve certainly had the opportunity to observe the best society has to offer. Not a perfect man in the entire bunch.”

“Not even a near perfect specimen,” Julianne concurred with a sigh.

“Well, I find that unacceptable,” Sarah said, sitting up straighter. “Therefore, in the spirit of our reading of The Modern Prometheus, I propose that we do what Victor Frankenstein failed to do.”

She leaned forward and paused, excitement humming through her, the silence broken only by the ominous rumble of thunder and the violent splatter of rain against the windows. Lightning flashed, illuminating the trio of questioning gazes locked upon her.

“I propose,” Sarah said in a low voice, “that we create the Perfect Man.”

Chapter 2

Sarah’s announcement was met with slack-jawed silence.

Finally Emily cleared her throat. “Create our own man? Are you daft? If you think I’m going to skulk about in charnel houses and graveyards in search of bodies ”

“Good heavens, Emily, your imagination is almost as grisly as Mary Shelley’s,” said Sarah. “Besides, I’m not convinced it is actually scientifically possible to reanimate dead objects such as Frankenstein did.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Julianne murmured.

“I meant that we should create our man in the figurative, as opposed to the literal, sense. Decide what would constitute the Perfect Man. Make a list of the physical qualities and personality traits.”

“I see,” said Carolyn, nodding. “But why stop there? I propose that we actually build him. Not as a monster, but more like a…life-size doll.”

“Oh, yes!” said Emily in an excited whisper. “One we can prop in a chair, who will sit in the drawing room with us ”

“And discuss fashion without complaint,” broke in Julianne with a giggle. “For hours on end.”

Caught up in the enthusiasm for the project, especially as it had clearly captured Carolyn’s interest, Sarah rose and crossed to the escritoire set in the corner near the fireplace. After sitting, she pulled a piece of vellum and the pen toward her and began making a list.

“So the Perfect Man is one who will sit and talk to us,” she repeated as she wrote.

“Not just talk to us,” Carolyn said, “but listen to us.”

“And not just listen,” stressed Emily, “but he must actively seek out our opinions.”

“Of course,” agreed Sarah, dipping her pen tip into the inkwell again. “Because he will recognize that we are intelligent and have worthwhile things to say. What else?”

“He must be kind,” said Carolyn. “Patient. Generous. Honest. And honorable.”

“Witty, intelligent, and a superb and tireless dancer,” added Emily. Julianne heaved out a dreamy sigh. “The Perfect Man must be knee-weakening handsome, wildly romantic, and stunningly passionate.”

Sarah blinked behind her glasses and shifted her gaze toward the bed where Julianne stared toward the window with a faraway look in her eyes. “Stunningly passionate?”

Julianne turned toward her and nodded, her expression serious. “Oh, yes. The sort of man who can sweep a woman off her feet.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Both. The Perfect Man must make your insides flutter from a mere look.”

“Perhaps that flutter means you’ve merely eaten some bad cheese,” Sarah said dryly. Good heavens, after seeing the suffering Carolyn had endured after Edward’s death, she harbored no desire for any sort of grand passion. She’d simply devote her energies to her books and flowers and pets and sketches, thank you very much. Besides, she was not at all the sort of woman to inspire passion in a man.