“Sister,” said the tree, “there is a most impressive rumpus emanating from the wine cellar.”

“Oh, go back to bed, Felicity. It’s only a werewolf. Really. You’d think people never had monsters in their cellars.”

Felicity blinked.

Channing came up behind Alexia. “Lady Maccon, might I have a private word, before you seek your rest?”

Felicity’s eyes widened and her breath caught.

Alexia turned around. “Yes, well, if you insist, Major Channing.”

A sharp elbow met her protruding belly. “Introduce us,” hissed Felicity. Her sister was looking at the Gamma with much the same expression as that which entered Ivy Tunstell’s eyes when faced with a particularly hideous hat, which is to say, covetous and lacking in all elements of good judgment.

Alexia was taken well aback. “But you are in your night attire!” Felicity only gave her a big-eyed head shake. “Oh, very well, Felicity. This is Major Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings. He is a werewolf and my husband’s Gamma. Major Channing, do please meet my sister, Felicity Loontwill. She is human, if you can believe such a thing after ten minutes’ conversation.”

Felicity tittered in a manner she probably thought was musical. “Oh, Alexia, you so like to have your little jokes.” She offered her hand to the handsome man before her. “I do apologize for my informal state, Major.”

Major Channing clasped it elegantly in both of his, bowing with evident interest, even daring to brush his lips across her wrist. “You are a picture, Miss Loontwill. A picture.”

Felicity blushed and took back her hand more slowly than was proper. “I should never have thought you a werewolf, Major.”

“Ah, Miss Loontwill, it was eternal life as a gallant soldier that called to me.”

Felicity’s eyelids fluttered. “Oh, a soldiering man through and through, are you, sir? How romantic.”

“To the bone, Miss Loontwill.”

Alexia felt she was about to be sick, and it had nothing to do with her pregnancy. “Really, Felicity, it is the middle of the night. Don’t you have one of your meetings tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes, Alexia, but I should never wish to be rude in fine company.”

Major Channing practically clicked his heels. “Miss Loontwill, I cannot deny you your beauty rest, however unnecessary I might feel it. Such loveliness as yours is already so near to perfection it can require no further assistance in that regard.”

Alexia tilted her head, trying to determine if there was an insult buried in all that flowery talk.

Felicity tittered again. “Oh, really, Major Channing, we hardly know one another.”

“Your meeting, Felicity. Rest.” Alexia tapped her parasol pointedly.

“Oh, la, yes, I suppose I should.”

Lady Maccon was tired and out of temper. She decided she had a right, under such circumstances, to be difficult. “My sister is an active member of the National Society for Women’s Suffrage,” she explained sweetly to Major Channing.

The Gamma was taken aback by this information. No doubt in all his long years he had never encountered a woman of Felicity’s ilk—and her ilk was in very little doubt after even a few seconds of acquaintance—who would be involved in such a thing as politics.