Alexia, still overcome with the most profound shock, opened the small window above the carriage door and poked her head out into the rushing wind.

"Sister, come away from the window. That will wreak havoc with your hair. And, really, your hair doesn't need the excuse," Felicity jawed on. Alexia ignored her, so Felicity looked to the Frenchwoman. "What is is she doing?" she doing?"

Madame Lefoux gave a sad little grimace of a smile-no dimples. "Listening." She put a gentle hand on Alexia's back, rubbing it softly. Alexia did not appear to notice.

"For what?"

"Howling, running wolves."

And Alexia was listening, but there was only the damp quiet of a Scottish night.

extras

meet the author Ms. Carriger began writing in order to cope with being raised in obscurity by an expatriateBrit and an incurable curmudgeon. She escaped small-town life and inadvertently acquired several degrees in Higher Learning. Ms. Carriger then traveled the historic cities of Europe, subsisting entirely on biscuits secreted in her handbag. She now resides in the Colonies, surrounded by a harem of Armenian lovers, where she insists on tea imported directly from London. She is fond of teeny-tiny hats and tropical fruit. Find out more about Ms. Carriger at www.gailcarriger.com.

introducing If you enjoyed CHANGELESS, look out for BLAMELESS The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Third by Gail Carriger How much longer, Mama, must we tolerate this gross humiliation?"

Lady Alexia Maccon paused before entering the breakfast room. Cutting through the comfortable sounds of c.h.i.n.king teacups and scrunching toast came her sister's nondulcet tones. In an unsurprising morning duet of well-practiced whining, Felicity's voice was soon followed by Evylin's.

"Yes, mumsy darling, such a scandal under our roof. We really shouldn't be expected to put up with it any longer."

Felicity championed the cause once more. "This is ruining our chances"-crunch, crunch-"beyond all recuperation. It isn't to be borne. It really isn't."

Alexia made a show of checking her appearance in the hall mirror, hoping to overhear more. Much to her consternation, the Loontwills' new butler, Swilkins, came through with a tray of kippers. He gave her a disapproving glare that said much on his opinion of a young lady caught eavesdropping on her own family. Eavesdropping was, by rights, a butler's proprietary art form.

"Good morning, Lady Maccon," he said loudly enough for the family to hear even through their chatting and clattering. "You received several messages this morning." He handed Alexia two folded and sealed letters and then waited pointedly for her to precede him into the breakfast room.

Alexia hid her annoyance and flounced in. "Good morning, dearest family."

Said family responded reluctantly to her pleasant greeting.

As she made her way carefully to the only empty chair, four pairs of blue eyes watched her progress with an air of condemnation. Well, three pairs: the Right Honorable Squire Loontwill seemed entirely taken with the correct cracking of his soft-boiled egg. This involved the application of an ingenious little device, rather like a handheld sideways guillotine, that nipped the tip off the egg in perfect, chipless circularity. Thus happily engrossed, he did not bother to attend to the arrival of his stepdaughter.

Alexia carefully poured herself a gla.s.s of barley water and took a piece of toast from the rack, no b.u.t.ter, trying to ignore the smoky smell of breakfast. It had once been her favorite meal; now it invariably curdled her stomach. So far the infant-inconvenience-as she'd taken to thinking of it-was proving itself far more tiresome than one would have thought possible, considering it was years away from either speech or action.

Mrs. Loontwill looked with manifold approval at her daughter's meager selection. "I shall be comforted," she said to the table at large, "by the fact that our poor dear Alexia is practically wasting away for want of her husband's affection. Such fine feelings of sentimentality." She clearly perceived Alexia's breakfast-starvation tactics as symptoms of a superior bout of wallowing.

Alexia gave her mother an annoyed glance. Since the infant-inconvenience had already brought with it a small amount of weight added to Alexia's already substantial figure, she was several stone away from "wasting." Nor was she of a personality inclined toward wallowing. In addition, she resented the fact that Lord Maccon might be perceived as having anything whatsoever to do with the fact-aside from the obvious, of which her family was as yet unaware-that she was off her food. She opened her mouth to correct her mother in this regard, but Felicity interrupted her.

"Oh, Mama, I hardly think Alexia is the type to die of a broken heart."

"Nor is she the type to be gastronomically challenged," shot back Mrs. Loontwill.

"I, on the other hand," interjected Evylin, helping herself to a plateful of kipper, "may jolly well do both."

"Language, Evy darling, please." Mrs. Loontwill snapped a piece of toast in half in her distress.

The youngest Miss Loontwill rounded on Alexia, pointing a forkful of eggs at her accusingly. "Captain Featherstonehaugh has thrown me over! How do you like that? We received a note only this morning."

"Captain Featherstonehaugh?" Alexia muttered to herself. "I thought he was engaged to Ivy and you were engaged to someone else. How confusing."

"No no, Evy's engaged to him now. Or, was. How long have you been staying with us? Do pay attention, Alexia dear." Mrs. Loontwill admonished.

Evylin sighed dramatically. "And the dress is already bought and everything. I shall have to have it entirely made over."

"He did have very nice eyebrows," consoled Mrs. Loontwill.

"Exactly," crowed Evylin. "Where will I find another pair of eyebrows like that? Crushed, I tell you, Alexia. I am absolutely crushed. And it's all your your fault." fault."

Evylin, it must be noted, did not actually look nearly so bothered as one rightly ought over the loss of a fiance, especially one reputed to possess such heights of eyebrow superiority. She stuffed the eggs into her mouth and chewed methodically. She had taken it into her head recently that chewing every bite of food twenty times over would keep her slender. What it did was keep her at the dinner table longer than anyone else.

"He cited philosophical differences, but we all know why he really broke things off." Felicity waved a gold-edged note at Alexia-a note that clearly contained the good captain's deepest regrets-a note that, from the stains about its person, had received the concerted attention of everyone at the breakfast table, including the kippers.

"I agree." Alexia calmly sipped her barley water. "Philosophical differences? That cannot possibly be true. You don't actually have a philosophy about anything. Do you, Evylin dear?"

"So you admit responsibility?" Evylin was moved to swallow her eggs early so that she could launch the attack once more. She tossed her blond curls, only one or two shades removed from the color of her eggs.

"Certainly not. I never even met the man."

"But it is still your your fault. Abandoning your husband like that, staying with us instead of him. It is outrageous. People. Are. Talking." Evylin emphasized her words by stabbing ruthlessly at a sausage. fault. Abandoning your husband like that, staying with us instead of him. It is outrageous. People. Are. Talking." Evylin emphasized her words by stabbing ruthlessly at a sausage.

"People do tend to talk. I believe it is generally considered one of the better modes of communication."

"Oh, why must you be so impossible? Mama, do something about her." Evylin delegated her mother as responsible for Alexia's good conduct, gave up on the sausage, and went back to her eggs.

"You hardly seem very cut up about it." Alexia watched as her sister chewed away.

"Oh, I a.s.sure you, poor Evy is deeply effected. Shockingly overwrought, even." Mrs. Loontwill came to her daughter's defense.

"Surely you mean affected affected?" Alexia was not above a barb or two where her family was concerned.

At the end of the table, Squire Loontwill, the only one likely to understand a literary joke, chuckled softly.

"Herbert," his wife reprimanded immediately, "don't encourage her to be pert. Most unattractive quality in a married lady, pertness." She turned back to Alexia. Mrs. Loontwill's face, that of a pretty woman who had aged without realizing it, screwed itself up into a grimace Alexia supposed was meant to simulate motherly concern. Instead she looked like a Pekinese with digestive complaints. "Is that what the estrangement with him him is over, Alexia? You weren't... brainy... with is over, Alexia? You weren't... brainy... with him him, were you, dear?" Mrs. Loontwill had refrained from referring to Lord Maccon by name ever since her daughter's marriage, as if by doing so she might hold on to the fact that Alexia had had married-a condition believed by most to be highly unlikely right up until the fateful event-without having to remember married-a condition believed by most to be highly unlikely right up until the fateful event-without having to remember what what she had married. A peer of the realm, it was true, and one of Her Majesty's finest, to be certain, but also a werewolf. It hadn't helped that Lord Maccon loathed Mrs. Loontwill and didn't mind who knew it-including Mrs. Loontwill. Why, Alexia remembered, once he had even... She stopped herself from further thought of her husband, squashing down ruthlessly on the small smile attempting to creep up at the memory. she had married. A peer of the realm, it was true, and one of Her Majesty's finest, to be certain, but also a werewolf. It hadn't helped that Lord Maccon loathed Mrs. Loontwill and didn't mind who knew it-including Mrs. Loontwill. Why, Alexia remembered, once he had even... She stopped herself from further thought of her husband, squashing down ruthlessly on the small smile attempting to creep up at the memory.

"It seems clear to me," interjected Felicity with an air of finality, "that your presence here, Alexia, has somehow overset Evy's engagement. Even you cannot argue your way out of that, sister dear."

Felicity and Evylin were Alexia's younger half sisters by birth and were entirely unrelated to her if one took into account any other factors. They were short, blond, and slender, while Alexia was tall, dark, and, quite frankly, not so very slender. They were inclined to giggle, waste hours over the fashion papers, and don the color pink. Alexia was not. Lady Maccon was known throughout London for her intellectual prowess, patronage of the scientific community, and biting wit. Felicity and Evylin were known for their puffed sleeves. The world, as a result, was generally a better place when the three were not living together under the same roof.

"And we all know how considered and unbiased your opinion is on the matter, Felicity." Alexia's tone was unruffled.

Felicity picked up the scandal section of the Ladies Daily Chirrup Ladies Daily Chirrup, clearly indicating she wanted nothing more to do with the conversation.

Mrs. Loontwill drove courageously on. "Surely, Alexia, darling, it is high time you returned home to Woolsey? I mean to say, you've been with us nearly a week, and, of course, we do love having you, but he he is rumored to be back from Scotland now." is rumored to be back from Scotland now."

"Who is?"

"Well, uh, Lord Maccon."

"Bully for him."

"Alexia! What a shocking thing to say!"

Evylin interjected, "No one has seen him in town, of course, but they say he returned to Woolsey yesterday."

"Who says?"

Felicity rattled the gossip section of the paper explanatorily.

"Oh, they they."

"He must be pining for you, my dear." Mrs. Loontwill resumed the attack. "Pining away, miserable for want of your..." She flailed.

"For want of my what what, Mama?"

"Uh, scintillating companionship."

Alexia snorted, actually snorted, at the dining table. Conall may enjoy her bluntness, but if he missed anything, she doubted her wit was at the top of the lot. Lord Maccon was a werewolf of hearty appet.i.tes, to say the least. What he would miss most about his wife was located substantially lower down than her tongue. An image of her husband's face momentarily broke her resolve. That look in his eyes the last time they saw each other-so betrayed. But what he believed of her, the fact that he doubted her in such a way, was inexcusable. How dare he leave her remembering some lost-puppy look simply to toy with her sympathies! Alexia Maccon made herself relive the things he had said to her, right then and there. She was never never going to go back to that-her mind grappled for a description-that going to go back to that-her mind grappled for a description-that ant.i.truster ant.i.truster! Apparently her mind had rejected all options and come up with a new word as recompense.

Lady Alexia Maccon was the type of woman who, if thrown into a briar patch, would start to tidy it up by stripping off all the thorns. She had, in fact, over the past three days and throughout the course of an inexcusably foul train journey back from Scotland, come to terms with her husband's rejection of both her and their child. This had involved exactly twelve tears, about twelve hundred unpleasant words-said at high volume to anyone who would listen-concerning Lord Maccon's ancestry back several generations, and finally had ended in icy outrage. Alexia was used to defending herself for having done something wrong, but defending herself when completely innocent made for an entirely different, and far more frustrating, experience. Not even Bogglington's Best Darjeeling succeeded in soothing her temper. And if tea wasn't good enough, well, what was was a lady to do? Simmering softly in the deepest of angers had been her only solution. After days of such simmering, Lady Maccon was quite tender about the edges. Her family ought to have recognized the signs. a lady to do? Simmering softly in the deepest of angers had been her only solution. After days of such simmering, Lady Maccon was quite tender about the edges. Her family ought to have recognized the signs.

Felicity snapped the paper closed suddenly, her face an uncharacteristic red color.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Loontwill fanned herself with a place setting. "What now now?"

Squire Loontwill looked resignedly up and then back down at his egg.

"Nothing." Felicity hastily tried to shove the paper under her plate.

Evylin was having none of it. She reached over, s.n.a.t.c.hed it away, and began scanning through it, looking for whatever juicy t.i.ttle-tattle had so disturbed her sister.

Felicity nibbled on a scone and looked guiltily at Alexia.

Alexia had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It did not mix well with her already-unsettled interior. She finished the barley water with some difficulty and sat back in her chair, waiting for the next round of recriminations.

"Oh gosh!" Evylin seemed to have found the troublesome pa.s.sage. She read it out for all to hear. " 'London was flabbergasted earlier this week when news reached this reporter's ears that Lady Maccon, previously Alexia Tarabotti, daughter of Mrs. Loontwill, sister to Felicity and Evylin, and stepdaughter to the Honorable Squire Loontwill, had quit her husband's house after returning from Scotland without said husband. Speculation as to the reason has been ample, ranging from suspicions as to Lady Maccon's intimate relationship with the rove vampire Lord Akeldama to suspected family differences hinted at by the Misses Loontwills'-oh, look, Felicity, they mentioned us twice!-'and certain lower-cla.s.s social acquaintances. Lady Maccon cut quite a fashionable swath through London society after her marriage'-la, la, la, ah, here it picks up again-'but it has been revealed by sources intimately connected to the n.o.ble couple that Lady Maccon is, in fact, in a most delicate condition. Given Lord Maccon's age, supernatural inclination, and legally recognized postnecrosis status, it must be a.s.sumed that Lady Maccon has been indiscreet indiscreet. While we await physical confirmation, all signs point to the Scandal of the Century.'"

Everyone looked at Alexia and began talking at once.