Home > How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(5)

How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(5)
Author: Gail Carriger

Faith blanched. “Please don’t worry, cousin. It was just disconcerting. I think, well, I believe, that the gentleman who took my case was a vampire.”

The two ladies perked up at that.

“Oh, really? I didn’t think any of them could stretch their tether so far into Hyde Park.” Teddy sucked her teeth in thought. “Unless it was a rove, of course. And they usually go to Rotten Row. Which one was it?”

Faith hadn’t realized there were so few vampires in London that each would be known by name. Like the nobility. How extraordinary!

“Well, he was tall and blond and handsome, with pale blue eyes.”

Teddy pounced. “Do I detect a tendre?”

Faith held up a horrified hand. “I describe with artistic objectivity, not interest. He was rude, and probably a rake, or something like.”

“My dear girl,” said Mrs Iftercast, “all vampires are rakes. That’s what makes them so interesting. But I think you must be mistaken. There aren’t many blonds amongst the old-blooded these days. Lord Akeldama, of course, but you would have a great deal more to say if it were him. Everybody does. Are you convinced he was a vampire?”

Faith frowned. “Well, I assumed. It was something one of his men did, sort of indicated he was a supernatural creature. He was so pale, and aware of his own importance, I figured that indicated vampire. I’ve never met one before, so I’ve no basis for comparison.”

The Iftercasts looked at one another.

Teddy said to her mother, “Perhaps… do you think?”

“He is head of BUR these days. But if he were down at the green, supervising things himself, it must be a very important object they were looking for. Very important.” Mrs Iftercast sounded serious and interested.

“You know the gentleman?” Faith probed.

Teddy grinned at her. “When you said handsome, did you mean so good-looking you slightly wished to die right then and there, or offer yourself in sacrifice, but also not at all, because he likely would kill you without flinching and he certainly, without a doubt, would ruin your reputation?”

Faith nodded. “Yes, that’s about right.”

“Eyes so cold, you suspect they may cause frostbite?”

“You do know him.”

Mrs Iftercast rolled her own eyes. “Theodora dear, so poetic. Do I detect a new hobby? You should take up verse. It would be so much less trouble than riding.”

“No, Mums. Horses forever! But even you must acknowledge his beauty.”

“Everyone acknowledges it. That is partly what is wrong with the man.” Mrs Iftercast waggled her head in exasperation.

“What’s the rest of what’s wrong with him?” asked Faith.

“He is a werewolf, dear, not a vampire.”

“A werewolf? But he looked so…” Faith stuttered. “…so civilized.”

“Civilized? Major Channing? My darling girl, he’s more than civilized, he’s practically a politician. But not for you, I’m afraid. Your mother mentioned she thought you might do for a werewolf, but that particular one is unacceptable. I don’t see why you must set your cap at any of them, mind you, but if you insist, I will see what I can do for you. Ordinarily, werewolves prefer widows or spinsters, but you’re so pretty, we might find a way around that inclination. But, dear, don’t you want a family of your own?”

Faith felt a slight roaring in her ears. I did. I did want one. Once.

Mrs Iftercast was sensitive to her discomfort. She reached across and patted her knee. “Not to worry, cousin. I am certain you will do very well. London is lousy with werewolves these days. Several members of our London Pack are eminently eligible and quite stable. Although not Major Channing, dear. He is far too much of a bother.”

“Major Channing.” Faith rolled the name about her tongue. “I figured he might’ve been in the military once.”

“All werewolves serve, my dear, did you not know? But the major served longer than most and likes his officer’s rank. He is not active at the moment. The London Pack is remaindered out of the Guards right now because of their new Alpha. They gave Major Channing BUR to keep him occupied. He’s a restless sort. There are different kinds of werewolves. Major Channing is not the marrying kind.”

Faith didn’t know if she was relieved by this fact or perturbed. She resolved to put the exasperating man out of her mind and enjoy her new situation. The Iftercasts seemed friendly and chatty and nice. The fact that she was in London to net herself a werewolf husband seemed to be accepted as perfectly appropriate. She herself seemed to be accepted as such.

Faith felt, for the first time in years, almost happy.

Major Channing returned home to his pack shortly before dawn. Falmouth House was comparatively quiet, the children were abed (yes, there were children now, much to Channing’s continued annoyance). The rest of the pack were not yet returned from their various errands of business or pleasure. The clavigers were all gone to sleep. He’d missed the final meal of the evening, but he thought he might rustle up something out of the pantry if he were lucky and Cook was feeling generous.

He followed his nose and found a pork pie. On it was pinned a note that read, For tomorrow’s supper, absolutely not to be eaten. This means you, Major! He cut himself a generous slice and sneered at the note.

He smeared his helping with hot mustard and quite enjoyed his feed, huddled in the dark kitchen like a beggar in his own home.

The gloom suited his mood. He was disappointed that the search had proved fruitless. He was also discomfited by the young American and her blue eyes and direct address. The two had combined to make him rather grumpy. Not that this was particularly abnormal for him.

No one disturbed his wallowing. He thought he might even make it to his chambers without having to actually speak with anyone – pack, claviger, or staff. I should return home at this hour more often.

Unfortunately, his Alpha found him, heralded by the comforting scent of sandalwood and pomade.

“Channing, how are you this evening?”

Biffy was an odd kind of Alpha. Slender, with a fencer’s physique and lacking the bulk and height endemic to most werewolves, let alone Alphas. He was impossibly stylish, or perhaps one might say practically impossibly stylish. Werewolves were not known for their elegance of attire, for obvious reasons. When one was prone to stripping and turning into a slavering beast, one did not, as rule, care to invest too much in one’s clothing. Channing cared so little, for example, that he missed his days as a soldier, when his attire had been chosen for him.

Biffy was not like this at all. He cherished deeply held feelings on his outward presentation. He’d spent years creating a pomade strong enough to keep his unruly werewolf mop under control. Then he’d made a mint selling it on Bond Street with his face sketched on the jar labels. He was young; perhaps that accounted for a certain foppishness. Some might say too young. He was, after all, only twenty years or so a werewolf, and barely half a year as London Pack Alpha.

But Biffy was a strong Alpha; every wolf could feel that. The tug on Channing’s tether was sure and steady. It grounded him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He was embarrassingly grateful for the relief and the surety of that connection. He was gruff with his Alpha because he was gruff with everyone, but also because he felt safe.

Biffy didn’t seem to mind.

Channing had challenged Biffy, of course, when Biffy first seized control of the London Pack. It was Channing’s right and his duty as pack Gamma to cry challenge. Biffy had neatly defeated him, without fuss or too much bloodshed, and taking long enough for it not to appear embarrassingly easy. Stylish even in battle. They were both content with the outcome.

Sandalio de Rabiffano might look like an unthreatening popinjay, dandified and inconsequential, but as a wolf, he was unbearably fast and freakishly strong. He’d struggled initially, of course. Too young to control such a large and powerful pack. There had been a time there when they’d all felt unmoored and lost. Their Alpha had doubted himself, and so he doubted them, and so the pack doubted themselves. But then their pack Beta, Professor Lyall, had returned home. And now all was peaceful and safe, even with two human toddlers roaming about the den. (Channing still wasn’t sure how that had happened.)

   
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