Blameless - By Gail Carriger Page 0,20
to leave? How unfortunate. My wife will be most upset.”
Floote said nothing.
Professor Lyall looked at the Frenchwoman’s intimate clasp on Lady Maccon’s hand. “You intend to volunteer yourself as companion, Madame Lefoux?” He was thinking about the fact that all the machines in the contrivance chamber had been shut down and tidied away.
Lady Maccon approved. “Excellent. I was hoping you would agree to accompany me, Genevieve. You have the necessary contacts in Europe, do you not?”
The inventor nodded. “I have already put some thought into possible escape routes.” She shifted her attention back to Lyall. “Did you think you could leave the Woolsey Pack for that long?”
“Woolsey is used to being split. We are one of the few packs that do it regularly, in order to satisfy both military and BUR obligations. But, no, you are right. I cannot leave at this juncture. The situation is most delicate.”
Madame Lefoux brought a hand to her face hurriedly and pretended to cough but could not quite hide the snicker. “Obviously, you cannot abandon Lord Maccon in his current… state.”
“State? My repulsive husband is in a ‘state’? Good! He jolly well should be.”
Professor Lyall felt like he might be betraying his Alpha somewhat but couldn’t help admitting, “He is practically inhaling formaldehyde in an effort to stay inebriated.”
Lady Maccon’s smug expression became suddenly alarmed.
“Don’t concern yourself,” Lyall hastened to reassure her. “It cannot harm him, not seriously, but it is certainly doing a bang-up job of keeping him utterly incapacitated in the meantime.”
“Concerned.” Lady Maccon turned away to fiddle with the hatbox, which had been working its way toward the edge of the table. “Who’s concerned?”
Professor Lyall moved hurriedly on. “He is, simply put, not acting the Alpha. Woolsey is a tough pack to hold steady at the best of times, restless members, and too much political clout not to be a tempting prospect for opportunistic loners. I shall need to stay here and safeguard the earl’s interests.”
Lady Maccon nodded. “Of course you must stay. I’m certain Genevieve and I can manage.”
The inventor looked hopefully at Professor Lyall. “I’d be obliged if you could find the time to look after my lab while I am away.”
The Beta was pleased to be asked. “I would be honored.”
“If you could stop by of an evening to check for intruders and ensure a couple of the more delicate machines remain oiled and maintained? I’ll provide you with a list.”
Tunstell perked up at this point in the conversation. “I’m convinced my wife would be thrilled to oversee the day-to-day operations of your hat shop, if you would like, Madame Lefoux.”
The Frenchwoman looked utterly horrified at the very idea.
Professor Lyall could just imagine it: Ivy, in charge of a whole roomful of hats. Such a thing could only bring about disaster and mayhem, like putting a cat in charge of a cage full of pigeons—a turquoise brocade cat with very unusual ideas about the coloration and arrangement of pigeon feathers.
Lady Maccon rubbed her hands together. “That was one of the reasons I invited you here, Tunstell.”
Madame Lefoux gave Alexia a very appraising look. “I suppose it would be better if some semblance of normal business operations continued while I was away. It would be best if the vampires did not know exactly who your friends are.” She turned to Tunstell. “Do you think your wife equal to the task?”
“She’d be unconditionally thrilled.” The redhead’s broad grin was back in place.
“I was half afraid you would say that.” Madame Lefoux gave a rueful little smile.
Poor Madame Lefoux, thought Professor Lyall. There was a distinct possibility she would end up with no hat shop to return to.
“Vampires? Did you say vampires?” Lady Maccon’s brain suddenly caught up with the second part of the conversation.
Lyall nodded. “We believe that, now that your delicate condition is public information, the vampires are going to try and—not to put too fine a point on it—kill you.”
Lady Maccon arched her eyebrows. “Through the judicious application of malicious ladybugs, perhaps?”
“Come again?”
“Ladybugs?” Tunstell perked up. “I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.”
“Not of these you wouldn’t be.” Lady Maccon detailed her recent ladybug encounter and the fact that she had only just narrowly escaped being pronged with an antennae. “This has not been a very pleasant day so far,” she concluded, “all things considered.”
“Did you manage to capture one for closer examination?” asked Madame Lefoux.
“What do you think is in the hatbox?”
Madame Lefoux’s eyes began to sparkle. “Fantastique!” She dashed off and fussed