Gail Carriger - Soulless

Angelique began immediately to assist Biffy in finishing the last of Alexia's coiled updo, arguing mildly on the subject of a flower above the right ear.

They both protested when Alexia stood, not yet fully dressed, and waved them off.

“I must pay someone a visit,” she said imperiously. It was late afternoon: the sun had not yet set, and there was still much to do before the big event that night.

“But right now?” sputtered Biffy. “It is your wedding evening!”

“And we have only just finished ze hair!”

Miss Tarabotti could tell that these two were going to be a force to be reckoned with. But so was she. Alexia instructed them to get her dress ready and that she would be back within the hour, so not to fret. “It is not like anything can actually occur without me, is it? I have to see a friend about the sun.” She took the Loontwills' carriage without asking and went round to Lord Akeldama's gilt-edged town house. She sailed in the front door past various drones and woke Lord Akeldama from his deadlike daytime sleep with a touch.

Human, he blinked at her groggily.

“It is almost sunset,” said Miss Tarabotti with a tiny smile, her hand on his shoulder. “Come with me.”

Clad only in his sleeping robe, she took the vampire firmly by the hand and led him up through the splendor of his gilt house and out onto the rooftop into the waning light.

Alexia rested her cheek on his shoulder, and they stood silently together and watched the sun set over the city.

Lord Akeldama refrained from pointing out she would be late for her own wedding. Miss Tarabotti refrained from pointing out that he was crying. She figured it was a good way to end her career as a spinster.

Lord Akeldama also cried during the ceremony, which took place at Westminster Abby. Well, he was a bit of a weeper. So did Mrs. Loontwill. Miss Tarabotti, rather callously, figured her mama's tears were more for the loss of her butler than for the loss of her daughter. Floote had given notice and moved, along with Alexia's father's entire library, into Woolsey Castle that very morning. Both were settling in nicely.

The wedding was hailed as a masterpiece of social engineering and physical beauty. Best of all, as Alexia's bridesmaid, Miss Hisselpenny was not permitted to choose her own hat. The ceremony went unexpectedly smoothly, and in no time at all. Miss Tarabotti found herself Lady Maccon.

Afterward, everyone assembled in Hyde Park, which was admittedly unusual, but exceptions had to be made when werewolves were involved. And there certainly were a goodly number of werewolves. Not simply Lord Maccon's pack but all the loners, other packs, and clavigers within traveling distance had attended the celebration.

Luckily, there was enough meat for them all. The only aspect of wedding procedure Alexia had invested genuine involvement and time into was the food. As a result, the tables set about their corner of the park fairly groaned under their burdens. There were galantines of guinea fowl stuffed with minced tongue quivering in aspic jelly and decorated with feathers made of lemon-soaked apple peel. No fewer than eight pigeons in truffle gravy nesting in coils of pastry made their appearance and disappearance. There were stewed oysters, fried haddock fillets in anchovy sauce, and grilled sole with peach compote. Having noted Lord Maccon's fondness for poultry, the Loontwill cook provided woodcock pie, roast pheasant in butter sauce with peas and celery, and a brace of grouse. There was a baron of beef, a forequarter of mutton glazed with red wine, and lamb cutlets with fresh mint and broad beans—all offered on the rarer side. Corner dishes included lobster salad, spinach and eggs, vegetable fritters, and baked potatoes. In addition to the massive bride's cake and the piles of nutty groom's cakes for the guests to take home, there were rhubarb tarts, stewed cherries, fresh strawberries and purple grapes, gravy boats of clotted cream, and plum pudding. The food was declared an unqualified success, and many a plan was made to visit Woolsey Castle for luncheon once Alexia took over supervision of its kitchens.

Miss Hisselpenny took the entire event as an excuse to flirt with anything male and on two legs, and a few on four. This seemed perfectly acceptable, until Alexia spotted her going goggle-eyed over the repulsive Lord Ambrose. The new Lady Maccon crooked an imperious finger at Professor Lyall and sent him to salvage the situation.

Professor Lyall, muttering something about “new brides having more to concern themselves with than meddling,” did as ordered. He insinuated himself seamlessly into the conversation between Lord Ambrose and Miss Hisselpenny, and hustled Ivy away for a waltz without anyone the wiser to his militarylike intervention tactics. He then carried Ivy off to the other side of the lawn, which was serving as the dance floor, and introduced her to Lord Maccon's redheaded claviger, Tunstell.

Tunstell looked at Ivy.

Ivy looked at Tunstell.

Professor Lyall noted with satisfaction that they wore identical expressions of the stunned-donkey variety.

“Tunstell,” instructed the Beta, “ask Miss Hisselpenny if she would like to dance.”

“Would you, um, like to, um, dance, Miss Hisselpenny?” stuttered the normally loquacious young man.

“Oh,” said Ivy. “Oh yes, please.”

Professor Lyall, all forgotten, nodded to himself. Then he dashed off to deal with Lord Akeldama and Lord Ambrose who seemed to be getting into some sort of heated argument on the subject of waistcoats.

“Well, wife?” asked Alexia's new husband, whisking her about the lawn.

“Yes, husband?”

“Think we can officially escape yet?”

Alexia looked about nervously. Everyone seemed to be suddenly fleeing the dance floor, and the music was changing. “Um, I think, perhaps, not just yet.” They both stopped and looked about.

“This was not part of the wedding plan,” she said in annoyance. “Biffy, what is happening here?” she yelled.

From the sidelines, Biffy shrugged and shook his head.

The clavigers were causing the disturbance. They had arranged themselves in a large circle about Lord Maccon and Alexia and were slowly pushing everyone else away. Alexia noticed that Ivy, little traitor, was helping them.

Lord Maccon slapped his forehead with his hand. “God's truth, they aren't really? That old tradition?” He trailed off as the howling began. “Aye, they are. Well, my dear, best get used to this kind of thing.”

The wolves burst into the open circle like a river of fur. Under the quarter moon, there was no anger or bloodlust in their movements. Instead it was like a dance, liquid and beautiful. The fuzzy throng was comprised of not just the Woolsey Pack but also all the visiting werewolves. Almost thirty of them jumped and pranced and yipped as they coiled around the newly married couple.

Alexia held very still and relaxed into the dizzying movement. The wolves circled closer and closer until they pressed against her skirts, all hot predator breath and soft fur. Then one wolf stopped directly next to Lord Maccon—a thin, sandy, vulpinelike creature—Professor Lyall.

With a wink at Alexia, the Beta threw his head back and barked, once, sharply.

The wolves stopped stock-still and then did the most organized, politely amusing thing. They lined up in a neat circle all about and one by one came forward. As each wolf stood before the newly married pair, he lowered his head between his forelegs, showing the back of his neck in a funny little bow.

“Are they paying homage to you?” Alexia asked her husband.

He laughed. “Lord, no. Why would they bother with me?”

“Oh,” replied Alexia, realizing it was meant to honor her. “Should I do something?”