So this takes place between Blameless and Heartless when Alexia was pregnant but they were still living at Woosley. Alexia is around 7ish months in this fanfic so she's pretty big.
Please don't forget to favorite and review if you like the story! I'm posting both the Lyall and Channing chapters since they're done and posted elsewhere, and then the Biffy chapter will be posted upon completion (sometime before summer).
I do not own the glorious characters, all of whom - except for those that can be recognized as not hers - belong to the wonderful Gail Carriger.
I do own the story however; do not repost or anything elsewhere.
Enjoy!
"Gentlemen, I have a special assignment for you." Conall said to the three males before him; one about average in height and looks and dress - though his waistcoats could suggest a man with very good taste - another wearing the uniform of a soldier and a look that said he'd much rather be on a battlefield than in his Alpha's study, and the newly recruited dandy that had a name so utterly Spanish everyone just shortened it to Biffy. "I want you too ... Watch my wife while I am gone."
A childishly loud groan erupted from Channing as he tossed his head back. Biffy's cheek twitched. Professor Lyall made no reaction whatsoever.
Conall ignored Channing and continued, "I am going down to Scotland for the weekend. Sidheag sent me a letter asking for advice with dealing with loners. I've ... Got a feeling she's having more trouble than the letter tells. A lot of challenges - nothing she can't handle but I intend too help her nonetheless. So while I'm gone, you three are too make sure Alexia is happy and safe."
"This is bollocks," Channing muttered.
Conall's lip twitched. "You'll do as I say, Gamma. Now, I don't care what she bloody tells you too do, you do it. If I come back and hear she's displeased, it won't be good, and God help you if she is hurt. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." The three men said in unison. Conall nodded and stood, exiting. Soon as he was out of earshot, even for supernatural hearing, Channing kicked the leg of a nearby desk.
"Absolute bloody, twisted, bollocks!" He growled, looking to the professor and dandy. "Decides his bloody granddaughter can't handle a couple loners and leaves the pack, and puts us in charge of babysitting. It's ridiculous! I'm a soldier, not a nanny!"
"Well I'd hope not, not with that mouth." Biffy shook his head, tsking.
"It's only a few days, Channing." Lyall said dismissively, starting out the door. "What's the worse that could happen?"
Conall Maccon left early the next Friday night. He gave a kiss to his wife, a last look to the three wolves he'd left in charge of her every need, and then shifted and trotted off across the field from Woosley with a shoulder bag swinging under his belly.
"He best not get himself killed." Alexia said to herself, then went to the library to read. Not an hour later Rumpet walked into the house, Mister and Missus Loontwill trailing after him. Professor Lyall could smell Mrs. Loontwill's perfume from the second floor and made a face. It was a pleasant enough scent - a mixture of lilac and lavender with the slightest hint of mint the average nose probably didn't detect - but considering how strong it was to his nose all the way up in his room, it must have been frightening up close.
"Honestly, I thought the woman had a bit more class. Or at least a sense of smell." He huffed to Biffy. He and the young werewolf were going over some stray BUR paperwork that had been left over with their Alpha's rather sudden absence. Lyall had known he received a rather tired letter from Sidheag, but he hadn't predicted he would run off to help her. Typical, unpredictable Conall Maccon.
"At least she isn't soaked in jasmine." Biffy shook his head. "Had a woman come in the hat shop over a fortnight ago and I can still smell it. Doesn't seem to bother anyone else, but all the more reason for me to despise it."
"My sympathy, young Biffy." Lyall mumbled, looking over the registration paper of a new rove. He'd moved to Baker Street and only possessed three drones. Then again, that could be considered rather good for a rove.
"I thought her and the parents didn't get along?" Biffy pondered while halfheartedly reading a list of all the local loners. Lyall wondered why it would be in the pile of paperwork, but didn't question.
"They don't - and it's very obvious as too why. I have several reservations after meeting the mother myself. But she does visit once in a blue moon - though I suspect this is more an apology visit since Alexia was thrown out of the home last time she saw her and the step father."
"Oh." Biffy nodded, looking like he wanted to ask more too stave off the boredom of BUR paperwork, but refrained for the sake of propriety.
Luckily for young Biffy, a very loud yell of, "LYALL!" stopped the boredom in its tracks.
"Ooooh! This ought to be interesting!" Biffy perked up and stood.
"Heaven's above." Lyall sighed, pushed his spectacles up on his nose, and then went down the stairs with a curious wolf pup on his tail. He followed the sound of the screech to the receiving room where Alexia sat in a chair diagonal from her mother and Squire Loontwill, the latter of which was stuffing his face with as many deviled eggs and watercress sandwiches as was socially acceptable. Alexia looked flustered, Mrs. Loontwill annoyed, and Squire Loontwill like he really wished he wasn't there.
"Professor," Alexia started, her tone thin and very nearing the point in which her gestational hormones would hit overdrive and cause either a screaming fit or a crying spasm, "Please settle this most ridiculous and inappropriate conversation my mother insists on continuing!"
"What is that, madam?" Lyall breathed in through his nose, immediately regretting so afterwards. Mrs. Loontwill's reeking perfume, which hadn't been more than unpleasant with her sitting in one place, punched his nose like a street fighter. It took all his control and willpower not to cough and sneeze, swallowing each dreadful gasp of the atrocious flowery odor. He almost didn't catch the hint of wine coming from Mrs. Loontwill as she breathed.
"I, well, I really don't want to say it. I'd wished she would have just taken my word for -"
"I refuse to believe a werewolf is any better at bedsport than any other gentleman. I don't care what the rags say, it simply can't be true." Mrs. Loontwill said outright. "Sure, some gentlemen are better than others," the Squire glanced her way, seeming to question if he was the better out of the two gentlemen she'd shared a bed with, "but that's simply that gentleman. A whole race - or species - or whatever a werewolf bloody is, can't be better simply because they're a werewolf."
Lyall had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.
Alexia looked up at him expectantly.
Did she know? He got the feeling she really didn't. He knew she suspected something, for whatever reason, but she wasn't sure. That would be the only reason she would call him down instead of Biffy in this sort of affair, too find out his preference. He quietly damned her while keeping a placid, blank face as he glanced from Alexia, her mother, and then to Biffy peeking around the corner of the doorway.
"I really would rather not participate in this, my Lady." He said evenly, carefully breathing in through scarcely open lips to avoid sniffing up anymore of Mrs. Loontwill's perfume. It was already giving him a headache.
"Well, I need someone to settle this dispute, and Biffy isn't about, so the beta is the next best thing."
Lyall blinked and looked behind him. Biffy had disappeared. Little rodent. "I, well, my lady -"
"Just answer, Professor." Alexia snapped at him in the most ladylike fashion possible. He could hear her shoe lightly tapping on the rug, just enough for him to hear. She was on the brink of a yelling fit, and Lyall certainly didn't want a bad report with Conall Maccon, so he gave the rather desperate response of;
"Yes, madam, the rumors are very true concerning a werewolves ability in, erm, that particular sport."
"See! I told you, Mama. Why you wouldn't simply take my word in the first place is beyond me, but -"
"Well you could have just gotten lucky, dear."
Squire Loontwill gained a subtle dour look that said he suspected he didn't compare to the first husband, and drowned his silent sorrow in more deviled eggs.
"Well, now you have two testimonies, and that should be enough on such a ridiculous and inappropriate matter as this."
Mrs. Loontwill looked at Lyall, then at Alexia and nearly snorted. Lyall figured by her behavior and her breath that she was a lightweight. "Well, he's a man, Alexia."
"I'm also three hundred years old, Mrs. Loontwill." Lyall said, clutching his hands tighter behind his back.
Mrs. Loontwill cocked her head at him before nodding slowly, like a small child. A long pause and three watercress sandwiches in the Squire's mouth later, she said, "well, alright then. I suppose I can't deny three hundred years experience. I guess you're more than lucky, Alexia dear."
Alexia gave a very self satisfied puff of air from her nostrils and nodded. "I am, Mama." She looked at the clocked. "Are you going to stay for dinner?"
"Hm, no, I don't think so. We have a call too attend too in the morning and need to start home now so we can get some sleep. Terribly un-fashionable, we have to be around at practically eleven in the morning. Can you believe it? But, then again, I suppose that's what you get from landed gentry. But it was nice talking too you dear, glad too see all is well and we aren't completely excommunicated from your life."
She rose, Piggy Loontwill - as Lyall found himself thinking of him - following suit, each with a jacket on their arm. Piggy Loontwill attempted to brush off egg and breadcrumbs from his front subtly, but just smeared yolk in little specks all over his waistcoat. Lyall had reason to believe he was slightly intoxicated as well, but couldn't smell over Mrs. Loontwill's perfume.
"Yes, yes, good to see you too Mama." Alexia rose and saw her mother out, coming back too finish her tea and look disdainfully at the empty tea trolley. "Thank you, Professor. I know that was terribly awkward and rude, but I suppose you could tell she wasn't all right, if you get my meaning."
"I certainly do, Lady Alpha."
She sipped the rest of her tea and set the cup down. "You may carry on, Professor, thank you."
Lyall nodded once, and walked out to the hall. There Biffy leaned with his backside against a table, arms crossed, a cheeky smirk on his face. Alexia, though she tread lightly, could be heard sneaking up to the wall beside the door. The Lady Alpha had gotten rather good at sneaking around like such, and when she wasn't weighed down by a developing fetus that resembled a watermelon shoved under her dress, sometimes even Lyall couldn't hear her.
"So, three hundred years of experience with werewolves, eh, old boy?" Biffy waggled his eyebrows.
"Oh please, do get your mind out of the gutter, pup." Lyall said, whacking his shoulder. He knew Alexia was listening in and said at a volume not suspicious, but not hard for her too hear, "I just said that too end an argument that I didn't want any part in in the first place. My testimony has no merit whatsoever."
As silently as a woman of Alexia's girth could, she slipped away from the wall and somewhere towards the side door.
Biffy snorted with a grin and then walked beside the Professor up the stairs. Near the top he whispered, "Does it really hold no merit, Professor?"
Lyall let a small smile creep unto his lips. "Oh no, it does. I'm just not going to give our dear Lady the satisfaction of having that part of me figured out. Least, not yet."
Lyall might have imagined it, but Biffy seem to relax.
They reached Lyall's small, circular room and resumed their positions; Biffy on Lyall's ancient, over-sized bed that had been there since the original Earl of Woosley, and Lyall at his banged, battered, but neat desk. Biffy crossed his legs and spread a folder of this and that out across them, pen in hand.
"Any particular reason you're playing your little game with the Lady, Professor?" Biffy questioned, a hint of his Akeldama drone leaking through with his carefully casual tone.
Lyall paused in his scribbling. A little blue journal, not much bigger than his hand and whose edges were worn and frayed and dog-eared from countless re-readings, rested against him in his waistcoat pocket.
"There's a time for everything, Biffy." He replied, then continued scribbling.