A.N: This might be a bit of review for those of you familiar with Dracula.  But fear not, there is enough tinkering with history that even you will not be bored.  As always, I own nothing and am merely embellishing the timeline and events provided by Stoker.

Chapter 11 – History Lessons

Lord Henry Wotton had a surprisingly robust laugh for a man of almost eighty, which swelled and echoed in the confines of his teak-paneled study.  He gasped for breath, dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief. 

"Good Lord, Dorian.  You'll be the death of me yet," he gasped, one hand pressed to his chest.  "I haven't heard anything so funny in ages."

"I'm so pleased I could amuse you," I responded dryly.  Lord Henry was my oldest friend and, really, my only friend.  I had trusted him with my life, even my darkest secrets, since we were both young men.  He had proved an invaluable acquaintance during my first season and the life-changing events at its conclusion.  I was always glad when the new Season began for it heralded the return of Lord Henry and his family to London.  I had just finished telling him what little I knew of this Mrs. Harker.  He had nearly tumbled from his chair, shaking with laughter, as I detailed that most interesting conversation in my carriage.  He seemed to find the death threat especially hilarious.  Though, judging by his reaction, he found the latest development was no less amusing.  The tears of his laughter had obscured his vision to the extent that he had ultimately given up trying to read her response, making me read it aloud for him, repeatedly, since his laughter drowned out every other word.  Now, at the end of the tale, he was slowly recovering while I waited patiently.

"I never thought I would see the day," he finally said, regaining his breath.  He paused for a healthy swallow of whisky and fixed me with a serious gaze.  He always won these contests of will and, unable to guess to what he was referring, I surrendered first, waving for him to continue.  "I do believe that you have finally met your match."

I nearly dropped my glass.  "What!  Met my match?" I spluttered.

Giving me that annoyingly knowing look I had seen all to often over the last sixty years, he continued, as though I had not just misted both him and everything around him with a very nicely aged vintage.  "Exactly what I said, You have met your match, your equal even—and in Wilhelmina Harker of all people.  Wonders never cease!" 

He said the last with such conviction and sincerity, I could not help but glare at him.  Seeing this his smile widened and he seemed about to start laughing again.  He cleared his throat, trying to look quite serious.  Carefully looking everywhere but at me, he continued.  "Though I am rather surprised to hear of her return, after the scandals she caused during her last London Season."

This was news to me.  "What scandals? When was this?"

He smiled broadly, always happy to know something I did not.  "It would have been about 1884, no excuse me, '85.  Must have been during one of your reclusive periods but still, I am surprised you didn't hear of it.  Really, Dorian.  I can understand why you drop out of sight for a few years, but you miss so much while you are gone.  Besides, someday, someone is going to question the seemingly endless supply of Gray cousins named Dorian.  'It's an old family name' indeed."

"Henry!"  I barked, abruptly ending his speech before he could get started on the general stupidity of the English upper class.  "I believe you were telling me about Mrs. Harker.  A scandal, you said?"

Give me moment…" he paused, brow furrowing.  "Ah, yes.  Wilhelmina Harker, well she would have been Wilhelmina Murray then.  The season was ending and it was her friend, Miss Lucy Westenra, who was much talked about.  She was quite a beauty – one of those rare specimens combining the best of the old bloodlines and none of the bad.  She was the undisputed belle of that Season.  After a merry chase by a number of eager young men, it was rumored that Miss Westenra had finally accepted the proposal of Mr. Arthur Holmwood."

Now that was a familiar name. "Not the Honorable Arthur Holmwood! But Lord Godalming didn't marry this Miss Westenra.  Lady Godalming, Evelien I believe, is French, is she not?  What happened with Miss Westenra?" (1) 

I knew the answer was going to be unsatisfactory before he even spoke; he was wearing that most maddening self-satisfied expression, again. "She died."

"Ah, death—the answer du jour.  Tell me; Is everyone one would want to inquire about already dead?"

Lord Henry smiled genuinely at that.  "Probably, considering what little there is chose from among the living.  The case of Miss Westenra was not quite so simple though.  It is my understanding that she developed some sort of health problem on a few months into the engagement.  The family called in that detestable fanatic, Van Helsing.  He had been the terror of society some years before, if you recall."

"How could one forget?  He was barking mad—with his talk of demons in the night and abnormal fixations on blood.  I was surprised he managed to maintain any sort of following.  Of course, the blue-blooded have never been admired for their astuteness and he did make dinner conversation interesting, if a little gruesome."  I shuddered at the memory of the repellent little man constantly alert for potential benefactors to support his research.

"Well, nothing came of his interventions; Lucy Westenra was dead and buried by autumn.  Holmwood was despondent.  He took off on some continental adventure, spurred on by Van Helsing who, it was said, was the only one who had his confidence during those dark months.  Miss Murray went with him to join her fiancé who was transacting some sort of business there."

At last we were returning to the lady in question.  Enough of this now-deceased Miss Westenra.  "Fiancé?  Ah, this would be Mr. Harker, I assume.  Who was he and how is he involved in our little narrative?"

"Who was he? Nobody really, a nobody with a few providential connections.  A young solicitor with no background or circumstance to speak of.  There was talk of an important client, a noble of some sort from Eastern Europe, who was looking at property around London.  The gentleman was in London for that Season but attended only a few functions as Harker's guest."

The more he spoke the more confusing this became.  "Why was Miss Murray affianced to this nobody?"   

"The better question would be why he was affianced to her.  I believe her father was a teacher or maybe a tradesman.  I don't remember the exact details.  I do remember the whispers and gossip when Miss Westenra insisted on bringing Miss Murray along to teas and socials.  Miss Murray was a girl of unremarkable birth, destined to earn her living or perhaps, if she were fortunate, marry well enough to become comfortably bourgeois.  What's more, she was always far too opinionated and intelligent for a society woman.  Van Helsing himself once said she had far to good of a mind for a woman, as if were wasted on her."

"Van Helsing is a fool!" Though he was surely not the only one to think such things about her; society was vicious to outsiders.

"Well, yes—that goes without saying. But I think he meant it as a tribute(2). Many others repeated his comment meaning it as criticism. You should know that I was not one of those shunning Miss Murray for her mind.  The few times I conversed with her, I was delighted by her wit and shrewdness.  She could see through a faulty argument no matter how cleverly it was veiled and wasn't at all shy about exposing it.  She was really quite unpopular with those who fancied themselves great thinkers, for she had no qualms about revealing their stupidity in very public settings, especially when they challenged her."

What a delightful mental image!  To think of that delicate creature turning her fire on the puffed-up pretenders and the self-aggrandizing charlatans of society.  "No wonder!  She must have ruffled a lot of feathers.  You are beginning to make me truly sorry I missed all the fun.  But please, continue."

"Where was I?  Oh yes, so off they all went; Holmwood, Van Helsing, Miss Murray and I believe one of Miss Westenra's other suitors accompanied them.  It was a peculiar little group.  Holmwood returned to London sometime early the next year, in plenty of time to assume his title and his seat in Parliament.  Wilhelmina returned as well, as Mrs. Harker.  The next Season came and Lord Godalming was at every event with his fiancé on one arm and Mrs. Harker on the other.  They were inseparable, those three."

"Wait, what of the expedition?  What happened to Mr. Harker and the rest?"

"No one knows.  Only those two returned; Lord Godalming, who seemed to have aged 10 years in the interim, and Mrs. Harker, a pale figure draped in widow's weeds."

Henry had promised a scandal, a tale worth hearing.  So far this was half a tale, as best, and not nearly as scandalous as promised.  "That's ridiculous—surely someone knows.  What was the talk at the time?  Really Henry, I cannot believe something that extraordinary was common knowledge, yet no one discovered the truth!"

Perhaps too much of my displeasure came through in my tone, for Henry took it personally and stopped the tale entirely.  "Calm yourself Dorian.  You are getting quite impatient in your old age.  I thought you enjoyed a good mystery."  When I started to protest once more, he sighed and asked exasperatedly, "Are you going to let me tell this or not?"

If I was becoming more impatient, then Lord Henry was unquestionably becoming more theatrical with each passing year.  "Pardon me.  Do continue.  She made her debut as a shamefully beautiful widow and—"

"—And half the men of London were enchanted by her; married and single, young and old.  I have never seen such a spectacle.  She immediately became the center of every event she attended.  Whatever happened, the woman that returned was quite different from the girl departed.  Even now it is hard to say what had changed, or even what drew them to her.  She is a beautiful woman, but not remarkably so.  Her personality is engaging and pleasant but other women can boast the same.  Her mind?  Her figure?  Who knows, really?"

I, for one, knew, but could not explain it any better than Henry had.  Besides, if I interrupted one more time, I might never hear where this was leading.

"I'm afraid I haven't explained it very well, but it was there – and everyone responded. Even some of the women were drawn to her, hovering, eager to be taken into her confidence.  But she had no use for them; she had no use for most of the men as well.  A few were selected and proudly escorted her for a week or so and then, over night, she would have a new set of favorites.  Needless to say, this did not endear her to those in the market for a husband, nor their mothers.  As I said, she also angered some of the men, mostly the more learned men.  Many of them were twice disgraced, as she snubbed those who had failed to best her in a debate, refusing to dance with them or even converse with them once they proved themselves dull.  Naturally, the most vicious rumors began to spread—some true, others obvious fabrications."

At last we come to the scandal, which I was beginning to believe Henry fabricated in order to have license to pontificate uninterrupted.

"It was said a different carriage was seen each afternoon, waiting outside Carfax (3).   Her residence at Carfax itself was the subject of gossip; there were whispers that the foreign noble her husband had been working for was so taken with her that he gave the estate to her, as a gift.  As the Season progressed, the ranks of those against her grew and the incident with the youngest son of the Earl of Carrington turned the rest against her.  The young man was besotted with her, to the point some claimed she had bewitched him.  He courted her openly and just as openly she retreated from his advances.  Again, no one knows what actually happened but he died mysteriously, a boating accident the family claimed, though everyone believed it to be suicide.  That scandal was more than even Lord Godalming's influence could quiet.  She hastily left London, to travel abroad with a infirm aunt."

Continental excursions were always popular for those waiting for scandal to die down, but an infirm aunt? That was a mediocre excuse, at best.  I myself had disappeared to take care of a fictional peasant uprising on the family holdings in Albania, allegedly captained a ship trekking around the Cape, and even let it be said I joined a monastery in a remote corner of Scotland.  Of course, I doubt anyone believed those excuses anymore than I believed in this ailing aunt, but at least my falsehoods had flair.  Before I could inquire further, a shrill voice echoed down the hall.

"Papa!  Dinner is ready and we have been waiting."

While the title may have been affectionate, the tone was anything but.  The study door flew open, banging against the wall.  Lord Henry's daughter-in-law stormed into the room, stopping abruptly upon seeing me and looking even more sour than usual.

"Oh, are you still here, Mr. Gray?  I suppose you want to stay for dinner?"  She glared at me, daring me to agree.

She was a perfect embodiment of the inbred aristocrat; her long, plain face framed by dull brown hair, her sallow complexion marred even further by the angry spots of color on her cheeks. I answered calmly, knowing it would irritate her. "If it is not too much trouble, I'd be delighted to stay."

"Well, it is quite a bit of trouble.  Everything is already set for the family.  The servants would have to lay another place and I am sure the cook will be upset by such an abrupt change of plans."

"In that case, I would be delighted.  Henry and I will be along shortly."  Her whole face was slowly turning purple, yet she remained silent.  She leveled a truly hateful look at her father-in-law and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Seeing Henry barely restraining his laughter, I couldn't help but have the last word.  "She gets more charming each time I see her.  Your son is very lucky indeed."

"Lucky to have membership at the finest clubs in London, so he rarely needs come home, you mean.  It gives me great pleasure to awake each morning, just so I can see Lady Wotton's profound disappointment when I appear for breakfast."

"She's still hoping you'll shove off so she can get her hands on the full estate, is she?  Ungrateful sow!  You stepped down and let Albert have your seat, your title – what more can she want?  The crown itself?"

He laughed at this, but it was a bitter, hollow laugh. "Knowing her, probably, but what can be done?   We all have our crosses to bear; you seem to have appointed yourself hers.  She thoroughly despises you, Dorian.  Do you have to torment her so?  It puts her in a dreadful mood for days."

If I thought he was anything but delighted by my constant insolence to his daughter-in-law, I might have answered less mockingly.  As it was, I saw the glee he was careful to conceal whenever I dreamed up a new way to exasperate the woman.  "I'm surprised at you!  Is there no honor among thieves?  What's next—admonishing me in front of the harpy, as if I were the age I appear, or worse, threatening to cease inviting me altogether?  "

The teasing had the desired effect, his peevishness fading as he readied himself for dinner. "You know you will be invited; she has to put up with you, not only for my sake but for the sake of appearances.  You are far too prominent a member of society for her to ban you from the estate, though I am sure she would love to."

He paused, turning slowly and silently requesting my approval of his appearance.  I straightened his jacket, brush a bit off ash off his shoulder as he continued.

"Have no fear.  I'll make sure you are here, right beside me, for every event.  After all, you can't leave me here to suffer alone—not after you rile her like that.  Let's go down to dinner, where we will be subjected to listening to every detail of her plans for this year's ball and a sermon on the complexity of inviting just the right guests. Maybe you can make her choke on her soup again.  Now that was entertaining."

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(1) British titles are directly related to the land holdings that traditionally accompanied the peerage.  Therefore, it was not at all uncommon for a gentleman to assume a completely different surname upon inheriting a title.  Thanks to Kate for this clear and succinct explanation of something that always confused poor, American me.

(2) Van Helsing did say something to this effect in 'Dracula' and did intend it as high praise.  He rather liked Mina's brains and spunk.

(3) The hours reserved for afternoon tea were a popular time for gentleman to attend a private tea with their mistresses.  These affairs were not particularly secretive, as the gentlemen would leave their carriages prominently parked in front of the residence of their lady friend.