Meat Cute

by Gail Carriger

  Except that her mother had accidentally arranged it so that Alexia was neither. She was nothing more than an awkward spinster in an ugly dress. Sometimes she thought BUR was grateful for this. She might have been dangerous, but Mrs Loontwill had made Alexia useless through willful miseducation, poor presentation, and the expected resulting disregard. Or perhaps I did it to myself, thought Alexia. It was easy for London society to forget about a female. And with Alexia, it seemed, everyone preferred it that way.

  Except Alexia.

  So she glared at the werewolf.

  His yellow eyes narrowed.

  Then abruptly his attention shifted. The hosts of the gathering accosted him with excessive courtesy, welcoming him to their not at all humble home with gestures too wide and praise too effusive.

  Alexia turned back to her mother.

  But Mrs Loontwill was gone, no doubt to find her sisters and arrange for them to meet the werewolves as soon as may be. After all, they were beautiful girls, and werewolves had been known, on occasion, to take wives. Mrs Loontwill would get no grandchildren from such a match, but she would get increased social standing and unparalleled social connections, and she did have three daughters. Not that Alexia counted, of course. Mrs Loontwill could afford to waste a daughter on a werewolf. Of course, she also quite disliked werewolves, but the marriage mart was no place for preferences.

  Alexia considered going in search of the library. Except that this seemed like the kind of house where the library had been converted into a fern conservatory or something atrocious like that.

  A tiny cough caught her attention.

  The smaller werewolf stood diffidently before her. Not so close as to be at all impertinent; in fact, the exact distance any strange gentleman might be expected to stand from a lady to whom he had not yet been introduced.

  Mr Winston Quinton-Burburt stood next to him, red about the ears. Winston had, briefly, courted Alexia’s sister, Felicity. He was a nice man, so it was a good thing he’d not lasted. Felicity would’ve eaten him for breakfast – metaphorically speaking, of course. She was not a werewolf.

  “Miss Tarabotti?”

  “Good evening, Mr Quinton-Burburt.”

  “May I introduce Professor Lyall? Professor, this is Miss Tarabotti.” The young man’s expression plainly said he had no idea why a werewolf had dragged him aside to perform introductions to a young lady of Alexia Tarabotti’s poor standing. But when a werewolf asked you to do something, you did it.

  “Thank you, Mr Quinton-Burburt,” said the professorial werewolf with a polite but dismissive smile.

  His duty done, Quinton-Burburt instantly made good his escape. He sought solace from the awkward interaction in an unexpected place – next to an elderly chaperone of that highly forgettable ilk that circulates parties and gossip in equal measure. The lady in question patted his arm in an approving manner, as if congratulating him on a job well done. Alexia had a moment of recognition. Had they met before? Was that his mother? Surely not. She didn’t seem old enough. Or did she? It was all rather odd, but not odd enough to hold Alexia’s attention for long.

  For Alexia Tarabotti was now in the presence of a werewolf.

  She liked this one immediately. “How do you do, sir?”

  Professor Lyall had a shy manner about him, a slightly self-effacing presence, and a pensive air. He was sandy-haired and brown-eyed and not very remarkable in a way that was entirely unthreatening and thus totally remarkable, in a werewolf. Or perhaps it only felt unthreatening to Alexia. Because of what she was.

  “And how do you do, Miss Tarabotti?” His voice was as soft as his regard. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”

  “You have been meaning to for some time?”

  “Of course. You are a rare creature. Even the longest lived amongst us are unaccustomed to a female of your species.”

  Alexia looked around, suddenly nervous. “Is that the pack’s design in attending this gathering?”

  “No, we had no idea you would be here tonight.”

  “This is not a customary haunt of yours?”

  “Haunt? No. We have other business to conduct that required our presence here.”

  “Business, at a party?”

  He inclined his head.

  Alexia knew not to inquire further.

  A large presence suddenly loomed over them both.

  “Lyall,” barked the newcomer, “what are you about?”

  Professor Lyall gave a tiny smile. “Miss Tarabotti may I introduce you to Lord Maccon, Earl of Woolsey. Lord Maccon, may I introduce Miss Tarabotti?”

  “Why?”

  My goodness, thought Alexia, how rude.

  Professor Lyall tried again. “Tarabotti? Surely the name must be somewhat familiar. Try, sir, to remember… Tarabotti.”

  Alexia turned slightly so that the earl might be included in their circle.

  Suddenly that burning tawny gaze was focused on her with critical intensity. “Oh, aye. This is that one?”

  Professor Lyall inclined his head.

  “She’s bigger than I expected.”

  “I beg your pardon!” said Alexia, not quite without reason.

  Lord Maccon grinned. His rather harsh features became boyish and engaging. Alexia wouldn’t say handsome, because that was going too far. But he did look, well, better, when he smiled. She had to work hard not to smile back.

  Unfortunately, he ruined it by speaking. “You English are such wee fae creatures. A filly of your caliber could take even my weight. I like a good strong lass.”

  Alexia goggled. “You want to ride me?”

  The man blushed crimson at that. “Och, now, lassie.”

  Alexia was about to storm away in a snit (to be compared to a horse – never had she been so insulted in her life!) when the sudden advent of her mother, towing both of her sisters behind, made departure impossible.

  “Alexia, darling, introduce us.”

  “Alexia?” rumbled Lord Maccon, with something that sounded like approval. “Alexia Tarabotti. Verra exotic.”

  Professor Lyall said, sounding long-suffering, “My lord, please.”

  “Suits her,” said the werewolf Alpha.

  As if he should care! Alexia glared at them both but found herself actually liking her own name for the first time in her life.

  Professor Lyall looked half ashamed, half exasperated. “Forgive us, Miss Tarabotti. We cannot take him anywhere.”

  “Alexia, darling,” said Mrs Loontwill again, only with added shrillness.

  Alexia huffed out a breath, but duty dictated. She purposely got the order of precedence wrong, to put the earl in his place (wherever that was – the gutter, it seemed). “Professor Lyall, Lord Maccon, may I present my mother, Mrs Loontwill, and my sisters, Miss Loontwill and Miss Evylin. Mother, Felicity, Evylin, this is Professor Lyall, and this is Lord Maccon, the Earl of Woolsey.”

  Alexia pushed on bravely, taking her best guess on rank with a raised eyebrow. “Professor Lyall is, I believe, Lord Maccon’s Beta?”

  Professor Lyall tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. He clearly wasn’t accustomed to people noticing him around such an Alpha. Lord Maccon rather occupied one’s attention in a manner that suggested there was rarely much to spare for the rest of his pack. Which was one of the reasons for Alexia’s guess that Professor Lyall was the man’s Beta. He was exactly the type she would have chosen for the job.

  She continued with a dismissive gesture of one gloved hand in the earl’s direction. “Lord Maccon is, as I am sure you are aware, Mother, Alpha of the Woolsey Pack.”

  She said pack with great emphasis. Alexia would not allow Mrs Loontwill to forget that she professed to finding the very idea of werewolves distasteful.

  The two werewolves looked down at Mrs Loontwill and her daughters. Rather far down, it must be said. All three ladies were rather short.

  Felicity and Evylin Loontwill couldn’t be more
different from their half-sister. They were fine-boned and white-skinned, with blonde hair and supercilious expressions. Their eyes were big and blue, their gestures narrow and controlled, their heads and hearts empty.

  Familial obligation prevented Alexia from hating them, but she certainly didn’t like them very much.

  “Oh, my lords,” said Felicity, even knowing Professor Lyall held no title, “you honor us with your presence this evening.”

  Lord Maccon looked at her as though he’d prefer to be looking at something else. Which, Alexia thought smugly, must be a new sensation for Felicity.

  He rumbled out, “Aye, we do.”

  Alexia suppressed a laugh. It was almost worth not storming off to witness her sister trying to cope with this man’s consummate rudeness.

  Alexia sidled around and said softly to Professor Lyall, “I see he’s like this with everyone, then? I’m not so special as to be the only lady roundly insulted of an evening?”

  “Oh, you’re special.”

  Alexia would’ve blushed, but she had to assume this was a reference to her preternatural state. “I take it you know the parameters of my condition?”

  “Of course. I’ve been in London much longer than Lord Maccon and I make it my business to know all such things. And what I know, the pack knows. Your kind is rare, and – no offense – dangerous.”

  “None taken,” said Alexia. Who rather enjoyed being thought dangerous. It was better than not being thought of at all. “Is that why he was so boorish with me?”

  “No, as you say, he’s impertinent with everyone. Although, in your case, I don’t believe it was intentional. And that is unusual for him.”

  “Should I take comfort in that?”

  “If you like.”

  They watched as her sisters and mother attempted to converse with the Alpha werewolf. A great deal of eyelid lowering and fan fluttering seemed to be required – by the ladies, of course, not the earl.

  Lord Maccon couldn’t have been less interested. In fact, after a few moments of concentrated exposure to Loontwill flirtations times three, he began looking over at Alexia and Professor Lyall with something like desperation in those ridiculous yellow eyes.

  “He’s not very good in society, is he?” Alexia allowed herself to indulge in mild condescension.

  “Practically wild when I got him. Would you believe this is a vast improvement?”

  “His cravat is crooked.”

  “I know.” Professor Lyall gave a small, sad sigh.

  Lord Maccon chose that moment to stop talking to the Loontwills. Gesturing them aside, he ostentatiously joined Alexia and Professor Lyall’s private conversation instead. This meant he presented Mrs Loontwill and her daughters with his very broad back. It was almost a cut, except that he clearly didn’t care what others thought, not even enough to cut them.

  “What’s going on here then?”

  The Professor and Alexia exchanged a long-suffering look.

  Lord Maccon bristled like a dandelion gone to seed. “Stop flirting with her, Lyall.”

  Professor Lyall looked momentarily horrified.

  Alexia felt hot with shame at both comment and reaction. It was not as though she thought the professor was courting her. But they’d been having a perfectly chummy conversation. The Professor seemed the type of man to hide his reactions better than that, so his obvious shock at her expense was insulting. However, his face quickly smoothed out, back to bland congeniality.

  Perhaps, Alexia thought, it’s because I’m soulless? Not that she wanted the professor’s suit. It was simply that there was no need for him to be so very appalled at the idea. In truth, the notion was preposterous – as if a werewolf would have anything romantically to do with a preternatural. Quite apart from the fact that she was obviously not tempting as a human woman. Nevertheless, Alexia had believed she and the professor were at least convivial.

  She tried not to sound bitter, “I’ll take my large self elsewhere, shall I? A pleasant evening to you both, gentlemen.”

  She did not say it had been pleasure to meet them, because it hadn’t.

  Well, she thought, as she made her way through the crowd, if that’s how werewolves are, I’m glad not to have spent any time amongst them.

  There was indeed no library, and thus lacking her customary sanctuary, Alexia made her way to the conservatory. Some stroke of questionable genius had allowed a harmonium to enter the room. Young ladies of equally questionable genius were displaying their skill upon it with wanton disregard for the eardrums of their victims. Since Alexia had no ear, she hid, immune, behind a large potted palm, and tried to pretend she was enjoying the entertainment.

  At least it prevented her mother and sisters from finding her. Not that they were looking.

  Mrs Loontwill had long since stopped concerning herself with her eldest daughter. After a certain point in any evening’s entertainment, Alexia was expected to make herself absent.

  Really, thought Alexia, I’ve no idea why she even brings me to these things. I suppose there is the off chance I might be compromised and some poor unfortunate soul forced to marry me. That would make Mother happy.

  She was preparing herself for the remainder of her evening spent in mild discomfort trying to avoid werewolves, when a footman shimmered up next to her.

  He was a personable, dark-skinned young man, who issued her a sweet smile and offered her a wrap. With a start of surprise, she realized it was her own shawl.

  “Are we leaving already?” It was early for the Loontwill ladies to depart a gathering, but if something had gone wrong with Felicity (and it would always be Felicity, not Evylin) they might scarper off early. Her heart fluttered in hope.

  “No, miss. Did you not indicate that you wished to perambulate about the grounds?”

  “Did I? Alone?” Alexia was disgustingly independent, so far as her mother was concerned, but still. To stroll by oneself though the grounds at an evening party was truly daring.

  “I was told you requested your wrap.”

  “By whom?”

  “A chaperone.”

  “Oh, yes? Which one?”

  The footman gave a slight shrug as if to say wasn’t one chaperone much the same as another?

  Alexia sighed and decided to take this as a suggestion from the universe. The music, even to her utterly untrained and untrainable ear, was abysmal.

  “Perhaps I will take a little air.”

  “This way, miss.”

  The young footman showed her through the house. Most people seemed now to have collected in the larger rooms or gone to play cards, thus very few observed her passage. He swung open the double doors to the gardens and bowed her through, a touch obsequiously but with no mockery. Which was nice, for a change.

  The grounds were impressive, for central London, but then, the whole house was built for show.

  The family had arranged for the latest in floating gaslights. Hundreds of tiny lanterns shaped like dirigibles bobbed about the gardens, lighting the paths and showcasing particularly exotic plants collected from around the globe. This resulted in a pleasing fairytale effect that Alexia found delightful.

  Perhaps just a short stroll.

  The footman abandoned her to her own devices and her own thoughts. Naturally they turned to her disastrous evening. That horrible Lord Maccon! Really, did he have to be such a boor? And those eyes, so appallingly yellow. Alexia fumed internally at the man. Big, looming buffoon.

  She had liked the professor, until he, too, accidentally insulted her.

  Werewolves! Curse the lot of them. Which thought made her chuckle, because of course they were already cursed.

  Her thoughts returned to the Alpha. How dare he call her large when he himself was so very, very large indeed? And the way those ridiculous eyes had assessed her person before rendering judgment. Quite beyond simple regard.

  I mean to say, yes, my gown is hideous, but did he have to mentally occupy hims
elf in taking it off me? Because that was what it felt like. She shook her head at her own uncharacteristic flutters. To be so judged. And found wanting. By a werewolf!

  Alexia spent a pleasant half hour exploring the grounds, alone, under the bobbing lights of the floating lanterns. The gardens were well tended and pleasingly arranged. There was the occasional private nook for assignations, but she happened upon none in progress, and fortunately no one tried to approach her. She admired the rockery and trailed her fingers through a peaceful little lily pond.

  She was just considering how long she might continue to amble without repercussion when a disturbance in a corner she had not yet explored caught her attention.

  There was a kerfuffle occurring in a large, circular folly. The folly appeared to cherish pretentions towards becoming a Grecian temple.

  Alexia approached cautiously but not stealthily. She was too big (yes, she did know that) and too mulish to be at all subtle. Nevertheless, no one noticed as she chevied up and peeked inside.

  All attention was focused on the center of the folly.

  The gentlemen – and it was all gentlemen (which ought to have given Alexia pause but in fact only caused greater curiosity) – were mainly of the larger, fiercer variety. They were standing in a circle facing inwards, interspersed between the fluted marble columns.

  With a start, Alexia realized it was the werewolf pack. The four who’d come with Lord Maccon were there, including Professor Lyall, and one other man, also large, whom Alexia did not know.

  In the center of the folly, pacing around one another in a threatening manner, were two wolves. One was very large and black in color, or (she squinted) more likely dark brown and mottled here and there with other shades.

  The other wolf was smaller, with reddish fur tinted black and white about the face. There was something funny about his eyes. It took a moment for her to realize that one was blue and the other yellow. He looked shifty and twitchy, while the bigger wolf seemed sure and confident, powerful.