Changeless

Everyone else was already seated at the supper table. In this particular case, “everyone else” included the pack, both residents and returnees, half the clavigers, and the insufferable Major Channing—about thirty or so. “Everyone else” did not, however, appear to include the master of the house. Lord Maccon made for a tangibly large absence, even in such a crowd.

Sans husband, Lady Maccon plonked herself down next to Professor Lyall. She gave him a little half-smile as a partial greeting. The Beta had not yet commenced his meal, preferring to begin with a hot cup of tea and the evening paper.

Startled by her sudden appearance, the rest of the table scrambled to stand politely as she joined them. Alexia waved them back to their seats, and they returned with much clattering. Only Professor Lyall managed a smooth stand, slight bow, and reseat with the consummate grace of a dancer. And all that without losing his place in his newspaper.

Lady Maccon quickly served herself some haricot of veal and several apple fritters and began eating so the others about the table could stop fussing and continue with their own meals. Really, sometimes it was simply too vexatious to be a lady living with two dozen gentlemen. Not to mention the hundreds now encamped on the Woolsey grounds.

After only a moment to allow her husband’s Beta to acclimatize to her presence, Lady Maccon struck. “Very well, Professor Lyall, I shall bite: where has he gone now?”

The urbane werewolf said only, “Brussels sprouts?”

Lady Maccon declined in horror. She enjoyed most foods, but brussels sprouts were nothing more than underdeveloped cabbages.

Professor Lyall said, crinkling his paper, “Shersky and Droop are offering the most interesting new gadget for sale, just here. It is a particularly advanced form of teakettle, designed for air travel, to be mounted on the sides of dirigibles. It harnesses the wind via this small whirligig contraption that generates enough energy to boil water.” He pointed out the advertisement to Alexia, who was distracted despite herself.

“Really? How fascinating. And so very useful for those more frequent dirigible travelers. I wonder if…” She trailed off and gave him a suspicious look. “Professor Lyall, you are trying to persuade me away from the point. Where has my husband gone?”

The Beta put down the now-useless newspaper and dished himself a fine piece of fried sole from a silver platter. “Lord Maccon left at the crack of dusk.”

“That was not what I asked.”

On the far side of Lyall, Major Channing chuckled softly into his soup.

Alexia glared at him and then turned a sharp look onto the defenseless Tunstell, seated at the other side of the table among the clavigers. If Lyall would not talk, perhaps Tunstell would. The redhead met her glare with wide eyes and quickly stuffed his face with a large mouthful of veal, trying to look as if he knew absolutely nothing.

“At least tell me if he was dressed properly?”

Tunstell chewed slowly. Very slowly.

Lady Maccon turned back to Professor Lyall, who was calmly slicing into his sole. Lyall was one of the few werewolves she had met who actively preferred fish to meat.

“Did he head off to Claret’s?” she asked, thinking the earl might have business at his club before work.

Professor Lyall shook his head.

“I see. Are we to play at guessing games, then?”

The Beta sighed softly through his nose and finished his bite of sole. He put down his knife and fork with great precision on the side of his plate and then dabbed, unnecessarily, at his mouth with the corner of his serviette.

Lady Maccon waited patiently, nibbling at her own dinner. After Professor Lyall had put the damask serviette back into his lap and shoved his spectacles up his nose, she said, “Well?”

“He had a message this morning. I’m not privy to the particulars. He then swore a blue streak and set off northward.”

“Northward to where, exactly?”

Professor Lyall sighed. “I believe he has gone to Scotland.”

“He did what?”

“And he did not take Tunstell with him.” Professor Lyall stated the obvious in clear annoyance, pointing to the redhead who was looking ever more guilty and ever more eager to continue chewing rather than participate in the conversation.

Lady Maccon worried at that information. Why should Conall take Tunstell? “Is he in danger? Shouldn’t you have gone with him, then?”

Lyall snorted. “Yes. Picture the state of his cravat without a valet to tie him in.” The Beta, always the height of understated elegance, winced in imagined horror.

Alexia privately agreed with this.

“Could not take me,” muttered the Tunstell in question. “Had to go in wolf form. Trains are down, what with the engineer’s strike. Not that I should mind going; my play’s finished its run, and I’ve never seen Scotland.” There was a note of petulance in his tone.

Hemming, one of the resident pack members, slapped Tunstell hard on the shoulder. “Respect,” he growled without looking up from his meal.

“Where, precisely, has my husband taken himself off to in Scotland?” Lady Maccon pressed for details.

“The southern part of the Highlands, as I understand it,” replied the Beta.

Alexia recovered her poise. What little she had. Which admittedly wasn’t generally considered much. The southern Highland area was the vicinity of Conall’s previous abode. She thought she understood at last. “I take it he found out about his former pack’s Alpha being killed?”

Now it was Major Channing’s turn to be surprised. The blond man practically spat out his mouthful of fritter. “How did you know that?”

Alexia looked up from her cup of tea. “I know many things.”

Major Channing’s pretty mouth twisted at that.

Professor Lyall said, “His lordship did say something about dealing with an embarrassing family emergency.”

“Am I not family?” wondered Lady Maccon.

To which Lyall muttered under his breath, “And often embarrassing.”

“Careful there, Professor. Only one person is allowed to say insulting things about me to my face, and you are certainly not large enough to be he.”

Lyall actually blushed. “All apologies, mistress. I forgot my tongue.” He emphasized her title and pulled his cravat down to show his neck ever so slightly.

“We are all his family! And he simply left us.” Major Channing seemed to be even more annoyed by Alexia’s husband’s departure than she was. “Pity he didn’t talk to me beforehand. I might have given him reason to stay.”

Alexia turned hard brown eyes on Woolsey’s Gamma. “Oh yes?”

But Major Channing was busy puzzling over something else. “Of course, he might have known, or at least guessed. What did they get up to those months without an Alpha to guide them?”

“I don’t know,” pressed Alexia, although his talk was clearly not directed at her. “Why don’t you tell me what you were going to tell him?”

Major Channing started and managed to look both guilty and angry at the same time. Everyone’s attention was on him.

“Yes,” came Lyall’s soft voice, “why don’t you?” There was steel there, behind the studied indifference.

“Oh, it is nothing much. Only that, while we were on the boat and for the entirety of the journey over the Mediterranean and through the straits, none of us could change into wolf form. Six regiments with four packs, and we all grew beards. Basically, we were mortal the whole time. Once we left the ship and traveled some ways toward Woolsey, we suddenly became our old supernatural selves once more.”

“That is very interesting given recent occurrences, and you didn’t manage to tell my husband?”

“He never had time for me.” Channing seemed angrier than she was.

“You took that as a slight and did not make him listen? That is not only stupid but could prove dangerous.”