'Mary Shelley, a young banker's son, and William, an excessively tall man with a ''lividly hued visage, watery eyes, and blackened lips within a straggling beard,'' pit their wits and derring-do against Lord Byron, master of steampunk technology, and his thuggish minions.
''...my beloved Percy's ardor bore him to lengths I could not go. There were plans, between him and Byron, that I could not condone. I nerved myself to protest: you may conceive how difficult, against such visions, such intellects. When protest failed, I forced myself to act.''She took her hand quickly from my arm and drew out a handkerchief. I paced beside her, managing not to exceed my position as mere listener, until she recovered herself. ''Then I was forced to depart, in haste, and to choose between discovery, outcry, wrath perhaps, retribution and my child.''
–from Spring in Geneva '
Source : Publisher's Blurb
