How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(15)

An official invitation to Lady Papworth-Walmsley’s ball was waiting for the Iftercasts at breakfast. Mrs Iftercast was in ecstasies to be so singled out. She totally disturbed Mr Iftercast’s newspaper perusal with her enthusiastic squawking.

“Oh, my dears, this is such an honor! I cannot believe it of you, Faith, to have attracted Lord Falmouth’s notice. I mean, I can believe it, because you are such a lovely girl, but still. Of all the werewolves in London. He was not even on my list of possibilities. I thought he was firmly off the market.”

Faith tried to rein in this supposition. “I don’t really think that’s his reason for orchestrating our invitation.”

“Mums, we believe he is using our Faith here for a social coup.” Teddy spoke around a mouthful of eggs.

Mrs Iftercast glared at her daughter. “Swallow, then speak, Theodora! I declare, sometimes I wonder what we paid that school for.”

“Sorry, Mums.” Teddy looked unrepentant.

Faith was amazed. Mrs Iftercast was so wonderfully even-tempered. Had Faith done such a thing at dinner, Mrs Wigglesworth would have yelled and then slapped her, hard.

Mrs Iftercast only rolled her eyes at her daughter. “You’re hopeless.”

Faith automatically tried to smooth things over, just in case there was a temper hiding in there somewhere. “Lord Falmouth wishes to see me do well in society. I believe he wishes to set me up as an original.”

“And what is that, if not his singling you out?” Mrs Iftercast looked satisfied and mercenary.

Teddy came to Faith’s defence. “It is not courting behavior, Mums. Especially not for a werewolf. He is making her attractive to others – that’s not the normal way of things. He has given her no gifts, nor does he seem particularly protective towards her.”

“And how would you know the details of homo lupine courtship behaviors, Theodora?”

Teddy grinned. “That, Mums darling, is exactly what you paid that school for.”

Mr Iftercast snapped his paper. “Good. Got my money’s worth.”

Mrs Iftercast considered. “You may be right, dears. Still, even the friendship of Lord Falmouth is no small thing, cousin. I believe the hats may be a bit too much, but if he recommends them, you cannot but wear them. And if invitations such as these are the result… Well, you will be set. You both will be set. Not only will you have first dibs on the London Pack, Faith dear – the Alpha’s approval bears great weight with his pack, you know? – but you will have entree into the highest echelons of progressive society.”

Mr Iftercast looked up from his paper at that.

Mrs Iftercast gave him a telling arch look. “Yes, dear, this could have a positive impact on your political career. Of course, I have already sent our acceptance of this invitation. But now we have much to do and little time to do it in. There are gowns to consider. Theodora, your Worth will have to do.”

Teddy said by way of explanation to Faith, “I have this one Worth gown in cream silk with roses strewn about and such intricate lace you wouldn’t believe. It’s divine. I want to live in it.”

“Worth?”

Teddy’s eyes went very wide. “Oh, darling cousin, you have a great deal to learn. And I have much to teach you. Worth is—”

“Not now, Theodora.” Mrs Iftercast interrupted what looked to be a long ode to some designer or another. She turned her attention back to her guest. “Faith, darling, Theodora tells me you have nothing that will do. We must find you a dressmaker immediately.”

“More shopping?” said Faith, worried. The hats had been delivered, but she’d yet to devise any form of remuneration. Biffy had asked for nothing when he took her order. She understood London shops to run on account, but she dearly hoped her hosts were not paying for her purchases themselves. The Iftercasts were already being far too generous.

Unfortunately, more shopping was indeed called for.

Ball gowns, it turned out, were rather anticlimactic after hats. The Iftercasts had a modiste they used regularly, but when Faith relayed Biffy’s strict instructions as to her style of dress, her cousins agreed their seamstress would not do.

“We must find you someone willing to take risks. A newer shop with a younger proprietress. A woman with a reputation to build rather than to maintain.” Mrs Iftercast looked worried.

Fortunately, they found success at the third shop they tried. The modiste, a Miss Cordelia Honeybun, was quietly intrigued when told the parameters of Faith’s new wardrobe, where previous seamstresses had been shocked or disgusted.

Because Miss Honeybun had no established name, her costs were also reasonable (to Faith’s profound relief). She was even more interested in the challenge, once she learned that Faith’s style had been recommended by Lord Falmouth.

“They say he has his jaws around the pulse of fashion. The first werewolf ever to take an interest.” Miss Honeybun’s voice was as sweet as her name. “He is very forward-thinking, I believe. The ton has been abuzz since he took power.”

Miss Honeybun clearly knew that her role as modiste carried with it a requirement for not inconsiderable gossip.

Faith nodded, while the woman pinned swathes of fabric about her. “I like him a lot.”

“And have you met the rest of the London Pack?”

“Only Major Channing.”