Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(13)
Angelika glanced reflexively to Will, the bump of the laboratory’s window frame a tender remembrance of his instant rejection.
Victor fixed him with a death glare, gripping his knife. “You did that to her?”
“It was an accident, and I’m very sorry, Angelika,” Will said with genuine remorse. “I’m still figuring out this new body, and I was careless. What felt like a mild reaction became something stronger.”
“It’s those blacksmith shoulders,” Victor observed, relaxing down in his seat. “Well, I hope you were gentle to her last night,” Victor said, assessing Angelika afresh. “Was it everything you were hoping for?”
“Nothing happened.” She transmitted with her eyes: Drop it.
“What are you hoping for?” Will asked.
Ignoring her glare, Victor said cheerfully, “You, my friend, were created purely for Miss Angelika Frankenstein’s personal use. She was going to bonk you halfway back to the grave.”
“Shut. Up. Victor.” Angelika’s cheeks were crimson. “I was not. You are contributing to scientific advancement, Will.”
Will’s complexion did not betray a blush, but his eyes darted between the Frankenstein siblings, trying to make sense of this teasing.
Victor continued. “Now that my own fantastic achievement is probably halfway to Glasgow, I might need to borrow you for a few scientific assessments.” At Will’s expression, Victor brayed heartily. “Don’t get the wrong idea; it will all be proper. I have a nemesis named Jürgen Schneider, and he is about to become very depressed by my skill.”
“Personal use?” Will was caught on that earlier detail. “I’m sure I misunderstand you.”
Victor replied, “You understand correctly. Jelly, I will need a full account of how you resurrected him by yourself. We will run some tests. This justifies a new microscope nicely.” He was beaming at the thought.
Will seemed to be grappling with this revelation when he looked at Angelika. His pupils were dilated, turning his brown eyes almost black, reminding her of last night and how he scented her neck like they were animal mates. “Why not just go down to the village and find a living volunteer?”
“She’s tried that many times,” Victor said with all the tact of a brother. “She has practically gone to Salisbury on market day and put herself into the livestock auctions. No buyers.”
She begged, “Please, just leave it.”
Will gave his observations. “Angelika, you are very fair, with your striking coloring.”
“Thank you,” Victor replied on her behalf, for he shared the exact same rippled waves of honey-red hair. “I once received an anonymous love letter, describing my eyes as ‘celadon gateways into sunlit fields of sage.’”
“That’s terrible writing and makes no sense,” Angelika said, looking at her own reflection in a spoon. Even in daylight, with his decorum restored, Will still thought her very fair? Encouraging. “You probably wrote a love letter to yourself.”
“Ask Lizzie. She’ll tell you.”
“I have no idea what she sees in you. And I don’t wish to know.”
Will continued to address Angelika. “You are clever enough to defeat the laws of living and dead. This grand house, and what I imagine is a fine dowry, would be an inducement.”
“This is my house, unless Athena bucks me off into a wall,” Victor said, biting into an apple.
It should have been flattering how bewildered Will was when he turned to her and asked, “How have you possibly remained unmarried?”
Instead, she imagined the subtext of the question was: What’s wrong with you?
“She’s got something about her,” Victor said slowly, answering the unasked, and it sent Angelika escaping to the window at the far end of the room, with a pastry in hand. “Something that the local men do not respond to. They want simple, straightforward women. Childbearing candidates. Good churchgoing sheep. Bland fair maids who know how to cook cabbage and whatnot. My sister is exceptional in every aspect, and they sense it. They know they cannot measure up to her, so they choose to laugh, or call her spinster, or witch.”
“Thank you, brother, how kind,” she replied with a tight throat, and looked outside the window. She did not feel very exceptional. Underneath the window stood a sow. Belladonna was tawny brown, spotted, big enough to saddle, and had a permanently hopeful countenance. One solitary piglet—a runt, slow to wean—was rooting around in the fallen leaves behind her.
Angelika opened the window and leaned down to feed the pig her pastry. “Victor, your secret admirer is here. The one who thinks your eyes are celadon gateways.”
“Tell her I’m not home.” Victor’s voice had the animal’s ears quirking up.
“But you are both wealthy,” Will said, valiantly staying on topic. “Surely she’s had countless suitors. Come back, Angelika, it’s all right.”
It was nice to be with someone who remained kind, instead of teasing like Victor. If she could, she’d sit on Will’s inviting lap and rest her face in his neck. Maybe he’d rub her back, up and down, until the loneliness subsided. Then, she might sit up, and he’d put his hand onto her jaw, encouraging a kiss—
Victor continued. “Suitors have come from miles away, from different towns, countries, and continents. They arrive in carriages to call, and to work out the extent of our fortune. The ones who are fervently religious are quickly shown the door. Others bore me to death. It is incredible to me how many men take no interest in science.”