The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set

by Gail Carriger

  “His lordship can eat my fat—” Lady Maccon paused, thought the better of her crass words, and said, “—does not have to like it. Nor do you. The fact remains that this morning Floote will secure for me passage on the afternoon’s dirigible to Glasgow. His lordship can take it up with me when I arrive.”

  Professor Lyall had no doubt that his poor Alpha would do just that and be similarly humbled. Still, he would not give in so easily. “You shall have to take Tunstell with you, at the very least. The lad has been pining to visit the north ever since his lordship left, and he will be able to keep an eye on you.”

  Lady Maccon was truculent. “I do not need him. Have you seen my new parasol?”

  Lyall had seen the purchase order and been suitably impressed, but he was no fool. “A woman, even a married woman, cannot float without proper escort. It is simply not done. You and I are both well aware of that fact.”

  Lady Maccon frowned. He was right, bother it. She sighed and figured that at least Tunstell was a pushover.

  “Oh, very well, if you insist,” she conceded with ill grace.

  The intrepid Beta, older than most werewolves still living in the greater London environs—Lord Maccon and the dewan included—did the only thing he could under the circumstances. Pulled his cravat aside to expose his neck, gave a little bow, and took himself off to bed without another word, leaving Lady Maccon in possession of the field.

  Her ladyship sent the hovering Floote to rouse poor Tunstell from his bed and give him the unexpected news that he would be departing for Scotland. The claviger, who had only just climbed into bed, having spent the better part of the night looking at ladies’ hats, wondered a tad about the sanity of his mistress.

  Just after sunrise, having gotten very little sleep, Lady Maccon commenced packing. Or, it should be said more precisely that Lady Maccon commenced arguing with Angelique over what should be packed. She was interrupted by a visit from the only person on the planet capable of consistently routing her in verbal skirmishes.

  Floote brought up the message.

  “Good gracious, what on earth is she doing here? And at such an early hour!” Alexia put the calling card back down on the little silver tray; checked her appearance, which was only just passable for receiving; and wondered if she should take the time to change. Should one risk keeping a caller waiting or face criticism for being dressed in attire unbecoming to a lady of rank? She chose the latter, deciding to get the encounter over and done with as quickly as possible.

  The woman waiting for her in the front parlor was a diminutive blond with a rosy complexion that owed more to artifice than nature, wearing a visiting dress of pink and white stripes that would better suit a lady half her age.

  “Mama,” said Lady Maccon, presenting her cheek for the halfhearted kiss her mother wafted in her direction.

  “Oh, Alexia,” cried Mrs. Loontwill, as though she had not seen her eldest in years. “I am quite overset with the most nervous misery; such a to-do is afoot. I require your immediate assistance.”

  Lady Maccon was dumbfounded—a state that did not afflict her often. Firstly, her mother had not insulted her appearance. Secondly, her mother actually seemed to be seeking her help in some matter. Her help.

  “Mama, do sit. You are quite discombobulated. I shall order tea.” She gestured to a chair, and Mrs. Loontwill sank into it gratefully. “Rumpet,” Alexia addressed the hovering butler, “tea, please. Or would you prefer sherry, Mama?”

  “Oh, I am not that overset.”

  “Tea, Rumpet.”

  “However, the situation is very dire. Such poopitations of the heart as you would not believe.”

  “Palpitations,” corrected her daughter softly.

  Mrs. Loontwill relaxed slightly, and then all of a sudden sat up straight as a poker, looking wildly about. “Alexia, none of your husband’s associates are in residence, are they?”

  This was her mother’s delicate way of referring to the pack.

  “Mama, it is full daylight. They are all in residence, but they are also all abed. I, myself, have been up most of the night.” She said this last as a subtle hint, but her mother existed well beyond subtlety.

  “Well, you would marry into the supernatural set. Not that I am complaining about your catch, my dear, far from it.” Mrs. Loontwill puffed up her chest like a pink-striped quail. “My daughter, Lady Maccon.”

  It was a constant source of amazement to Alexia that the only thing she had ever done in her entire life that pleased her mama was marry a werewolf.

  “Mama, I really have a great deal to accomplish this morning. And you indicated you were visiting regarding a matter of some considerable urgency. What has happened?”

  “Well, you see, it is your sisters.”

  “You finally comprehend what intolerable little ninnies they both are?”

  “Alexia!”

  “What about them, Mama?” Lady Maccon was wary. It wasn’t that she did not love her sisters; it was simply that she did not like them very much. They were half sisters to be precise: Misses Loontwills the pair of them, while Alexia had been a Miss Tarabotti before her marriage. They were as blond, as silly, and as nonpreternatural as their pink-striped mama.

  “They are in the most terrible argument at the moment.”

  “Evylin and Felicity are fighting? How surprising.” The sarcasm was entirely lost on Mrs. Loontwill.

  “I know! But I speak nothing but truth. You must comprehend perfectly my distress at this. You see, Evylin has become engaged. Not a catch quite up to your standards, of course—we cannot expect lightning to strike twice—but a tolerable match. The gentleman is not supernatural, thank heavens; one irregular in-law is more than enough. Regardless, Felicity cannot countenance the fact that her younger sister will marry before her. She is being perfectly beastly over the whole thing. So Evylin suggested, and I agree, that perhaps she needs to get out of London for a spell. So I suggested, and Mr. Loontwill agreed, that a trip to the countryside would be just the thing to brighten up her spirits. So I have brought her here, to you.”

  Lady Maccon did not quite follow. “You have brought Evylin?”

  “No, dear, no. Do pay attention! I have brought Felicity.” Mrs. Loontwill produced a ruffled fan and began waggling it about violently.

  “What, here?”

  “Now you are being purposefully dull-witted,” accused her mother, prodding her with the fan.

  “I am?” Where was Rumpet with the tea? Lady Maccon was in desperate need. Her mother often caused that kind of reaction.

  “I have brought her here to stay with you, of course.”

  “What! For how long?”

  “As long as is required.”

  “But, what?”

  “I am certain you could use the company of family,” insisted her mother. She took a moment to glance about the parlor, a cluttered but friendly room, full of books and large pieces of leather furnishing. “And this place could certainly benefit from additional feminine influence. There is not a single doily in sight.”

  “Wait…”

  “She has packed for a two-week stay, but, you understand, as I have a wedding to arrange, she may need to remain at Woolsey longer. In which case, you will have to go shopping.”

  “Now wait just a moment—” Alexia’s voice rose in aggravation.

  “Good, that is settled, then.”

  Alexia was left gaping like a fish.

  Mrs. Loontwill stood, apparently recovered from her palpitations. “I shall go fetch her from the carriage, shall I?”

  Lady Maccon trailed her mother out of the parlor and down the front steps to find Felicity, surrounded by a prodigious amount of baggage, on her front lawn.

  Without further ado, Mrs. Loontwill kissed both of her daughters on the cheek, climbed back into the carriage, and departed in a whirl of lavender perfume and pink stripes.

  Lady Maccon looked her sister over, still in shock. Felicity was dressed in the latest of velvet long coats, white w
ith a red front, hundreds of tiny black buttons running up it, and a long white skirt with red and black bows. Her blond hair was up, and her hat was perched back on her head in just the kind of precarious manner Angelique would approve of most.

  “Well,” Lady Maccon said brusquely, “I guess you had best come in.”

  Felicity looked about at her bags and then maneuvered delicately around them and swept up the front steps and into the house.

  “Rumpet, would you please?” Lady Maccon, left behind with the luggage, indicated the massive pile with her chin.

  Rumpet nodded.

  Lady Maccon stopped him as he passed. “Do not bother to see them unpacked, Rumpet. Not just yet. We shall see if we can arrange this differently.”

  The butler nodded. “Very good, my lady.”

  Lady Maccon followed her sister into the house.

  Felicity had found her way into the front parlor and was pouring herself some of the tea. Without asking. She glanced up when Lady Maccon entered. “I do declare, you are looking rather puffy about the face, sister. Have you gained weight since I saw you last? You know, I do so worry about your health.”

  Alexia refrained from commenting that the only worry Felicity felt was over next season’s gloves. She sat down across from her sister, folded her arms ostentatiously over her ample chest, and glared. “Out with it. Why would you possibly allow yourself to be foisted off on me?”

  Felicity cocked her head to one side, sipped her tea, and demurred. “Well, your complexion seems to have improved. One might even mistake you for an Englishwoman. That is nice. I should never have believed it had I not seen it for myself.”

  Pale skin had been popular in England since vampires officially emerged into, and took over, much of the higher ranks. But Alexia had her father’s Italian skin and no interest in fighting its inclinations merely to look like one of the undead. “Felicity,” she said sharply.

  Felicity looked to one side and tutted in annoyance. “Well, if I must. Let me simply say it has become desirable for me to absent myself from London for a short while. Evylin is being overly smug. You know how she gets if she has something and she knows you want it.”

  “The truth, Felicity.”

  Felicity glanced about as though looking for some clue or hint, and then said finally, “I was under the impression that the regiment was in residence here at Woolsey.”

  Ah, thought Alexia, so that was what was going on. “Oh, you were, were you?”

  “Well, yes, I was. Are they?”

  Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes. “They are encamped around the back.”

  Felicity immediately stood, brushing down her skirts and plumping her curls.

  “Oh no, you don’t. Sit right back down there, young lady.” Alexia took great satisfaction in treating her sister as though she were an infant. “There is no point; you simply cannot stay with me.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because I am not stopping here. I have business in Scotland, and I depart this afternoon. I cannot very well leave you at Woolsey alone and without a chaperone, especially as the regiment is in residence. Simply think how that would look.”

  “But why Scotland? I should hate to have to go to Scotland. It is such a barbaric place. It is practically Ireland!” Felicity was clearly perturbed at this disruption in her carefully wrought plans.

  Alexia came up with the most Felicity-safe reason for traveling that she could think of, off of the top of her head. “My husband is in Scotland on pack business. I am to join him there.”

  “Well, piffle!” exclaimed Felicity, sitting back down with a whump. “What a frightful bother. Why do you always have to be so inconvenient, Alexia? Can you not think of me and my needs for a change?”

  Lady Maccon interrupted what looked to be a long diatribe. “I am confident your suffering is quite beyond all description. Shall I call for the Woolsey carriage so you can at least travel back to town in style?”

  Felicity looked glum. “It cannot be countenanced, Alexia. Mama will have your head if you send me back now. You know how impossible she can be about these things.”

  Lady Maccon did know. But what was to be done?

  Felicity sucked on her teeth. “I suppose I shall simply have to accompany you to Scotland. It will be a terrible bore, of course, and you know how I hate traveling, but I shall bear it with grace.” Felicity looked oddly cheered by this idea.

  Lady Maccon blanched. “Oh no, absolutely not.” A week or more in her sister’s company and she would go categorically bonkers.

  “I think the idea has merit.” Felicity grinned. “I could instruct you on the subject of appearance.” She gave Alexia a sweeping up-and-down look. “It is clear you are in need of expert guidance. Now, if I were Lady Maccon, I should not choose such somber attire.”

  Lady Maccon rubbed at her face. It would make for a good cover story, removing her deranged sister from London for a desperately needed airing. Felicity was just self-involved enough not to notice or remark upon any of Alexia’s muhjah activities. Plus, it would give Angelique someone else to fuss over for a change.

  That decided matters.

  “Very well. I hope you are prepared to travel by air. We are catching a dirigible this afternoon.”

  Felicity looked uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “Well, if I must, I must. But I am certain I did not pack the correct bonnet for air travel.”

  “Cooee!” A voice reverberated down the hallway outside the open parlor door. “Anyone home?” it rang forth, singsong.

  “Now what?” wondered Lady Maccon, fervently hoping she would not miss float-off. She did not want to delay her travel, particularly now that she must keep the regiment and Felicity separated.

  A head appeared around the edge of the doorjamb. The head was wearing a hat comprised almost entirely of red feathers, all standing straight upright, and a few tiny puffy white ones, looking like nothing so much as an overly excited duster with a case of the pox.

  “Ivy,” stated Alexia, wondering if her dear friend was perhaps secretly the leader of a Silly Hat Liberation Society.

  “Oh, Alexia! I let myself in. I do not know where Rumpet has taken himself off to, but I saw the parlor door open, so I deduced you must be awake, and I thought I ought to tell you…” She trailed off upon realizing Alexia was not alone.

  “Why, Miss Hisselpenny,” purred Felicity, “what are you doing here?”

  “Miss Loontwill! How do you do?” Ivy blinked at Alexia’s sister in utter surprise. “I might ask you the same question.”

  “Alexia and I are taking a trip to Scotland this afternoon.”

  The feather duster trembled in confusion. “You are?” Ivy looked rather hurt that Alexia would not see fit to inform her of such a trip. And that Alexia would choose Felicity as a companion, when Ivy knew how much Alexia loathed her sister.

  “By dirigible.”

  Miss Hisselpenny nodded sagely. “So much more sensible. Rail is such an undignified way to travel. All that rapid racing about. Floating has so much more gravitas.”

  “It was decided at the last minute,” said Lady Maccon, “both the trip and Felicity joining me. There has been some domestic difficulty at the Loontwills’. Frankly, Felicity is jealous that Evy is getting married.” There was no way Lady Maccon would allow her sister to seize control of a conversation at the expense of her dear friend’s feelings. It was one thing to put up with Felicity’s jibes herself and another to witness them turned upon defenseless Miss Hisselpenny.

  “What a lovely hat,” Felicity said to Ivy snidely.

  Lady Maccon ignored her sister. “I am sorry, Ivy. I would have invited you. You know I would, but my mother insisted, and you know how utterly impossible she can be.”

  Miss Hisselpenny nodded, looking gloomy. She came fully into the room and sat down. Her dress was subdued for Ivy: a simple walking gown of white with red polka dots, boasting only one row of red ruffles and fewer than six bows—although the ruffles were very puffy, an
d the bows were very large.

  “I am assured floating is terribly unsafe, even so,” added Felicity, “Us two women traveling alone. Don’t you think you should ask several members of the regiment to accompany—?”

  “No, I most certainly should not!” replied Lady Maccon sharply. “But I do believe Professor Lyall will insist upon Tunstell joining us as escort.”

  Felicity pouted. “Not that horrible redheaded thespian chap? He is so fearfully jolly. Must he come? Could we not get some nice soldier instead?”

  Miss Hisselpenny quite bristled upon hearing Tunstell disparaged. “Why, Miss Loontwill, how bold you are with your opinions of young men you should know nothing of. I’ll thank you not to cast windles and dispersions about like that.”

  “At least I am smart enough to have an opinion,” snapped Felicity back.

  Oh dear, thought Alexia, here we go. She wondered what a “windle” was.

  “Oh,” Miss Hisselpenny gasped. “I certainly do have an opinion about Mr. Tunstell. He is a brave and kindly gentleman in every way.”

  Felicity gave Ivy an assessing look. “And now here I sit, Miss Hisselpenny, thinking it is you who is probably overly familiar with the gentleman in question.”

  Ivy blushed as red as her hat.

  Alexia cleared her throat. Ivy should not have been so bold as to reveal her feelings openly to one such as Felicity, but Felicity was behaving like a veritable harpy. If this was a window into her behavior of late, no wonder Mrs. Loontwill wanted her out of the house.

  “Stop it, both of you.”

  Miss Hisselpenny turned big, beseeching eyes upon her friend. “Alexia, are you certain you cannot see your way to allowing me to accompany you as well? I have never been in a dirigible, and I should so very much like to see Scotland.”

  In truth, Ivy was vastly afraid of floating and had never before showed any interest in geography outside of London. Even inside London, her geographic concerns centered heavily on Bond Street and Oxford Circus, for obvious pecuniary reasons. Alexia Maccon would have to be a fool not to realize that Ivy’s interest lay in Tunstell’s presence.

  “Only if you believe your mother and your fiancé can spare you,” said Lady Maccon, emphasizing that last in the hopes that it might remind Ivy of her prior commitment and force her to see reason.