Home > Blameless (Parasol Protectorate #3)(27)

Blameless (Parasol Protectorate #3)(27)
Author: Gail Carriger

By the time Lyal had finished his ablutions, Lord Maccon had almost, but not quite, convinced his own clavigers to let him out. The young men were looking harassed, and had, apparently, deemed it safe to pass some clothing through to Lord Maccon, if nothing else. What the Alpha had done with said clothing only faintly resembled dressing, but at least he wasn’t striding around hol ering at them nak*d anymore.

Professor Lyal wandered over to his lordship’s cel , fixing the cuffs of his shirt and looking unruffled.

“Randolph,” barked the earl, “let me out this instant.”

Professor Lyal ignored him. He took the key and sent the clavigers off to see to the rest of the pack, who were al now starting to awaken.

“Do you remember, my lord, what the Woolsey Pack was like when you first came to chal enge for it?”

Lord Maccon paused in his yel ing and his pacing to look up in surprise. “Of course I do. It was not so long ago as al that.”

“Not a nice piece of work, the previous Earl of Woolsey, was he? Excel ent fighter, of course, but he had gone a little funny about the head—one too many live snacks.

‘Crackers’ some cal ed him.” Professor Lyal shook his head. He loathed talking about his previous Alpha. “An embarrassing thing for a carnivore to be compared to a biscuit, wouldn’t you say, my lord?”

“Your point, Randolph.” Lord Maccon could only be surprised out of his impatience for a brief length of time.

“You are becoming, shal we say, of the biscuit inclination, my lord.”

Lord Maccon took a deep breath and then sucked on his teeth. “Gone loopy, have I?”

“Perhaps just a little bit noodled.”

Lord Maccon looked shamefacedly down at the floor of his cel .

“It is time for you to face up to your responsibilities, my lord. Three weeks is enough time to wal ow in your own colossal mistake.”

“Pardon me?”

Professor Lyal had had more than enough of his Alpha’s nonsensical behavior, and he was a master of perfect timing. Unless he was wrong, and Professor Lyal was rarely wrong about an Alpha, Lord Maccon was ready to admit the truth. And even if Lyal was, by some stretch of the imagination, incorrect in his assessment, the earl could not be al owed to continue to be ridiculous out of mere stubbornness.

“You aren’t fooling any of us.”

Lord Maccon resisted admission of guilt even as he crumbled like the metaphorical cracker. “But I turned her out.”

“Yes, you did, and wasn’t that an idiotic thing to do?”

“Possibly.”

“Because?” Professor Lyal crossed his arms and dangled the key to his Alpha’s cel temptingly from one fingertip.

“Because there is no way she would have canoodled with another man, not my Alexia.”

“And?”

“And the child must be mine.” The earl paused. “Good gracious me, can you imagine that, becoming a father at my age?” This was fol owed by another much longer pause.

“She is never going to forgive me for this, is she?”

Professor Lyal had no mercy. “I wouldn’t. But then I have never precisely been in her situation before.”

“I should hope not, or there’s a prodigious deal regarding your personage about which I was previously unaware.”

“Now is not the time for jocularity, my lord.”

Lord Maccon sobered. “Insufferable woman. Couldn’t she have at least stayed around and argued with me more on the subject? Did she have to cut and run like that?”

“You do recal what you said to her? What you cal ed her?”

Lord Maccon’s wide, pleasant face became painful y white and drawn as he went mental y back to a certain castle in Scotland. “I’d just as soon not remember, thank you.”

“Are you going to behave yourself now?” Professor Lyal continued to wave the key.

“Stay off the formaldehyde?”

“I suppose I must. I’ve drunk it al , anyway.”

Professor Lyal let his Alpha out of the cel and then spent a few minutes fussing about the earl’s shirt and cravat, tidying up the mauling Lord Maccon had inflicted while attempting to clothe himself.

The earl withstood the grooming manful y, knowing it for what it was: Lyal ’s unspoken sympathy. Then he batted his Beta away. Lord Maccon was, when al was said and done, a wolf of action.

“So, what do I have to do to win her back? How do I convince her to come home?”

“You are forgetting that, given your treatment of her, she may not want to come home.”

“Then I shal make her forgive me!” Lord Maccon’s voice, while commanding, was also anguished.

“I do not believe that is quite how forgiveness works, my lord.”

“Wel ?”

“You remember that groveling business we once discussed during your initial courtship of the young lady?”

“Not that again.”

“Oh, no, not precisely. I was thinking, given her flight from London and the general y slanderous gossip that has resulted and permeated the society papers ever since, that public groveling is cal ed for under such circumstances.”

“What? No, I absolutely refuse.”

“Oh, I don’t believe you have a choice, my lord. A letter to the Morning Post would be best, a retraction of sorts. In it you should explain that this was al a horrible misunderstanding. Hail the child as a modern miracle. Claim you had the help of some scientist or other in its conception. How about using that MacDougal fel ow? He owes us a favor, doesn’t he, from that incident with the automaton? And he is an American; he won’t protest the resulting attention.”

“You have given this much thought, haven’t you, Randolph?”

“Someone had to. You, apparently, were not putting thought very high up on your list of priorities for the past few weeks.”

“Enough. I stil outrank you.”

Professor Lyal reflected he may have, just possibly, pushed his Alpha a little much with that last statement, but he held his ground.

“Now, where is my greatcoat? And where is Rumpet?” Lord Maccon threw his head back. “Rumpet!” he roared, bounding up the steps.

“Sir?” The butler met him at the top of the staircase. “You yel ed?”

“Send a man into town to book passage on the next possible channel crossing. It’s probably first thing in the morning. And from there a French train to the Italian border.” He turned to look at Lyal , who made his own more sedate way up the stairs from the dungeon. “That is where she has gone, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but how did you—?”

“Because that is where I would have gone.” He turned back to the butler. “Should take me a little over a day to cross France. I shal run the border tomorrow night in wolf skin and hang the consequences. Oh, and—”

This time it was Professor Lyal ’s turn to interrupt. “Belay that order, Rumpet.”

Lord Maccon turned around to growl at his Beta. “Now what? I shal go by the Post on my way out of town, get them to print a public apology. She is very likely in danger, Randolph, not to mention pregnant. I cannot possibly win her back by dawdling around London.”

Professor Lyal took a deep breath. He should have known having Lord Maccon in ful possession of his faculties might result in rash action. “It is more than just the regular papers. The vampires have been mudslinging and slandering your wife’s character in the popular press, accusing her of al manner of indiscretions, and unless I miss my guess, it al has to do with Alexia’s pregnancy. The vampires are not happy about it, my lord, not happy at al .”

“Nasty little bloodsuckers. I shal set them to rights. Why haven’t Lord Akeldama and his boys been able to counteract the gossip? And why hasn’t Lord Akeldama explained away my wife’s pregnancy, for that matter? I bet he knows. He is quite the little know-it-al . May even be Edict Keeper, unless I miss my guess.”

“That is the other problem: he has disappeared along with al of his drones.

Apparently, they are off searching for something the potentate stole. I have been trying to find out what and why and where, but it has been a tad hectic recently. Both BUR and the pack keep interfering. Not to mention the fact that the vampires real y aren’t saying anything of interest. Why, if it weren’t for Mrs. Tunstel and the hat shop, I might not even know the little I do.”

“Hat shop? Mrs. Tunstel ?” Lord Maccon blinked at this diatribe from his normal y quietly competent Beta. “You mean Ivy Hisselpenny? That Mrs. Tunstel ? What hat shop?”

But his Beta was on a verbal flyaway and unwil ing to pause. “What with you constantly sloshed and Channing gone, I am at my wit’s end. I real y am. You, my lord, cannot simply dash off to Italy. You have responsibilities here. ”

Lord Maccon frowned. “Ah, yes, Channing. I forgot about him.”

“Oh, yes? I didn’t think that was possible. Some people have al the luck.”

Lord Maccon caved. Truth be told he was rather worried to see his unflappable Randolph so, well , flapped. “Oh, very well , I shal give you three nights help sorting out this mess you have gotten us into, and then I’m off.”

Professor Lyal emitted the sigh of the long-suffering but knew it was the closest he was likely to get to victory with Lord Maccon and counted his blessings. Then he gently but firmly put his Alpha to work.

“Rumpet,” he addressed the frozen and confused butler, “cal the carriage. We are going into the city for the night.”

Lord Maccon turned to Professor Lyal as the two made their way through the hal way, col ecting their greatcoats on the way.

“Any other news I should be made aware of, Randolph?”

Professor Lyal frowned. “Only that Miss Wibbley has become engaged.”

“Should that information mean something to me?”

“I believe you were once fond of Miss Wibbley, my lord.”

“I was?” A frown. “How astonishing of me. Ah, yes, skinny little thing? You misconstrued—I was simply using her to needle Alexia at the time. Engaged, did you say? Who’s the unfortunate fel ow?”

“Captain Featherstonehaugh.”

“Ah, now that name does sound familiar. Didn’t we serve with a Captain Featherstonehaugh on our last tour in India?”

“Ah, no, sir, I believe that was this one’s grandfather.”

“Real y? How time flies. Poor man. Not much to hold on to with that chit. That’s what I like about my lass—she’s got a bit of meat on her bones.”

Professor Lyal could do nothing but say, “Yes, my lord.” Although he did shake his head over the obtuseness of his Alpha. Who, having decided al would once more be blissful in his marriage, already referred to Alexia as his again. Unless Lyal was wrong, and circumstances had already proved how improbable that outcome, Lady Maccon was unlikely to see the situation in the same light.

They swung themselves up easily into the grand crested coach and four that served as Woolsey’s main mode of transport when the wolves weren’t running.

“Now, what is this about Mrs. Tunstel and a hat shop?” Lord Maccon wanted to know, adding before Professor Lyal could answer, “Sorry about drinking your specimen col ection, by the way, Randolph. I wasn’t quite myself.”

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