“Wolves can go solitary at any time, but it is usually for a specific reason and occurs within the first few years of metamorphosis. Howlers say it has something to do with early bonding to the Alpha. Often it means the unbonded is too much Alpha himself. I don’t believe Biffy falls into this category, but that is the only thing currently in our favor.”
Alexia thought she spotted the real source of her husband’s concern. “If Biffy becomes a loner, you don’t believe he would survive. Do you?”
“Loners are unstable. They brawl constantly. Our new pup is not a fighter, not like that.” Her husband’s lovely eyes were pained and guilty. This mess with Biffy was his fault. Unintentionally his fault, but Lord Conall Maccon was not the kind of gentleman who shifted blame merely because they were all victims of circumstance.
Alexia took a breath and then dove for the kill. “Then you really should give him to me for a while. I’ll see what I can do. Remember, I can tame him if I have to, if he loses control and goes to wolf.” She wiggled ungloved fingers at her husband.
“Very well, wife. But you are to check in with either me or Randolph as to his progress.”
As the earl said this, Professor Lyall wandered into the dining room. The Beta was his usual unassuming self—his sandy hair neatly combed; his angular features arranged into a nonthreatening expression; his demeanor quiet, self-effacing, and utterly forgettable. It was an aura that Alexia was beginning to suspect Professor Lyall had cultivated for decades.
“Good evening, my lady, my lord.” The Beta assumed his seat.
A maid appeared at his elbow with fresh tea and the evening’s paper. Professor Lyall was the type of man to have that kind of relationship with the domestic staff. Even newly hired and after only a day’s residence, they were already providing exactly what he required without need for any time-wasting orders. Between him, Floote, and Biffy, there would never be a single upset in the running of the Maccon household. It was a good thing, too, for the indomitable Lady Maccon had other things to occupy her time and attention. The running of her household was best left to the gentlemen. Although, she did indicate to the maid that she, too, required tea.
“Professor Lyall, how are you this evening?” Alexia saw no reason why familiarity with an individual ought to breed familiarity of manner, except with her husband, of course. Even though she had been living, off and on, among the Woolsey Pack for almost a year, she never relaxed on courtesy.
“Tolerably well, my lady, tolerably well.” Nor, indeed, did Professor Lyall, who was remarkably civilized for a werewolf and seemed particularly respectful of all codes of politeness and gracefulness of manner.
Now that she had both of them at her table, Lady Maccon directed the two werewolves back onto the weighty matter of the queen’s life. “So, gentlemen, anything come out of BUR on the threat?”
“Not an aetheric sausage,” complained the earl.
Professor Lyall shook his head.
“Must be the vampires,” said Lord Maccon.
“Now, husband, why would you say that?”
“Isn’t it always the vampires?”
“No, sometimes it’s the scientists.” Lady Maccon was referring obliquely to the disbanded Hypocras Club. “And sometimes it’s the church.” Now she was thinking of the Templars. “And sometimes it’s the werewolves.”
“Well, I say!” Lord Maccon stuffed another cutlet into his mouth. “I can’t imagine you actually defending the vampires. They’ve been trying to kill you for months.”
“Oh, Conall, do swallow first. Then speak. What kind of example is that for our child?”
The earl looked around as though trying to see if the little being had somehow been born without his notice and was now staring at him with an eye toward modeling its behavior upon his.
Lady Maccon continued. “Simply because the vampires are perennially trying to murder me doesn’t mean they are trying to murder the queen as well, now, does it? One would think their resources would be somewhat taxed, if nothing else. Besides, what could possibly be their motive? The queen is a progressive.” She was moved to defend her stance further. “I thought your lot was supposed to have long memories. Correct me if I’m wrong, Professor Lyall, but didn’t the last major threat to Queen Victoria’s life emanate from the Kingair Pack?”
“Really, Lady Maccon, couldn’t it wait until I’ve at least finished my first cup of tea?” The Beta looked put upon.
Alexia said nothing.
Professor Lyall put down his tea pointedly. “There was that overeager Pate fellow with the walking stick some twenty years ago or so. Completely mutilated Her Majesty’s favorite bonnet. Shocking behavior. And there was that disgruntled Irishman with the unloaded pistol before that.” He helped himself to a small serving of smoked kipper but paused before digging in. “And the reputed incident a few years back with John Brown.” The Beta considered his kipper as though it held all the answers. “Come to think on it, they’ve all been remarkably ineffective.”
Her husband snorted. “Notoriety mongers, the lot of them.”
Alexia puffed out her cheeks. “You know what I mean. Those were all isolated incidents. I mean planned cohesive plots backed by serious intent.”
The maid reappeared with more tea and an extra cup for Lord Maccon. Who sneered at it.
Professor Lyall’s face sobered. “Then, no, Kingair was the last.”