“Is it so unlikely that I should wish to improve myself?”

Alexia fingered the dull gray shawl draped over her sister’s faded dress. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Felicity huffed in annoyance. “I must go change for supper.”

Lady Maccon looked her up and down, emitting a lip curl that was, quite frankly, remarkably Felicity-like. Sometimes, although not too often, there came an indication that they were, indeed, related. “Yes, I do believe you must.”

Felicity wiggled her shoulders and emitted the “Oh, la,” of an insult being shaken off, and proceeded back up to the best bedroom, which she had, naturally, commandeered as her own.

Lady Maccon waddled on down, one careful stair at a time. The urgency of the noises below made her increasingly annoyed by her own inability to move with any kind of alacrity. Really this is simply too ridiculous! I’m trapped by my own body. She attained the main hall only to find that the door to the back parlor was locked and shaking. Professor Lyall and two clavigers were milling about unhappily, crowding the passageway with masculine concern.

“Why aren’t you at supper?” demanded Lady Maccon imperiously. “I am certain Floote and the staff have gone to substantial lengths to provide.”

Everyone stilled and looked at her.

“Go on, go eat,” she said to them, as though they were small children or pet dogs.

Professor Lyall raised a quizzical brow at her.

Lady Maccon lowered her voice. “Biffy wouldn’t want anyone to see.”

“Ah.” Then the Beta, obedient to his mistress’s will, followed his fellows into the dining room, shutting the door behind him.

Lady Maccon let herself into the back parlor. Which was an absolute mess. Lord Maccon, now a massive brindled wolf—quite handsome, Alexia always thought, even in lupine form—was squared off against a younger, lankier animal. Biffy’s fur was a deep chocolate color, much the same as his hair, except for his stomach and up to the ruff, which was oxblood. His eyes were yellow and crazed.

Lord Maccon barked at his wife authoritatively. Lord Maccon was always barking at his wife, the form of his body mattering not one jot.

Alexia dismissed the commanding tone. “Yes, yes, but you must admit I can be quite useful under such circumstances as these, even in my less-than-nimble state.”

Lord Maccon growled in evident annoyance.

Biffy caught Lady Maccon’s scent and turned instinctively to hurl himself at her, a new threat. The earl twisted to place his own body in the way. The slighter wolf charged full tilt into his Alpha. Biffy reeled, shaking his head and whining. Lord Maccon feinted toward him, teeth nipping, backing him flush against the now mostly destroyed chaise.

“Oh, Conall, look at this room!” Lady Maccon was displeased. The place was in chaos—furniture overturned, drapes shredded, and one of the cook’s precious journals had been bitten into and slobbered all over.

“Oh, doesn’t that just take the biscuit! That’s evidence, that is.” Alexia’s hand was to her breast in distress. “Oh, dear, I suppose I ought to have kept it with me.” She couldn’t really blame Biffy, of course, but it was vexing. She toddled her way toward him, stripping off her gloves.