Miss Hisselpenny maintained an appalled silence. The very idea was utterly alien to her upbringing.
Miss Tarabotti mulled it over. She found she liked the idea. She had always secretly admired the vampire queens their superior position in hive structure. She did not know werewolves had something similar. Did Alpha females, she wondered, trump males outside the romantic arena as well? “Why?” she asked.
Lyall explained. “It has to be up to the female, with so few of them and so many of us. There is no battling over a female allowed. Werewolves rarely live more than a century or two because of all the infighting. The laws are strict and enforced by the dewan himself. It is entirely the bitch's choice every step of the dance.”
“So, Lord Maccon was waiting for me to go to him.” Miss Tarabotti realized for the first time how strange it must be for the older supernatural folk to adjust to the changing social norms of Queen Victoria's daylight world. Lord Maccon always seemed to have such things well in hand. It had not even occurred to Alexia that he had made a mistake in his behavior toward her. “Then what of his conduct today?”
Miss Hisselpenny sucked in a gasp. “What did he do?” She shivered in delighted horror.
Miss Tarabotti promised to tell her the particulars later. Although this time, she suspected, she would not be able to reveal every detail. Things had progressed a little too far for someone of Ivy's delicate sensibilities. If merely looking at that wingback chair could make Alexia blush, it would certainly be too much for her dear friend.
Professor Lyall coughed. Miss Tarabotti believed he was doing so to hide amusement. “That may have been my fault. I spoke to him most severely, reminding him to treat you as a modern British lady, not a werewolf.”
“Mmm,” said Miss Tarabotti, still contemplating the wingback chair, “perhaps a little too modern?”
Professor Lyall's eyebrows went all the way up, and he leaned a little out of the shadows toward her.
“Alexia,” said Miss Hisselpenny most severely, “you must force him to make his intentions clear. Persisting in this kind of behavior could cause quite the scandal.”
Miss Tarabotti thought of her preternatural state and her father, who was reputed to have been quite the philanderer before his marriage. You have no idea, she almost said.
Miss Hisselpenny continued. “I mean to say, not that one could bear to think such a thing, but it must be said, it really must...” She looked most distressed. “What if he only intends to offer you carte blanche?” Her eyes were big and sympathetic. Ivy was intelligent enough to know, whether she liked to acknowledge it or not, what Alexia's prospects really were. Practically speaking, they could not include marriage to someone of Lord Maccon's standing, no matter how romantic her imagination.
Alexia knew Ivy did not intend to be cruel, but she was hurt nonetheless. She nodded glumly.
Professor Lyall, whose sensitivities were touched by Miss Tarabotti's suddenly sad eyes, said, “I cannot believe my lord's intentions are anything less than honorable.”
Miss Tarabotti smiled, wobbly. “That is kind of you to say, Professor. Still, it seems as though I am faced with a dilemma. Respond as your pack protocol dictates”— she paused seeing Ivy's eyes widen —“risking my reputation with ruination and ostracism. Or deny everything and maintain as I have always done.”
Miss Hisselpenny took Miss Tarabotti's hand and squeezed it sympathetically. Alexia squeezed back and then spoke as though trying to convince herself. She was, after all, soulless and practical. “Mine is not precisely a bad life. I have material wealth and good health. Perhaps I am not useful nor beloved by my family, but I have never suffered unduly. And I have my books.” She paused, finding herself perilously close to self-pity.
Professor Lyall and Miss Hisselpenny exchanged glances. Something passed between them. Some silent pact of purpose to do... Ivy knew not what. But, whatever the future. Miss Hisselpenny was certainly glad to have Professor Lyall on her side.
Floote appeared in the doorway. “A Mr. Haverbink to see you. Miss Tarabotti.”
Mr. Haverbink entered the room, shutting the door behind him.
Professor Lyall said, “Forgive me not standing, Haverbink. Too many days running.”
“Not a worry, sir, not a bit of it.” Mr. Haverbink was an extraordinarily large and thuglike man of working-class extraction. What origins his cultivated speech left in doubt, his physical appearance demonstrated. He was the type of good farming stock that, when the oxen collapsed from exhaustion, picked up the plow, strapped himself to it, and finished tilling the fields by hand.
Miss Tarabotti and Miss Hisselpenny had never before seen so many muscles on one individual. His neck was the size of a tree. Both ladies were suitably impressed.
Professor Lyall made introductions. “Ladies, Mr. Haverbink. Mr. Haverbink, this is Miss Hisselpenny, and this is Miss Tarabotti, your charge.”
“Oh!” said Ivy. “You are from BUR?”
Mr. Haverbink nodded affably. “Aye, miss.”
“But you are not...?” Miss Tarabotti could not tell how she knew. Perhaps it was because he seemed so relaxed in the bright sunlight or because how grounded and earthy he seemed. He showed none of the dramatic flair one expects with excess soul.
“A werewolf? No, miss. Not interested in being a claviger either, so I shan't ever become one. Gone up against a couple in the boxing ring once or twice, so do not worry yourself on that account. Besides, the boss does not seem to think we will have trouble from that quarter, leastways not during the daytime.”