Changeless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Second (16 page)

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, and 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.

Miss Hisselpenny’s eyes shone. “Oh, thank you, Alexia!”

And there went the reason. Felicity looked as though she had just been forced to swallow a live eel.

Lady Maccon sighed. Well, if she must have Felicity as companion, she could do worse than to have Miss Hisselpenny along as
well. “Oh dear,” she said. “Am I suddenly organizing the Lady’s Dirigible Invitational?”

Felicity gave her an inscrutable look and Ivy beamed.

“I shall just head back to town to obtain Mama’s permission and to pack. What time do we float?”

Lady Maccon told her. And Ivy was off and out the front door, never having told Alexia why she had jaunted all the way out
to Woolsey Castle in the first place.

“I shudder to think what that woman will choose as headgear for floating,” said Felicity.

A
lexia could see it all in the society papers:

Lady Maccon boarded the Giffard Long-Distance Airship, Standard Passenger Class Transport Model, accompanied by an unusually
large entourage. She was followed up the gangplank by her sister, Felicity Loontwill, dressed in a pink traveling dress with
white ruffled sleeves, and Miss Ivy Hisselpenny, in a yellow carriage dress with matching hat. The hat had an excessive veil,
such as those sported by adventurers entering bug-infested jungles, but otherwise the two young ladies made for perfectly
appropriate companions. The party was outfitted with the latest in air-travel goggles, earmuffs, and several other fashionable
mechanical accessories designed to facilitate the most pleasant of dirigible experiences.

Lady Maccon was also accompanied by her French maid and a gentleman escort. There was some question as to the appropriateness
of the gentleman, a ginger fellow who might have trod the boards on more than one occasion. It was thought odd that Lady Maccon
was seen off by her personal secretary, a former butler, but the presence of her mother more than made up for this gaffe.
Lady Maccon is one of London’s premiere eccentrics; these things must be taken in stride.

The lady herself wore a floating dress of the latest design, with tape-down skirt straps, weighted hem, a bustle of alternating
ruffles of teal and black designed to flutter becomingly in the aether breezes, and a tightly fitted bodice. There were teal-velvet-trimmed
goggles about her neck and a matching top hat with an appropriately modest veil and drop-down teal velvet earmuffs tied securely
to her head. More than a few of the ladies walking through Hyde Park that afternoon stopped to wonder as to the maker of her
dress, and a certain matron of low scruples plotted openly to hire away Lady Maccon’s excellent maid. True, Lady Maccon carried
a garish foreign-looking parasol in one hand and a red leather dispatch case in the other, neither of which matched her outfit,
but one must be excused one’s luggage when traveling. All in all, Hyde Park’s afternoon perambulators reported favorably on
the elegant departure of one of the season’s most talked-about brides.

Lady Maccon thought they must look like a parade of stuffed pigeons and found it typical of London society that what pleased
them annoyed her. Ivy and Felicity would not leave off bickering, Tunstell was revoltingly bouncy, and Floote had refused
to accompany them to Scotland on the grounds that he might be suffocated by an overabundance of bustle. Alexia was just thinking
it was going to be a long and tedious journey when an impeccably dressed young gentleman hove into view. The leader of their
procession, a frazzled ship’s steward trying to steer them to their respective rooms, paused in the narrow passageway to allow
the gentleman to pass.