Notes were made as to the whiteness of her neck, the trimness of her waist. Notes were not made about the firmness of her jaw and the hardness of her eyes.
Faith thought her dress very daring: the neckline was low and the bodice pleated in such a way as to be extremely flattering. Her pallor was the result of discomfort. She wasn’t certain, after a week of so little contact directly following such profound intimacies, how she could calmly sit at table with Major Channing.
The marks on her neck had faded and with them the last of her confidence. Perhaps he did not want her and had never wanted her. Maybe it had all been some kind of game. Chase me. Chase you.
Tonight was likely to be an awkward business.
Falmouth House was impressive, appearing more like a very large cottage than a true manor house. It was unexpectedly welcoming and homey, for all its size. It must boast many rooms, considering the entire London pack, its clavigers, and assorted staff all called it home, and yet it felt intimate. It was situated on rising ground outside the village of Blackheath, and with the heath itself nearly surrounding it. It was still technically part of London, Mrs Iftercast assured Faith, but rather more towards the outskirts than a lady of high fashion would prefer. Faith supposed wolves needed a place to hunt in their bestial forms (as opposed to the hunting they did in drawing rooms). Faith did not consider herself a lady of high fashion, so she liked both the house and its situation.
Most of the pack members were present to welcome them, including Major Channing. A few were out of town or on business that could not be avoided.
Of those present, Faith had already met Biffy, Professor Lyall, Mr Bluebutton, and Mr Quinn. As to the rest, they were all large, handsome gentlemen of various iterations. Packs apparently did not bother to try to balance the company at table. At Falmouth House, the men vastly outnumbered the women and likely always would.
Faith tried to remember all their names, but found only Mr Hemming and Mr Ditmarsh stuck in her head. Mr Ditmarsh because he was so ridiculously handsome, like the swoon-worthy hero of some Gothic romance, with long dark hair like a pirate and piercing hazel eyes, and Mr Hemming because he was by far the most convivial. He appeared to be something on the order of a country bumpkin, built to till fields and strip his jacket off under the hot sun. His open, friendly countenance resulted in everyone who met him liking him immediately.
The food was simple but very well prepared and prettily presented. There was meat in every dish, and the werewolves ate mainly that and left any vegetables to the guests.
The conversation was stilted at first as the courses were brought out.
“Where, exactly, is your family from, in America, Miss Wigglesworth?” asked Mr Quinn.
“Boston.” Faith hoped they would not ask too much about her family history.
“And do you miss it there?”
“Not especially.”
“Stop prying, Quinn,” barked Channing, utterly without provocation. “She’s here now.”
A pause.
Faith glanced up from her food. Biffy’s expression was all amusement, Professor Lyall’s resignation, and the rest of the pack’s nervousness. She did not know what Channing’s expression was; she refused to look at him.
Mr Hemming tried next. “And are you enjoying London, Miss Wigglesworth?”
“Yes, more than I thought.” Faith smiled at him, grateful for his willingness to face the major’s unreasonable ire. Really, what was Channing about? Just sitting there making everyone else uncomfortable?
Faith pushed on, doing her part to encourage conversation. “It’s such fun here and has been unexpectedly welcoming. Which I’m sure can be attributed to Lord Falmouth’s influence and my dear cousins’ gracious hospitality.”
“How do you find it different from your past society?” Quinn asked.
“Balls are much more frequent here,” said Faith.
“Or perhaps here you are simply a great deal more popular,” praised Biffy from the head of the table.
Faith could feel her face get hot. “I think it’s actually that here there’s more opportunity to enjoy oneself.”
“Have you plans for when the season has ended?” asked Mr Ditmarsh.
“Oh. No. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” I was supposed to be married or at least engaged. I cannot go home.
“She’ll stay with us, of course,” said Teddy, staunchly.
“I cannot possibly continue to trespass on your hospitality. You’ve been too kind already.” Faith said what she ought and trembled with it.
Mrs Iftercast look pointedly at Channing. “Perhaps it will not be a concern.”
“I should go home.” Faith tried to keep the misery out of her voice.
“We shall see,” said Biffy. “I think we could find you a good match. One of my boys, perhaps.”
The gentlemen arranged about the table all looked highly uncomfortable, but none of them would contradict their Alpha. A few side-eyed their Gamma with trepidation.
Biffy looked mischievous. He gestured at Mr Bluebutton. “Adelphus here is, of course, quite elegant and cultivated. One might think him respectable, but he has the reputation of a philanderer, so perhaps not.”
The werewolf in question rolled his eyes. “No worse than Channing, and we all know—” He stopped abruptly, as if someone had kicked him under the table.
Biffy moved on to his next victim.
“Quinn is an utter sweetheart, and punctilious by nature, but his temper occasionally gets the better of him, particularly around vampires.”
“I say!” said Quinn. “Me? Channing is ten times worse if blood-suckers are—” Another abrupt cut-off.
Faith was beginning to be entertained by the show. Biffy was trying to amuse her at the expense of his long-suffering pack. It was rather sweet of him.
On his host’s left, Mr Iftercast gave concerted attention to his meal in a desperate manner that suggested he had absolutely no idea what to do under these particular circumstances. Teddy and her brothers were all wide-eyed and interested in this teasing game, maybe seeing some of their own sibling rivalries amongst the werewolves. Mrs Iftercast looked partly amused, partly horrified.
Biffy continued with a nod at Mr Ditmarsh, who stopped eating, crossed his arms, and stared at his Alpha – as if daring him to do his damnedest.
Biffy said, “Ulric here might be a little too old for you, Faith dear, and a great deal too autocratic. Although perhaps you could bring him down a peg or two?”
Faith giggled.
Ulric said, clearly entering into the spirit of the thing, “I’d be delighted to give her the opportunity to find out. I enjoy a challenge.”
Channing grumbled, “Enjoy a challenge, do you? Outside, right now, wolf form, try me.”
Mr Ditmarsh hid a smile and tilted his head to show his neck to the Gamma. He clearly knew his rank. He was also clearly delighted to see Channing getting more and more annoyed, as each subsequent pack member was offered up as a candidate for Faith’s affections.
Faith was beginning to enjoy it, too, as it became clear the only werewolf truly made uncomfortable at the table was Major Channing. Although it was slightly at her expense. Still, the idea of a werewolf buffet, all because she had a reputation as a tail-chaser, was a fair cop.
She was not enjoying Channing’s reactions, because she was determined not to let anything that impossible man did affect her anymore. But the gentle banter between the Alpha and his pack was adorable. Very family-like and comforting.
She tried for pert and innocent. “And what about Mr Hemming? What flaws could he possibly have?”
Hemming blushed, which Faith didn’t think werewolves could do. It was boyish and amiable.
Biffy chuckled. “Oh, you like Hemming, do you?”
Channing growled, actually growled, at the dinner table.
Now it was Faith’s turn to blush.
“No concerns there, my dear, everyone likes Hemming. He’s easy to like, aren’t you, Ian?”
Hemming grinned, pleased by the praise and the affection in his Alpha’s voice. “So, Alpha, what’s wrong with me, then? Won’t I make a good husband for this charming young lady?”
“Of course you will, dear, you’re quite lovely.”