Soulless(104)
Miss Tarabotti blinked at her mother sleepily. “Uh...” She could not think. Iwas off meeting with a vampire, got abducted by scientists, attacked by a werewolf, and then spent the remainder of the night holding hands with a naked peer of the realm. She said, “Uh...” again.
“She was with the Earl of Woolsey,” said Professor Lyall firmly, in a tone of voice that brooked no objection, as though that settled the matter.
Mrs. Loontwill ignored his tone entirely and made a move as if to strike her daughter. “Alexia! You wanton hussy!”
Professor Lyall twisted fast so that his charge, still held in his arms, was well out of the woman's reach and glared furiously.
Mrs. Loontwill turned her wrath on him, like a rabid poodle. “I will have you know, young man, no daughter of mine spends an entire night away from home with a gentleman without being securely married to that gentleman first! I do not care if he is an earl. You werewolf types may have different rules for this kind of affair, but this is the nineteenth century, and we do not hold with such shenanigans. Why, I ought to have my husband call your Alpha out right now!”
Professor Lyall raised one refined brow. “He is welcome to the attempt. I would not recommend that particular course of action. To the best of my recollection, Lord Maccon has never actually lost a fight.” He looked down at Alexia. “Except to Miss Tarabotti, of course.”
Alexia grinned up at him. “You can put me down now, Professor. I am quite awake and able to stand. Mama will do that to a person. She is like a glass of cold water.”
Professor Lyall did as she requested.
Miss Tarabotti found that she had not actually spoken the truth. Her whole body ached most awfully, and her feet did not seem to wish to work as instructed. She stumbled heavily to one side. Professor Lyall made to grab her and missed.
With the majestic efficiency of all good butlers, Floote appeared at her side and took her arm, preventing her from falling.
“Thank you, Floote,” said Alexia, leaning gratefully against him. Felicity and Evylin, both properly attired in cotton day dresses, reappeared and went immediately to sit on the chesterfield before they could be told to leave.
Alexia looked about and noticed one family member still absent. “Where is the squire?”
“Never you mind that, missy. What is going on? I demand an immediate explanation,” insisted her mother, waggling a finger.
Just then, there came the most imperious knocking on the front door. Floote transferred Alexia back to Professor Lyall and went to answer it. Lyall ushered Miss Tarabotti over to the wingback chair. With a nostalgic smile. Alexia sat down in it.
“We are not at home!” yelled Mrs. Loontwill after Floote. “To anyone!”
“You are at home to me, madam,” said a very autocratic voice.
The Queen of England swept into the room: a petite woman, in late middle life but wearing it very well.
Floote trailed in after and said, in tones of shock Alexia had never thought to hear from her unflappable butler, “Her Most Royal Highness, Queen Victoria, to see Miss Tarabotti.” Mrs. Loontwill fainted.
Alexia thought it the best, most sensible thing her mama had done in a very long while. Floote uncorked a bottle of smelling salts and went to revive her, but Alexia shook her head firmly. Then she made to rise and curtsy, but the queen raised her hand.
“No formality, Miss Tarabotti. I understand you have had an interesting night,” she said.
Miss Tarabotti nodded mutely and made a polite gesture for the queen to sit. She was mortified by what now seemed the shabby clutter of her family's front parlor. Her Most Royal Highness did not seem to notice, sitting down on a mahogany side chair next to Alexia, moving it so her back was to the collapsed form of Mrs. Loontwill.
Miss Tarabotti turned to her sisters. Both had their mouths open and were flapping about like ineffectual fish.
“Felicity, Evylin, out, now,” she ordered quite curtly.
Professor Lyall helped hustle the two girls from the room and would have followed, but the queen said curtly, “Stay, Professor. We may need your expertise.”
Floote glided out with an expression that said he would keep all prying ears at bay, although probably not his own.
The queen looked at Alexia a long moment. “You are not at all what I expected,” she said at last. Miss Tarabotti refrained from saying, “Neither are you.” Instead she said, “You knew to expect something?”
“Dear girl, you are one of the only preternaturals on British soil. We approved your father's immigration papers all those many years ago. We were informed the moment of your birth. We have watched your progress since then with interest. We even considered interfering when all this folderol with Lord Maccon began to complicate matters. It has gone on quite long enough. You will be marrying him, I understand?”