Professor Lyall gave a humorless laugh but obeyed her order. He settled into a small Chippendale side chair, which he moved into the darkest recess of the room: a little nook near the piano.
“Should we order some tea?” Miss Hisselpenny asked, concern for both his peaked appearance and Alexia's obviously feverish condition outweighing all sense of propriety.
Miss Tarabotti was impressed by her friend's resource. “What an excellent notion.”
Ivy went to the door to call for Floote, who magically appeared without needing to be summoned. “Miss Alexia is not feeling quite the thing and this gentleman here...,” she faltered.
Alexia was appalled at her own lack of manners. “Ivy! You don't mean to say you have not been introduced? And here I thought you knew each other. You came in together.”
Miss Hisselpenny turned to her friend. “We encountered one another on the front stoop, but we never formally made each other's acquaintance.” She turned back to the butler. “I am sorry, Floote. What was I saying?”
“Tea, miss?” suggested the ever-resourceful Floote. “Will there be anything else, miss?”
Alexia asked from the couch, “Do we have any liver?”
“Liver, miss? I shall inquire of the cook.”
“If we do, simply have her chop it small and serve it raw.” Miss Tarabotti double-checked with a glance at Professor Lyall, who nodded gratefully.
Both Ivy and Floote looked aghast, but there seemed to be nothing they could do to gainsay Alexia's request. After all, in the absence of the Loontwills proper, this was Miss Tarabotti's house to rule over.
“And some jam and bread sandwiches,” said Miss Tarabotti firmly. She felt a bit more composed, now that Lord Maccon had vacated the premises. Miss Tarabotti, once composed, was generally of a peckish proclivity.
“Very good, miss,” said Floote, and glided off.
Alexia performed introductions. “Professor Lyall, this is Miss Ivy Hisselpenny, my dearest friend. Ivy, this is Professor Randolph Lyall, Lord Maccon's second in command and protocol advisor, so far as I can tell.”
Lyall stood and bowed. Ivy curtsied from the doorway. Formalities over with, both returned to their seats.
“Professor, can you tell me what has occurred? Why did Lord Maccon depart in such haste?” Miss Tarabotti leaned forward and peered into the shadows. It was hard to read the professor's expression in the dim light, which gave him a decided advantage.
“Afraid not, Miss Tarabotti. BUR business.” He shut her down shamelessly. “Not to worry, the earl should get it all sorted through in short order.”
Alexia leaned back in the settee. Idly she picked up one of the many pink ribbon-embroidered cushions and began plucking at one of the tassels. “Then I wonder, sir, if I might ask you somewhat about pack protocol?”
Miss Hisselpenny's eyes went very wide, and she reached for her fan. When Alexia got that look in her eye, it meant her friend was about to say something shocking. Had Alexia been reading her father's books again? Ivy shuddered to even think such a thing. She always knew no good would come of those reprehensible manuscripts.
Professor Lyall, startled by this sudden switch in topic, looked uncomfortably at Miss Tarabotti.
“Oh, is it secret?” asked Alexia. One was never quite certain with the supernatural set. She knew there existed such concepts as pack protocol and pack etiquette, but sometimes these things were learned via cultural acumen and never taught or talked of openly. It was true that werewolves were more integrated into everyday society than vampires, but, still, one never knew unless one was actually a werewolf. Their traditions were, after all, much older than those of daylight folk.
Professor Lyall shrugged elegantly. “Not necessarily. I should caution, however, that pack rules are often quite blunt and not necessarily intended for a lady of Miss Hisselpenny's delicacy.”
Alexia grinned at him. “As opposed to mine?” she asked, putting him on the spot.
The professor was not to be trifled with. “My dear Miss Tarabotti, you are nothing if not resilient.”
Ivy, blushing furiously, spread open her fan and began fluttering it to cool her hot face. The fan was bright red Chinese silk with yellow lace at its edge, clearly selected to match the reprehensible shepherdess hat. Alexia rolled her eyes. Was Ivy's dubious taste now extending to all her accessories?
The fan seemed to give Miss Hisselpenny some courage. “Please,” she insisted, “do not forbear needlessly on my account.”
Miss Tarabotti smiled approvingly and patted her friend on the upper arm before turning expectantly back to face Professor Lyall in his darkened corner. “Shall I come to the point, Professor? Lord Maccon's manners have been highly bewildering of late. He has made several”—she paused delicately—“interesting incursions in my direction. These began, as you no doubt observed, in the public street the other evening.”
“Oh, dear Alexia!” breathed Miss Hisselpenny, truly shaken. “You do not mean to tell me you were observed.”
Miss Tarabotti dismissed her friend's concern. “Only by Professor Lyall here, so far as I am aware, and he is the soul of discretion.”
Professor Lyall, though clearly pleased by her accolade, said, “Not to be rude. Miss Tarabotti, but your aspect of pack protocol is...?”
Alexia sniffed. “I am getting there. You must understand, Professor Lyall, this is a smidgen embarrassing. You must permit me to broach the matter in a slightly roundabout manner.”