Professor Lyall stood slowly. He looked bent and old, his mercurial face thin and drawn.
Mr. Haverbink turned to him solicitously. “Begging your pardon, sir, but his lordship gave me strict instructions to see you into the carriage and off to the castle. He has got the situation well in hand back at the office.”
Professor Lyall, nearly to the point of utter exhaustion, made his way haltingly to the door.
The hugely muscled young man looked like he would prefer to simply pick the Beta up and carry him out to the street, relieving the werewolf of his obvious distress. But, showing that he did indeed have experience working with the supernatural set, he respected his superior's pride and did not even try to assist him with an arm.
Polite to the last, Professor Lyall collected his hat and coat, donned both, and bowed his farewell from the parlor doorway. Alexia and Ivy were afraid he might topple right over, but he righted himself and made it out the front door and into the Woolsey Castle carriage with only a few stumbles here and there.
Mr. Haverbink saw him safely on his way and then came back into the parlor. “I'll be just out the front by yon lamp-post if you need me, miss,” he said to Miss Tarabotti. “I'm on duty until sundown, and then there'll be three vampires in rotation all night long. His lordship is not taking any chances. Not after what just happened.”
Though dying of curiosity, Ivy and Alexia knew better than to hound the young man with questions. If Professor Lyall would not tell them anything about what had taken the earl away so suddenly, this man would be equally unforthcoming.
Mr. Haverbink bowed deeply, muscles rippling all up and down his back, and lumbered from the room.
Miss Hisselpenny sighed and fluttered her fan. “Ah, for the countryside, what scenery there abides...,” quoth she.
Miss Tarabotti giggled. “Ivy, what a positively wicked thing to say. Bravo.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Backyard Shenanigans
The Loontwills returned from their shopping expedition flushed with success. Except for Squire Loontwill, who was now less flush than he had been and wore an expression more often seen on men returning from battle— one that had been badly lost with many casualties. Floote appeared at his elbow with a large glass of cognac. The squire muttered something about Floote-liness being next to godliness and downed the liquor in one gulp.
No one was surprised to find Miss Tarabotti entertaining Miss Hisselpenny in the front parlor. The squire muttered a greeting only just long enough to satisfy politeness and then retreated to his office with a second glass of cognac and the mandate that he was not to be disturbed for any reason.
The ladies Loontwill greeted Miss Hisselpenny in a far more verbose manner and insisted on showing off all of their purchases.
Miss Tarabotti had the presence of mind to send Floote for more tea. It was clearly going to be a long afternoon.
Felicity pulled out a leather box and lifted the lid. “Look at these. Are they not utterly divine? Do you not wish you had some just like?” Lying in scrumptious grandeur on a bed of black velvet was a pair of lace elbow-length evening gloves in pale moss green with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons up the sides.
“Yes,” agreed Alexia, because they were. “But you do not own an evening gown to match, do you?”
Felicity waggled her eyebrows excitedly. “Very perceptive, my dear sister, but I do now.” She grinned in a most indecorous manner.
Miss Tarabotti thought she could understand her step-father's deathly pallor. An evening gown to match such gloves would cost a small fortune, and whatever Felicity purchased, Evylin must have in equal value. Evylin proved this universal law by proudly displaying her own new evening gloves in silvery blue satin with rose-colored flowers embroidered about the edge.
Miss Hisselpenny was considerably impressed by such largesse. Her family's means did not extend into the realm of embroidered gloves and new evening gowns on a whim.
“The dresses are due next week,” said Mrs. Loontwill proudly, as though her two daughters had accomplished something marvelous. “Just in time for Almack's, we hope.” She looked down her nose at Ivy. “Will you be attending, Miss Hisselpenny?”
Alexia bridled at her mother, who was perfectly well aware that the Hisselpennys were not of a quality suitable to such an illustrious event. “And what new dress will you be wearing. Mama?” she asked sharply. “Something appropriate, or your customary style—a gown better suited to a lady half your age?”
“Alexia!” hissed Ivy, truly shocked.
Mrs. Loontwill turned flinty eyes on her eldest daughter. “Regardless of what I am wearing, it is clear you will not be there to see it.” She stood. “Nor, I think, will you be permitted to attend the duchess's rout tomorrow evening.” With that punishment, she swept from the room.
Felicity's eyes were dancing with merriment. “You are perfectly correct, of course. The gown she picked out is daringly low-cut, frilly, and pale pink.”
“But really, Alexia, you should not say such things to your own mother,” insisted Ivy.
“Who else should I say them to?” Alexia grumbled under her breath.
“Exactly, and why not?” Evylin wanted to know. “No one else will. Soon Mama's behavior will affect our chances.” She gestured to Felicity and herself. “And we do not intend to end up old maids. No offense meant, my dear sister.”
Alexia smiled. “None taken.”
Floote appeared with fresh tea, and Miss Tarabotti gestured him over. “Floote, send my card round to Auntie Augustina, would you please? For tomorrow night.”