“And don’t even get him started on vampires. He’s much worse than I am,” added Quinn.
“To be fair, he has a greater right to be,” said one of the other werewolves, Faith thought his name was Zev or Zeb or something odd like that, coming to his Gamma’s defence.
“Good point,” conceded Quinn.
Faith was wildly curious. What exactly had the vampires done to Channing that justified such ire?
Canning stopped eating, crossed his arms, and glared about the table. “Would anyone else like to assassinate my character at dinner?”
“Ooo, me!” said Hemming.
“Yes, Hemming, why am I unsuitable?”
“Well, you don’t like children at all, simply because, you know, that happened.”
One of the others said, “Which is why he doesn’t want to marry, either. You know, because of her.”
Murmurs of agreement.
Her, thought Faith, her who? She glared at Biffy, suddenly annoyed by the whole thing. What on earth is going on here? What are you trying to tell me?
Biffy was looking pleased with this outcome.
Faith began to get a little angry about the whole thing. It seemed almost cruel to expose Channing thus, even as he had been unkind to her and neglectful. His private feelings and reasons, his past hurts, should stay that way, private and in the past.
She said, staunchly, “Well, thanks, for my part, gentlemen. Your Alpha continually effacing you all as not good enough flatters me greatly. Although it obviously doesn’t flatter any of you.” The table chuckled.
Faith gave a thought to throwing Teddy to the wolves, diverting attention that way. Encouraging them to offer themselves to her friend in a similarly ridiculous manner. But Teddy’s engagement to Mr Rafterwit (and his stables) was now widely known (it had appeared in the papers yesterday); no doubt the werewolves were honoring that commitment by not flirting with her.
(Mr Rafterwit had taken knee to hay bale when he made his offer. He’d been showing her about his stables at the time. Teddy said it was the most romantic thing ever and that she was incandescent with happiness. Mr Rafterwit promised her the next filly out of his favored stallion for her very own, and swore they would spend at least half the year in the countryside. Teddy was in ecstasies.)
Biffy said, “Surely, one of you might do?” As though he were some matchmaking mamma and it hardly mattered which. “I hadn’t even finished the table, Miss Wigglesworth. Don’t you find any of my pack handsome enough to suit?”
“Very. All of them.”
Biffy nodded. “And, of course, there is also Rafe, who is away and very appealing if you like the rough and ready. And Riehard. Well, Riehard could be anything you wanted him to be.”
What if I want him tall and blond and moody, with icy eyes and a sour disposition? What if I want him to throw me up against the wall and press against me with his whole body, as if he needed me to breathe? Would he send me rocks and take me to geology meetings? Would he learn my history and not care that some other man had taken me first?
“Enough!” said Channing, at last.
Biffy sat back, expression smug.
Faith hid a smile.
In classic wolf fashion, Channing’s Alpha sat at the head of the table. His Beta, however, sat opposite, at the foot, a position ordinarily occupied by the lady of the house.
Channing preferred this arrangement; it meant Lyall and Biffy couldn’t bill and coo and share private secrets during meals. They still made eyes at one another, engaging in that silent form of communication which all couples develop over time and reminds those who are not entangled of what they are missing. Channing thought such displays of affection were vulgar, emotional wealth worn wreathed about a man like too many strands of pearls.
Channing looked at Faith, wondering if he could do that with her, right now. Silently communicate. And what would he say if he could?
But she was not looking at him.
Which of course made him burn with the need for her immediate attention.
His Alpha had warned him. He had known he would be in for it at this gathering. So, here they all sat, the pack backing Biffy, worrying at Channing as if he were a juicy bone to pick at.
It had worked. Of course it had worked. He’d lost his temper and barked at them all.
Fortunately, the bickering and pseudo match-making had carried them through the entirety of dinner. They adjourned to the drawing room for wine and light petits fours instead of a pudding course.
Channing watched Faith’s lithe figure as she was led through by Professor Lyall. He thought her dress was very daring and impossibly flattering. There was nothing to distract or detract from the delicacy of her bone structure or the trimness of her waist. The gown’s neckline was low, the decoration a simple cream ribbon.
He wanted to rip it off her.
Naturally, the pack arranged it so he was seated next to her.
At that juncture, the pack put in a concerted effort to distract the Iftercasts and give Channing and Faith some measure of privacy. Adelphus and Biffy held Mrs Iftercast and Teddy’s attention with gossip of the ton, making up outrageous stories about who was engaged to whom and whether it was a love match or merely a polite arrangement. Lyall and Quinn talked matters of politics and business with Mr Iftercast in serious tones. Ulric and Hemming chatted amiably with the Iftercasts’ male children on inconsequential matters over cards. There was much laughter among them.
Zev and Phelan, the most reserved of the pack, made their excuses and went about their evening’s business. Channing wished he could do the same, but he was under orders to remain.
So, he sat in one corner, out of human hearing, with Miss Wigglesworth. To whom he had indeed been rather shabby.
He owed her an explanation or at least an apology.
However, because she was staunch and forthright and oh so darling, Faith took the opening afforded by their comparative isolation before he could. Brave, his Lazuli. Shining with courage, not afraid of anything, not even him.
“You’ve reconsidered my history and decided against me, sir?”
Is that what she thinks? I have made her doubt herself further.
“Never that.” He resisted pressing her hand.
“You’re afraid I’d insist on matrimony? I promise, I wouldn’t.” Faith lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I’d take you however I could get you.”
That jolted him with need. He noticed his marks on her neck had faded, and he hated that. He wanted her under him and writhing, trying to escape, helpless. His in every way. The scent of her filling him, the body of her being filled.
“You have no idea what you offer.”
“You forget, sir. I know exactly what I offer.”
“You should be demanding I marry you. Your family should have me horsewhipped for what I did to you in that garden. There should be a gun with silver bullets to my head and you waiting for me at the altar.”
“Is that what you want?” She was clearly confused.
He took a breath. “Whichever way I took you – one night, one season, or all of your eternity – I would be no good for you. I want you. God’s teeth, of course I want you. Look at you. You are perfect.”
She leaned in, eyes bright. “Is it your nature that makes you give up before we’ve even started? I promise, I’d run from you every night. Chase me. Mark me.”
Channing felt himself tighten full-body, swollen and straining with want. He feared the others might smell his arousal. I am no good for you. He couldn’t speak.
“You gave me rocks. You took me to a scientific lecture. You make me need so much. It isn’t fair to let me drift like this. Where will I anchor if not to you?”
“I warned you I was a cad.”
“You don’t think you’re good enough for me?”
“I don’t think I can change enough to suit you.”
“Then let me go. Cut me loose. Truly stop this.”
But you are mine. His heart beat the refrain – mine mine mine – pushing old dead blood through tired immortal veins. He was exhausted and lonely.
“I am trying to,” he said.
“Try harder,” she snapped back.
Channing did not realize until later that night how alike they were. How, this time, he had thrown down the gauntlet to her. The island of his loneliness was temptation, summoning Faith to swim towards it. For she had been treading water a long time and saw him as a place of refuge, unexplored. Faith knew he was no safe tropical island, rich with greenery and wholesome fruit. She knew Channing’s soul was a granite boulder standing stiff and solitary in the midst of an abandoned lake.
But she would take that as a challenge, his Lazuli. Granite, to her, was full of many fascinating things – minerals and crystals and shards of trapped light. A rock was never only a rock to a geologist.
She had told him to let her go and to run. But she was really saying, I will track you. I will hunt you. I will follow. And you will smooth the water with your own ice so that I may walk across it.
And Channing realized, for the first time in ninety years, that he might.
STEP EIGHT
Never, Under Any Circumstances, Make a Public Scene
Like a good girl, Teddy waited to turn into a jittering wreck on the way home, thank heavens. Her first comment explained why she’d been so quiet throughout the evening. “Oh, those werewolves, so blunt with their implications. Around the dinner table, no less. I declare, I hardly knew where to look or what to say.”
Faith hid a smile and imitated Teddy’s accent. “To be sure, cousin, even breathing seemed a risk at times.”
“Now you’re teasing me, Faith darling. But be serious, we are like sisters now. Do you really want such a thing as that? I mean to say, should you marry Major—”
“Now, Theodora, don’t tempt fate,” interjected Mrs Iftercast.
Teddy corrected herself. “Should you marry into the London Pack, then, well, that would be your life. Every night sitting around that table with those big loud men.” She shuddered. “Hardly bears contemplating.”
Faith thought it sounded wonderful.
Colin said to his sister, “Teds, don’t be a ninnyhammer. I’m sure Faith feels the same about your prospective future spent mucking about with horses and mulch and oats and sheds and bally whatnot.”
Faith nodded vigorously.
Colin gestured. “See there? Mother, now that you’ve got the girls sorted, could we get on to me and Miss Fernhough? She’s such a marvelous pip. I tell you. The pippiest.”
Teddy took Faith’s hand while the rest of the family attempted to convince Colin that no matter how pippy his Miss Fernhough, she was still too young.
“Of course, Faith dear, if you like him, then I am with you ’til the bitter end.”
“Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that, but thanks, Teddy.”
Accordingly, Faith became even more determined in her pursuit of one arrogant blond werewolf. The pack was on her side. The Iftercasts were on her side. Surely even Major Channing could not stand against all of them?
Faith decide to seriously strategize. She began to research. She made enquiries. She learned all she could about werewolves in general and the enigmatic Major Channing in particular. His war record was extensive. His reputation was colorful. His previous relationships were temporary. His history before he became a werewolf was… absent. Oh, there were rumors: that he’d been a sculptor and then a soldier, and that he’d been bitten in battle during one of Napoleon’s many wars.
She learned that his current place of business, BUR headquarters, was located in Fleet Street. She sourced his other haunts. His club was Claret’s. He preferred to walk and to run on Blackheath and not in Hyde Park. His contacts and compatriots were primarily within the War Office, the Home Office, and the military barracks.
She found a painting of a white wolf bent and drinking at the edge of a half-frozen lake, the world white around him. The artist was skilled, breezy in his brush strokes so that the very stillness of the image hinted at a burst of motion soon to come, the moment that the wolf looked up and noticed he was observed.
It cost more than she could afford and less than it was worth, but she bought it anyway and sent it ’round to Falmouth House, directed to Major Channing.
He had sent her courting gifts. Hunted rocks and laid them at her feet like fresh kill. She would do the same.
She found a pair of slippers made of rabbit fur and, highly amused at her own daring, ordered a size she hoped would fit, and sent those next. Directed to Major Channing, with no inscription, and no return address.
She thought it likely that he’d find such trinkets very annoying, and that the others would laugh at his expense. But then, late at night, he might put on the slippers and look at the painting and think of her.
Her campaign was probably going as well as she could hope. She hadn’t seen Channing in several days, but Biffy positively beamed at her when she dropped by the hat shop.
“What are you up to, little American?” he teased. “Our boy is flustered. I’ve never seen him flustered before.”
“Killing him with kindness,” said Faith.
“That’s no joke. With Channing, it might actually kill him.”
So, she was feeling almost optimistic.
Until her parents came to town.
It was Teddy who told her.
“Oh, Faith, you’ll never believe it, but your mother and father have just arrived in town. They are downstairs in the hallway.”
Faith felt sick. “What?”
“Apparently, Mums wrote them. Ages ago, right after we visited the hat shop the first time. Mums was so chuffed, you see? After such noted attention from Lord Falmouth, she felt certain we would be announcing your engagement imminently. And to a werewolf, no less, exactly as your parents wanted. Then, when Major Channing began to avoid you, she forgot to write again to warn them off. It likely wouldn’t have done any good. They had already set out across the Atlantic. They came by steamer, if you would believe it? Not by dirigible. In this day and age, so old-fashioned. No offense.”
“Well, they are old-fashioned, but really, Mother hates floating.” Faith was still in shock. There’re here. Why are they here? Mother hates London. It’s full of monsters.
“Oh, heavens!” Faith collapsed back onto her bed. “Do they expect to stay here, too? Is there room for them? And if not, will I have to go with them to a hotel?”
“Why, Faith, you’re trembling. Of course you must remain with us regardless. You will stay here with us! You’re proper family.”
“But… appearances.”
“Hang appearances! I’m sure Mums will make the offer, but it would be very cramped quarters if they accepted. You’re already in Charlie’s room, so Cyril and Colin would have to double up. They hate doing that.”
“My parents can afford to stay somewhere else.” Faith was upset on her host’s behalf. “Trust me, Teddy dear, you don’t want them here.”
Teddy nodded, glumly. “I told Mums they were perfectly horrid to you. I thought Mums understood what that meant. But you know how absentminded she gets. And she never takes me seriously. She’ll invite them to stay. We can only pray your parents understand the limits of this household and decline on the basis of convenience.”
“Agreed,” said Faith.
Teddy eyed the door. “Should we go down, do you think?”
“I suppose it would look strange if I didn’t. They’re my parents, after all. Save yourself, Teddy, and stay up here.”
“I should never let you go into battle alone!” Teddy was fierce.
Faith pressed her cousin’s hand. “You are a dear and loyal friend.”
So it was that Faith and Teddy marched down the grand staircase together. Faith clutched Teddy’s burly little arm for support. Teddy wore a militant look upon her round face. Faith looked calm
and collected, only the dampness of her grip betraying her weakness.
It’s silly, really. It’s not as if I didn’t live with them for twenty-four years. But for the last few months, in London, Faith had felt both free and safe. It was the best she had ever felt. The Iftercasts had given her a home for the very first time in her life, a true sanctuary. Now, knowing it was possible to find family a comforting environment, the very idea of returning to the withered bosom of her former life seemed not only unfair but cruel.
Fortunately, Faith’s parents still did not want her. But they did want to see what she was up to.
They had taken rooms in the Beaumont Hotel, and there was no space for Faith there.
“We hope you don’t consider us officious, imposing our wayward daughter upon you a little longer? Only until this engagement, at which you hinted, comes to fruition.”
Mrs Iftercast blanched and looked desperately at Faith. Faith shook her head slightly. By all means, let my parents think I have the protection of a pack along with a prospective husband.
“Speaking of which, Faith, where’s your maid?”
It was such an entirely unexpected inquiry, and such sudden focused attention from her mother, that Faith started. “Minnie?”
“Why, do you suddenly have some other maid?”
“She’s not here.”
“Not here. What do mean, not here? Have you misplaced her? Are you going around London randomly scattering maids to the four corners?”
“No. She’s on loan to my seamstress.”
“What?” Mrs Wigglesworth went positively purple about the face. “Why on earth?”
“Minnie is handy with her needle, and my need for dresses outweighed my need for her assistance at home.”
“Well, that explains the appalling state of your hair.”
Faith touched her coiffure, a perfectly innocuous twist pinned to her crown with a few curls arranged down one side. Nothing offensive or particularly special about it.
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