How to Marry a Werewolf Page 5

  Channing soldiered on. “Who is also Lord Falmouth, who is also Alpha of the London Pack. My Alpha.”

  Faith blinked at Biffy. As strange as it was to imagine Major Channing as a werewolf, it was even stranger to imagine nice Mr Rabiffano as one.

  “You’re joking.”

  Biffy laughed and adjusted a lock of her hair that had been disturbed by the hats. She enjoyed the attention. Behind her, Channing made a funny growling noise.

  Biffy said, “He’s quite serious. Channing never jests, but it is sweet of you to think so.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, darling girl.”

  Faith frowned. “I’m beginning to doubt everything I thought I knew about werewolves.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time America got it wrong,” grumbled Major Channing.

  Biffy spoke as though he hadn’t. “Now, I shall send the finished hats ’round no later than tomorrow midnight. You will need them right away, I suspect. And be sure to pick your gowns with care. Keep the masculine silhouette in mind. I believe it will continue to do you proud. No so far as to affect full masculine dress, mind you. I don’t think you run with that particular pack.” He gave a funny glance between her and Major Channing, which Faith chose to ignore.

  The blond werewolf shifted to stand close. Faith felt his presence prickle the hairs at the back of her neck.

  Faith concentrated on paying attention to Biffy’s recommendations. “I shall do everything you suggest, Alpha Rabiffano.” He’s abnormally creative for a supernatural. Faith wondered if it would be rude to ask how that happened.

  “No, dear, let’s stay with simply Biffy, please. With you, I genuinely prefer it.”

  “I’m honored, my lord.”

  “And will you be attending Lady Papworth-Walmsley’s ball on Saturday?” Biffy bustled behind the counter for a moment, making a note on her hats and what needed to be done to them. It was bizarre to see an Alpha werewolf behave in such a manner. Or perhaps it wasn’t bizarre, and those few werewolves Faith had met before had been the aberrations. Which meant all her family’s rules and warnings were mere hyperbole.

  Faith blushed to realize she was staring. She was aware that Channing had shifted even closer. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was still glowering, mostly at Biffy.

  She remembered she’d been asked a question about a ball. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’m at my cousin’s disposal.”

  “Mrs Iftercast?”

  Faith nodded.

  Biffy smiled. “I shall strongly hint that you and your cousins be invited. If you aren’t already, of course. I wish to see what you dare in the manner of ball gowns, Miss Wigglesworth. And Major Channing is looking forward to the event, aren’t you, Channing?”

  Major Channing’s lip curled.

  Biffy gave his pack-mate a small, indulgent smile. “There will be dancing. I do love to dance, although I am no longer quite so good as I once was. Do you enjoy dancing, Miss Wigglesworth?”

  “Faith,” said Faith, since he had gifted her with his preferred name. After all, she had nothing to lose at this juncture. She was about to wear gentlemen’s hats in public; why stand on ceremony with an Alpha werewolf?

  “Faith? What a pretty name.”

  “I prefer Lazuli,” muttered Major Channing.

  Faith and Biffy ignored him.

  “And yes” – Faith lowered her eyes – “I love dancing.”

  Biffy nodded. “Of course you do. And you will not lack for partners, I’ll warrant.”

  Major Channing managed to look both disgruntled and uncomfortable.

  “Then I look forward to seeing you there, my lord Biffy.” Faith made good her escape.

  Teddy and her mother were standing near the door, clutching their packages and watching the whole exchange with avid eyes.

  “Oh,” said Biffy as he bowed them out of the shop, “I have absolutely no doubt you will see both of us.”

  STEP FOUR

  Take Every Opportunity To Dance

  “What are you about, Alpha?” asked Channing ten minutes later, after they’d taken the ascension chamber down from the hidden door at the back of the hat shop.

  Biffy was all innocence as they walked the underground passage to their full-moon dungeon. “Oh, dear me, Channing, did you not want to go to the Papworth-Walmsley ball?”

  “I never want to go to balls.”

  “But you’ll go to this one.”

  “You practically promised the chit that I would.”

  “And that’s the only reason? I never knew you to have such a care for my good word. How very noble and pack-minded of you all of a sudden.”

  Silence.

  “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?” Biffy pressed his advantage.

  “For an American.” Channing squinted at his Alpha, curious despite himself. “Why such marked attention? People will think you are interested in courting her.”

  Biffy laughed. “They will not. The ton may be willfully ignorant, but its rumor mill is neither stupid nor ill informed. I do not pretend to an interest in women and never have. Romantically, of course.”

  “So, why single her out?”

  Biffy shrugged. “I like her. Such charming forthright ways. She knows her own mind, I think. Rare in one so young.”

  “She collects rocks.”

  “Hence the name Lazuli.” Biffy’s tone implied he already knew of this quirk in Miss Wigglesworth’s character.

  Biffy said nothing for a long moment, only shuffled some paperwork on the desk he’d set up to one side of the dungeon. The rest of the cavernous space was fitted with massive, heavy cages, for full moon security and safety. London’s safety, mind you, not the pack’s.

  A small, smug smile was on the Alpha’s handsome face when he next looked up.

  Channing swallowed nervously and tensed.

  “You call her Lazuli as if it means something to you. That alone would be enough to warrant my interest and favor. But there is something in her, something strong and resilient, like those rocks of hers, I suppose. I should like to see you break yourself against it.”

  Channing snorted.

  “You are ice, Channing. You only think you are strong.”

  Foolish Alpha, I know I am not. I am weak and afraid. But I also cannot bear the idea of her dancing with all those other men without me there to keep her safe. She might be strong, but I think, perhaps, she has already burdened herself with too much, to be so tough so young.

  An official invitation to Lady Papworth-Walmsley’s ball was waiting for the Iftercasts at breakfast. Mrs Iftercast was in ecstasies to be so singled out. She totally disturbed Mr Iftercast’s newspaper perusal with her enthusiastic squawking.

  “Oh, my dears, this is such an honor! I cannot believe it of you, Faith, to have attracted Lord Falmouth’s notice. I mean, I can believe it, because you are such a lovely girl, but still. Of all the werewolves in London. He was not even on my list of possibilities. I thought he was firmly off the market.”

  Faith tried to rein in this supposition. “I don’t really think that’s his reason for orchestrating our invitation.”

  “Mums, we believe he is using our Faith here for a social coup.” Teddy spoke around a mouthful of eggs.

  Mrs Iftercast glared at her daughter. “Swallow, then speak, Theodora! I declare, sometimes I wonder what we paid that school for.”

  “Sorry, Mums.” Teddy looked unrepentant.

  Faith was amazed. Mrs Iftercast was so wonderfully even-tempered. Had Faith done such a thing at dinner, Mrs Wigglesworth would have yelled and then slapped her, hard.

  Mrs Iftercast only rolled her eyes at her daughter. “You’re hopeless.”

  Faith automatically tried to smooth things over, just in case there was a temper hiding in there somewhere. “Lord Falmouth wishes to see me do well in society. I believe he wishes to set me up as an original.”

  “And what i
s that, if not his singling you out?” Mrs Iftercast looked satisfied and mercenary.

  Teddy came to Faith’s defence. “It is not courting behavior, Mums. Especially not for a werewolf. He is making her attractive to others – that’s not the normal way of things. He has given her no gifts, nor does he seem particularly protective towards her.”

  “And how would you know the details of homo lupine courtship behaviors, Theodora?”

  Teddy grinned. “That, Mums darling, is exactly what you paid that school for.”

  Mr Iftercast snapped his paper. “Good. Got my money’s worth.”

  Mrs Iftercast considered. “You may be right, dears. Still, even the friendship of Lord Falmouth is no small thing, cousin. I believe the hats may be a bit too much, but if he recommends them, you cannot but wear them. And if invitations such as these are the result… Well, you will be set. You both will be set. Not only will you have first dibs on the London Pack, Faith dear – the Alpha’s approval bears great weight with his pack, you know? – but you will have entree into the highest echelons of progressive society.”

  Mr Iftercast looked up from his paper at that.

  Mrs Iftercast gave him a telling arch look. “Yes, dear, this could have a positive impact on your political career. Of course, I have already sent our acceptance of this invitation. But now we have much to do and little time to do it in. There are gowns to consider. Theodora, your Worth will have to do.”

  Teddy said by way of explanation to Faith, “I have this one Worth gown in cream silk with roses strewn about and such intricate lace you wouldn’t believe. It’s divine. I want to live in it.”

  “Worth?”

  Teddy’s eyes went very wide. “Oh, darling cousin, you have a great deal to learn. And I have much to teach you. Worth is—”

  “Not now, Theodora.” Mrs Iftercast interrupted what looked to be a long ode to some designer or another. She turned her attention back to her guest. “Faith, darling, Theodora tells me you have nothing that will do. We must find you a dressmaker immediately.”

  “More shopping?” said Faith, worried. The hats had been delivered, but she’d yet to devise any form of remuneration. Biffy had asked for nothing when he took her order. She understood London shops to run on account, but she dearly hoped her hosts were not paying for her purchases themselves. The Iftercasts were already being far too generous.

  Unfortunately, more shopping was indeed called for.

  Ball gowns, it turned out, were rather anticlimactic after hats. The Iftercasts had a modiste they used regularly, but when Faith relayed Biffy’s strict instructions as to her style of dress, her cousins agreed their seamstress would not do.

  “We must find you someone willing to take risks. A newer shop with a younger proprietress. A woman with a reputation to build rather than to maintain.” Mrs Iftercast looked worried.

  Fortunately, they found success at the third shop they tried. The modiste, a Miss Cordelia Honeybun, was quietly intrigued when told the parameters of Faith’s new wardrobe, where previous seamstresses had been shocked or disgusted.

  Because Miss Honeybun had no established name, her costs were also reasonable (to Faith’s profound relief). She was even more interested in the challenge, once she learned that Faith’s style had been recommended by Lord Falmouth.

  “They say he has his jaws around the pulse of fashion. The first werewolf ever to take an interest.” Miss Honeybun’s voice was as sweet as her name. “He is very forward-thinking, I believe. The ton has been abuzz since he took power.”

  Miss Honeybun clearly knew that her role as modiste carried with it a requirement for not inconsiderable gossip.

  Faith nodded, while the woman pinned swathes of fabric about her. “I like him a lot.”

  “And have you met the rest of the London Pack?”

  “Only Major Channing.”

  “His Gamma,” explained Teddy, who was sitting nearby and watching the fitting with interest. “You’re so lucky to be tall, Faith. I could never carry off such a severe style.”

  The ball gown Miss Honeybun was draping was based only loosely on a Parisian fashion plate Faith picked out. Faith had pointed and explained, “Like this, only without all the frills. Very simple, Grecian almost, shows the fabric to advantage.” She’d fallen in love with a bolt of sea-green velvet, a mermaid color. Biffy had instructed her to stick with spring shades only. No pastels and nothing too dark. “Spring will do you proud, especially as it is spring.”

  Faith thought the color looked well with her fair skin and hair. Her eyes were always a little difficult, slightly too dark a blue for the rest of her – better suited to a brunette, her mother was prone to lamenting.

  If Miss Honeybun had time, she would appliqué silver and white flowers about the neck and the hem of Faith’s gown. But the ball was only a few days away, and she would be rushed to even finish the basic dress in time.

  “I could loan you Minnie,” suggested Faith, hoping she did not offend either woman with the offer. Minnie had a keen eye for fashion, and Faith thought she might enjoy spending time in a seamstress’s shop, as opposed to enduring her normal maid duties.

  “Oh, what a good idea,” said Teddy.

  Minnie perked up from where she had been watching the fitting avidly. “I’d love it, miss!”

  Miss Honeybun looked cautiously relieved. “Are you adept with a needle, girl?”

  Minnie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Miss Honeybun’s smile was tight-lipped, but not mean. “I cannot ask for more. Are you willing to leave her with me immediately, miss?”

  “Minnie?” asked Faith.

  “Yes, please, miss.”

  “Teddy, will I do without a maid for tonight?”

  “I’ll loan you Emeline for your hair if necessary.”

  Mrs Iftercast stood at that. “If that’s settled? I think we had best get on, my dears. You’ll need white gloves for that dress, Faith. Do you have opera-length?”

  Faith nodded.

  “Oh, good. I’m assuming you have dancing slippers? Yes? Good. Then we only require something for your hair and a ribbon for your neck. Miss Honeybun, can you whip up something to match or should we shop further?”

  “I am a full-service concern, Madame, and with this one’s help, all should be ready in time for your ball.”

  “You’re terrific,” praised Faith, because she was. Also, Miss Honeybun seemed to be bristling slightly at an assumed insult to her skills, and one did not want one’s dressmaker in a snit.

  It worked. Miss Honeybun blushed. “You haven’t seen the finished product yet, miss.”

  “I have faith in you,” said Faith, because she felt the woman needed it. And then: “Have fun, Minnie. Let me know how it goes and if you require anything, please.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  The big night had arrived and Mrs Iftercast was patently nervous on the way to the ball. With Faith’s mother, this would have meant tiptoeing around her for fear of a slap or a cruel rebuke. But with Mrs Iftercast, it only manifested in the form of her talking nonstop in the Isopod. She issued instructions to her three children without pause for the entire quarter hour’s drive. Faith imagined her as a small, round brigadier hell-bent on strategic attacks of virulent politeness.

  “Theodora, do not talk overmuch of horses. You know horses and werewolves are not compatible. It might offend the supernatural guests.”

  “Yes, Mums.”

  “Cyril, please don’t disappear immediately into the card room. You must dance at least once with your sister and once with Miss Wigglesworth. And check back as the evening progresses. I expect both my girls to have full dance cards, but you must do your duty to the family first, before you go gambling away the family’s money.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Colin, try not to bumble. You will keep bumbling your Viennese waltz. Better not to undertake it at all than be a bumbler. And do not pay too frequent address to that you
ng Miss Fernhough. She’s too young. You both are.”

  “But Mother! Miss Fernhough is a pip.”

  “Such vulgar language! One dance and one dance only. Now, Faith dear…”

  “Yes, cousin?”

  “Of course, you look absolutely ravishing, but perhaps no mention of rocks right away?”

  “Not a single sedimentary sequence shall pass my lips, I promise.” Faith attempted to look grave.

  “I don’t know what that means, dear, but thank you. Now, are we ready?”

  The Isopod hissed to a stop.

  Papworth House was a large concern with a most excellent aspect and desirable address. Faith would have known all this as they trod up the stairs even if Mrs Iftercast hadn’t seen fit to tell her of it at length.

  They arrived fashionably late, although not so late as to have missed the receiving line.

  It was one of the first prestigious events of the season, so everyone who was anyone was in attendance. Either Mrs Iftercast or Teddy constantly explained precedence in Faith’s ear as they waited. Before they even gave over their wraps, Faith counted nearly a dozen explanations as to who else important was arriving alongside and who was who in the receiving line. Once through that hubbub and into the ballroom itself, it became a constant barrage of who was everyone and anyone of note.

  There were major politicians, minor royalty, aristocrats of every ilk, acceptable gentry, leading members of the ton, the very wealthy (which included a few fellow Americans), and, of course, noted members of the supernatural set. Because the hosts were progressive, the bevy of musicians set to entertain were drones belonging to the Wimbledon Hive. There were some clearly theatrical young men sent to fill the numbers and dance with all the ladies, but whom Faith took note to avoid, because they were clavigers. Faith had mingled with clavigers before, much to her shame. She would not ruin her chances in London.

  There was one solitary vampire, the stunning Lord Ambrose, about whom all in attendance were curious. The last few decades, he’d rarely left his hive, and to have stretched his tether so far as Papworth House was an honor for all concerned (and a sublime coup for the hostess).