The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (112 page)

“No?”

“The décolletage is too low.”

“My dearest girl, this is a good design point, not a bad one. You should accentuate your best
features.
”

“No, honestly, my lord, these days I—how to put this?—overflow. It's terribly incommodious.” Alexia made
a kind of flip-forward gesture with both hands at her bosom area. Always substantial, that particular region had expanded
to near scenic proportions over the last few months. Lord Maccon was delighted. Lady Maccon found it ridiculous.
As if I weren't well enough endowed to start with!

“Ah, yes. I do see your point,
periwinkle.
” He moved on.

“You were saying, about Professor Lyall?”

“What I mean to articulate,
honey bee,
is that there are
levels
of deviation. Some of us are, shall we say, more
experimental
than others in our tastes. In some, I believe it is a matter of boredom, in others it is nature, and for still others it
is indifference.” The vampire's tone of voice was filled with the usual airy flippancy, but Alexia had a feeling this was
something he had studied much over the centuries. Also, Lord Akeldama never doled out information without good reason.

The vampire continued to prattle on as he sorted through her wardrobe without looking up at her, as though he were having
a conversation with the dresses. “So few are lucky enough to love where they will. Or unlucky, I suppose.” Finally, he selected
a walking outfit comprised of a ruffled purple skirt, cream blouse, and square cropped Spanish jacket in mauve. Despite the
fact that there was very little trim, something about it clearly appealed to him. Alexia was delighted with this choice, as
the outfit coordinated with one of her favorite hats, a little mauve bowler with a purple ostrich feather.

He brought it over to her and held it up, nodding. “Excellent palette for your coloring, my
little Italian pastry.
Did our Biffy help you order this?” Without waiting for confirmation, he continued his previous discussion
with studied casualness. “Your Professor Lyall is one of those.”

“One of the indifferent ones?”

“Ah, no, petal, one of those who has no particular preferences.”

“And Boots?” Alexia held very still as the vampire moved around behind her, very much like a real maid, and began lacing up
the back of the skirt.

“Boots is another one.”

Lady Maccon thought she understood what he was trying to say but was determined to ensure things were as clear as possible.
Lord Akeldama may enjoy prevarications and euphemisms, but no one had ever accused Alexia of being coy. “Are you telling me,
my lord, that Boots enjoys the
company
of both men and women?”

The vampire came back around to the front and cocked his head to one side, as though more interested in the fit of the jacket
than their conversation. “I know, peculiar of him, isn't it, my little
pigeon
? But I and mine, possibly more than anyone else in London, do not presume to judge the predilections of others.” He bent
forward to tidy the fall of the bow at Alexia's neck. Then he had her sit while he fussed with stockings.

“Well, I should never venture to question your assessment of Boots's taste, but really, you must be mistaken in Professor
Lyall's nature. He's in the military, for goodness' sake!”

“I take it you have heard very little on the subject of Her Majesty's Royal Navy?” The vampire moved on to her shoes. Her
feet were so swollen she no longer fit into any of her boots, much to his disgust. “Imagine wearing a walking dress with dancing
slippers!”

“Well, it's not as though I
walk
all that much anymore. But, my dear lord, I can't believe it. Not Professor Lyall. You must misconstrue.”

Lord Akeldama became motionless, his head bent over one of her kid slippers. “Oh, little lilac bush, I
know
I do not.”

Lady Maccon stilled herself, frowning down at the blond head bent so diligently at her feet. “I have never seen him favor
anyone of either sex. I had thought it was a part of being Beta, to love the pack at the expense of every other romance. Not
that I have met many Betas. It is not a personality trait, then? Has he not always been so reticent?”

Lord Akeldama stood and came back behind her, beginning to toy with her hair.

“You arrange a lady's ensemble rather well, for an aristocrat. Don't you, my lord?”

“We all came from somewhere originally,
buttercup,
even us vampires. Of course, your Professor Lyall and I have never run in the same circles, and until you came into our lives,
I must admit I never paid him much mind.” The vampire frowned and a look of genuine disfavor crossed his beautiful face. “This
may yet prove to be a rather catastrophic oversight. As bad as that brief period wherein I became enamored of a lime-green
overcoat.” He shuddered at the unpleasantness of the memory.

“Surely it cannot be so awful as all that. It is
only
Professor Lyall of whom we speak.”

“
Exactly,
my plum puff. So few of us can be so easily dismissed as an
only.
I've done some inquiring. They say he never quite recovered from a broken heart.”

Alexia frowned. “Oh, do
they
?”

“An embarrassing affliction in an immortal, brokenheartedness, wouldn't you say? Least of all in a man of sense and dignity.”

Lady Maccon gave her friend a sharp look through the looking glass as he pinned one of her curls into place. “No, I should
say instead
poor Professor Lyall.
”

Lord Akeldama finished with her hair. “There!” he pronounced with a flourish. He held up a hand mirror for her to look at
the back. “I haven't our lovely Biffy's skill with the curling tongs, so a simple updo will have to suffice. I apologize for
such ineptitude. I should add one or two rosettes or a fresh flower, just here.”

“Oh, simple is absolutely splendid, and anything is better than what I could do for myself. I shall take your advice about
the flower, of course.”

The vampire nodded, took the mirror back, and placed it on the armoire. “And… how is Biffy?” The very flatness in the
vampire's words alerted Alexia to the importance of this oh-so-casual question.

“He is still upset at having to give up snuff.” Lord Akeldama smiled only slightly at her attempted lightheartedness, so Alexia
adopted his serious tone. “Not as well as he could be. My husband thinks, and I am inclined to agree with him, there is something
holding him back. Pitiable, for Biffy did not ask for the lupine afterlife, but he must learn to accept it.”

Lord Akeldama's perfect mouth twisted slightly.

“I am given to understand there is a matter of control. He must learn to master the shift rather than allow it to master him.
Until he does, there are all sorts of restrictions. He cannot go out during the day or he may be permanently damaged, he must
be kept near silver for simply
ages around the moon, and no sweet basil within smelling distance. It's all quite tragic.”

Lord Akeldama stepped back and then spoke as though she had never answered his question. “Ah, well, I must bid you adieu,
my dearest girl.
I have my own toilette to see to. There is a most licentious music hall show opening this
very
evening, and I have a mind to attend in full regalia.” He made his way toward the door in the sweeping manner much favored
by an operatic villain when exiting stage left.

Lady Maccon was not fooled.

“My lord.” Alexia's voice was soft and gentle, or as soft and as gentle as she could make it, being not a woman generally
in command of such feminine wiles. “On our subject of brokenheartedness, should I now be saying
poor Lord Akeldama?
”

The vampire left without dignifying that with a reply.

Lady Maccon lowered the balcony drawbridge and made her way into Woolsey's town home and down the stairs. Walking a gangplank
when one cannot see one's feet was a tad nerve-racking, but Alexia Maccon was a woman of forthright character and firm principle,
not to be defeated by a mere fat belly. She encountered Felicity, obviously recently returned from one of her unmentionable
jaunts, for she was once more attired in knitwear. They had no chance for idle conversation, thank goodness, for the house
was in a veritable uproar.

Still, Felicity would not allow Alexia to pass without some commentary. “Sister! What is that tremendous ruckus in the back
parlor?”

“Felicity, you did know, when you prevailed upon my
hospitality, that this was the den of werewolves, did you not?”

“Yes, but to behave like animals? Surely that's not polite.”

Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and gave her sister a look and the time to contemplate what she had just said.

Felicity sputtered. “You mean to say? Changed! Here! In town? How unspeakably shameful!” She turned to walk with her sister
back down the stairs. “May I see?”

Lady Maccon wondered if she did not prefer the cuttingly nasty Felicity of previous incarnations.

“No, you most certainly may not! Really, what has gotten into you of late? You are not at all yourself.”

“Is it so unlikely that I should wish to improve myself?”

Alexia fingered the dull gray shawl draped over her sister's faded dress. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Felicity huffed in annoyance. “I must go change for supper.”

Lady Maccon looked her up and down, emitting a lip curl that was, quite frankly, remarkably Felicity-like. Sometimes, although
not too often, there came an indication that they were, indeed, related. “Yes, I do believe you must.”

Felicity wiggled her shoulders and emitted the “Oh, la,” of an insult being shaken off, and proceeded back up to the best
bedroom, which she had, naturally, commandeered as her own.

Lady Maccon waddled on down, one careful stair at a time. The urgency of the noises below made her increasingly annoyed by
her own inability to move with any kind
of alacrity.
Really this is simply too ridiculous! I'm trapped by my own body.
She attained the main hall only to find that the door to the back parlor was locked and shaking. Professor Lyall and two
clavigers were milling about unhappily, crowding the passageway with masculine concern.

“Why aren't you at supper?” demanded Lady Maccon imperiously. “I am certain Floote and the staff have gone to substantial
lengths to provide.”

Everyone stilled and looked at her.

“Go on, go eat,” she said to them, as though they were small children or pet dogs.

Professor Lyall raised a quizzical brow at her.

Lady Maccon lowered her voice. “Biffy wouldn't want anyone to see.”

“Ah.” Then the Beta, obedient to his mistress's will, followed his fellows into the dining room, shutting the door behind
him.

Lady Maccon let herself into the back parlor. Which was an absolute mess. Lord Maccon, now a massive brindled wolf—quite handsome,
Alexia always thought, even in lupine form—was squared off against a younger, lankier animal. Biffy's fur was a deep chocolate
color, much the same as his hair, except for his stomach and up to the ruff, which was oxblood. His eyes were yellow and crazed.

Lord Maccon barked at his wife authoritatively. Lord Maccon was always barking at his wife, the form of his body mattering
not one jot.

Alexia dismissed the commanding tone. “Yes, yes, but you must admit I can be quite useful under such circumstances as these,
even in my less-than-nimble state.”

Lord Maccon growled in evident annoyance.

Biffy caught Lady Maccon's scent and turned instinctively to hurl himself at her, a new threat. The earl twisted to place
his own body in the way. The slighter wolf charged full tilt into his Alpha. Biffy reeled, shaking his head and whining. Lord
Maccon feinted toward him, teeth nipping, backing him flush against the now mostly destroyed chaise.

“Oh, Conall, look at this room!” Lady Maccon was displeased. The place was in chaos—furniture overturned, drapes shredded,
and one of the cook's precious journals had been bitten into and slobbered all over.

“Oh, doesn't that just take the biscuit! That's evidence, that is.” Alexia's hand was to her breast in distress. “Oh, dear,
I suppose I ought to have kept it with me.” She couldn't really blame Biffy, of course, but it was vexing. She toddled her
way toward him, stripping off her gloves.

Biffy continued to snap and slather in her direction, growling in uncontrollable rage, the cursed monster of folklore made
flesh and fur before her.

Alexia tsked at him. “Really, Biffy, must you?” Then she used her best Lady Maccon voice. “Behave! What kind of conduct is
this for a gentleman!”

Alexia was Alpha, too, and the commanding tone sunk in. Biffy mellowed his snapping frenzy. Some measure of sense entered
his yellow eyes. Lord Maccon seized the opportunity and charged, clamping down hard on the other wolf's neck, bearing him
down to the floor by sheer superiority of mass.

Lady Maccon approached and looked down at the tableau. “It's no good, Conall. I can't bend down to touch him without falling
over.”

Her husband let out a snort of amusement. Then, with a casual flick of his head, he hurled the young wolf upward. A surprised
Biffy landed on his back on the chaise lounge, scrambling to right himself and attack once more.

Lady Maccon grabbed his tail. He jerked in surprise, enough to overbalance her so that she fell with an
oof
onto the chaise next to him. In that same instant, the power of her preternatural touch forced him back into human form.
Even as Biffy's tail retreated, Alexia reached for a paw with her other hand.

In very short order, a naked Biffy lay sprawled in a most undignified way upon the chaise lounge with his foot firmly grasped
by his mistress. Since contact with Alexia made him mortal, with all the physical responses such a state entailed, it was
not unsurprising to find him blushing crimson in humiliation.