“She is well,” replied Biffy, utterly passive.
“And that child of hers? My darling little niece?”
Her face sharpened when she was being nosy, noted Biffy, rather like that of an inquisitive trout. “She, too, is well.”
“And how is Lord Maccon? Still doting upon them both?”
“Still, as you say, doting.”
“Why, Mr. Rabiffano, you have grown so dreary and terse since your accident.”
With a twinkle to his eye, the dandy gestured at the little gold straw bonnet. “What do you think of this one, Miss Loontwill? It is very subtle and sophisticated.”
Felicity backed away hurriedly. “Oh, no, mine is too bold a beauty for anything so insipid.” She turned away. “Mama, Evy, have you seen anything to your taste?”
“Not tonight, my dear.”
“No, sister, although that green and red toque makes quite the statement.”
Felicity looked back at Madame Lefoux, on point. “How unfortunate that you are no longer in charge here, madame. I do believe that the quality may have fallen.”
Madame Lefoux said nothing and Biffy took the hit without flinching.
“Do, please, give my sister and her husband my best regards. I do hope they remain blissfully enamored of one another, although it is terribly embarrassing.” Felicity whirled to the French inventor. “And give the countess my compliments as well, of course.”
With that, the rose-scented blonde led her mother and her sister out into the night with nary a backward glance.
Biffy and Madame Lefoux exchanged looks.
“What was that about?” wondered the inventor.
“A warning of some kind.”
“Or an offer? I think I should return to Woolsey.”
“You are turning into a very good drone, aren’t you, Madame Lefoux?”
As she made her way out, the Frenchwoman gave him a look that suggested she preferred it if everyone thought that. Biffy hoarded away that bit of information. He had much to tell Lady Maccon when he saw her next.
Alexia and Conall arrived home from the theater prepared to go out immediately to call on the Woolsey Hive. One did not ignore an invitation from Countess Nadasdy, even if one was a peer of the realm. Alexia alighted from her gilded carriage in a flutter of taffeta and intrigue, marching into her town residence with strides of such vigor as to make the bustle of her dress sway alarmingly back and forth. Lord Maccon eyed this appreciatively. The tuck-in at his wife’s waist was particularly appealing, emphasizing an area ideally suited to a man’s hand, particularly if one had hands as large as his. Alexia turned in the doorway and gave him a look.
“Oh, do hurry.” They were still making a show of living in their own house and so had to move swiftly up the stairs and across the secret gangplank into Lord Akeldama’s residence in order to effect a change of attire.
Floote’s dapper head emerged from the back parlor as they did so. “Madam?”
“Not stopping, Floote. We have been summoned.”
“Queen Victoria?”
“No, worse—a queen.”
“Will you go by rail or shall I have the groom switch to fresh horses?”
Alexia paused halfway up the grand staircase.
“Train, I think, please.”
“At once, madam.”
Prudence, much to everyone’s delight, was down for her nap, nested with her head atop Lord Akeldama’s cat and her feet tucked under the Viscount Trizdale’s lemon-satin-covered leg. The viscount was looking strained, obviously under orders not to move for fear of waking the child. Prudence was wearing an excessively frilly dress of cream and lavender plaid. Lord Akeldama had changed into an outfit of royal purple and champagne to complement it and was sitting nearby, a fond eye to his drone and adopted daughter. He appeared to be reading a suspiciously embossed novel, but Alexia could not quite countenance such an activity in Lord Akeldama. To her certain knowledge, he never read anything, except perhaps the society gossip columns. She was unsurprised when, upon catching sight of them lurking in the hallway, the vampire put his book down with alacrity and sprang to meet them.
Together they looked at the lemony drone, calico feline, and plaid pile of infant.
“Isn’t that just a picture?” Lord Akeldama was adrift on a sea of candy-colored domestic bliss.
“All is well?” Alexia spoke in hushed tones.
The vampire tucked a lock of silvery blond hair behind his ear in an oddly soft gesture. “Excessively. The puggle behaved herself after you departed, and as you can see, we had no further incidents of note.”
“I do hope she grows out of this dislike for soap suds.”
Lord Akeldama gave Lord Maccon a significant sort of once-over where he lurked behind his wife in the hallway. “My darling chamomile bud, we can but hope.”
Lord Maccon took mild offense and sniffed at himself subtly.
“Conall and I have been summoned to visit Woolsey. You will manage without us for the remainder of the night?”
“I believe we may, just possibly, survive, my little periwinkle.”
Lady Maccon smiled and was about to head upstairs to change her gown when someone pulled the bell rope. Being already in the hallway and hoping to keep Prudence from waking, Lord Maccon dashed to answer the door despite the fact that this was most unbecoming for a werewolf of his station, and it was someone else’s house.
“Oh, really, Conall. Do try not to behave like a footman,” remonstrated his wife.
Ignoring her, Lord Maccon opened the door with a flourish and a tiny bow—as behooved a footman.
Lady Maccon cast her hands up in exasperation.
Fortunately it was only Professor Lyall on the stoop. If any man was used to Lord Maccon’s disregard for all laws of propriety and precedence, it was his Beta. “Oh, good, my lord. I was hoping to catch you here.”
“Randolph.”
“Dolly darling!” said Lord Akeldama.
Professor Lyall didn’t even twitch an eyelid at the appalling moniker.
“You had a visitor, my lord,” said the Beta to his Alpha, looking refined.
Alexia was confident enough in her assessment of Lyall’s character to spot a certain tension. He displayed quick efficiency under most circumstances. Such forced calm as this indicated a need for caution.
Her husband knew this, too. Or perhaps he smelled something. He loosened his stance, prepared to fight. “BUR or pack business?”
“Pack.”
“Oh, must I? Is it terribly important? We are required out of town.”
Alexia interrupted. “I alone am required. You, as I understand it, my love, were simply coming along out of curiosity.”
Conall frowned. His wife knew perfectly well that the real reason he wished to accompany her was for security. He hated sending her into a hive alone. Alexia waggled her reticule at him. As yet, there was no new parasol in her life, but she still carried Ethel, and the sundowner gun was good enough when pointed at a vampire queen.
“I’m afraid this is important,” said a new voice from behind Professor Lyall, in the street.
Professor Lyall’s lip curled slightly. “I thought I told you to wait.”
“Dinna forget, I’m Alpha. You canna order me around like you do everyone else.”
Alexia thought that a tad unfair. Professor Lyall was many things, but he was not at all tyrannical. That was more Conall’s style. It might be better said that Professor Lyall arranged everyone and everything around him just so. Alexia didn’t mind in the least; she was rather fond of a nice arrangement.
A woman moved out of the gloom of the front garden and into the light cast by the bright gas chandeliers of Lord Akeldama’s hallway. Professor Lyall, polite man that he was, shifted to one side to allow their unexpected visitor to take center stage.
Sidheag Maccon, the Lady of Kingair, looked much the same as she had almost three years earlier, when Alexia had seen her last. Immortality had given her skin a certain pallor, but her face was still grim and lined about the eyes and mouth, and she still wore her graying hair back in one heavy plait, like a schoolgirl. She wore a threadbare velvet cloak that would do nothing to ward off the evening’s chill. Alexia noted the woman’s bare feet. Clearly, the cloak was not for cold but for modesty.
“Evening, Gramps,” said Lady Kingair to Lord Maccon, and then, “Grams,” to Alexia. Considering she looked older than both, it was an odd kind of greeting to anyone unfamiliar with the Maccon’s familial relationships.
“Great-Great-Great-Granddaughter,” responded Lord Maccon tersely. “To what do we owe this honor?”
“We have a problem.”
“Oh, do we?”
“Yes. May I come in?”
Lord Maccon shifted, making an open-hand gesture back at Lord Akeldama, this being the vampire’s house. Vampires were odd about inviting people in. Lord Akeldama had once muttered something about imbalance in the tether ratio after Lady Maccon entertained Mrs. Ivy Tunstell overly long in his drawing room. He seemed to have adjusted tolerably well to Prudence and her parents living under his roof, but after the Ivy tea incident, Alexia always made certain to entertain her guests next door, in her own parlor.
Lord Akeldama peeked over Lady Maccon’s shoulder, standing on tiptoe. “I don’t believe we have been introduced, young lady.” His tone of voice said much on the subject of any woman darkening his doorstep with plaited hair, a Scottish accent, and an old velvet cloak.
Alexia pivoted slightly and, after a quick consideration, decided Lady Kingair was just lady enough to warrant the precedence, and said, “Lady Kingair, may I introduce our host, Lord Akeldama? Lord Akeldama, this is Sidheag Maccon, Alpha of the Kingair Pack.”
Everyone waited a breath.
“I thought as much.” Lord Akeldama gave a little bow. “Enchanted.”
The female werewolf nodded.
The two immortals evaluated each other. Alexia wondered if either saw beyond the outrageousness of the other’s appearance. Lord Akeldama’s eyes gleamed and Lady Kingair sniffed at the air.
Finally Lord Akeldama said, “Perhaps you had best come in.”
Alexia felt a surge of triumph at the achievement of such civilized discourse under such trying social circumstances. Introductions had been made!
However, her pleasure was interrupted by a high-treble query from behind them. “Dama?”
“Ah, I see somebody is awake. Good evening, my puggle darling.” Lord Akeldama turned away from his new acquaintance to look fondly down the corridor.
Prudence’s little head poked out from the drawing room. Tizzy stood behind her, looking apologetic. “I am sorry, my lord. She heard your voices.”
“Not to worry, my ducky darling. I know how she gets.”
Prudence seemed to take that as an invitation and padded down the hallway on her little stubby legs. “Mama! Dada!”
Lady Kingair, momentarily forgotten, was intrigued. “This must be my new great-great-great-aunt?”
Alexia’s forehead creased. “Is that correct? Shouldn’t it be great-great-great-great-half sister?” She looked at her husband for support. “Immortality makes for some pretty peculiar genealogy, I must say.” No wonder the vampires refuse to metamorphose those with children. Very tidy of them. Vampires preferred to have everything in the universe neat. In that, Alexia sympathized with their struggles.