How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(37)

Before Faith could protest or make excuses or anything else in an effort to protect poor Minnie, Mrs Iftercast, in a desperate move at mollification, gave Faith’s mother Mrs Honeybun’s address.

Faith could only hope Minnie was able to hold out.

Faith had, truth be told, been anticipating a conversation regarding termination of services. Minnie seemed far better suited to Mrs Honeybun’s employ. The shop had grown popular amongst the more daring set of sporting young ladies. After the original Miss Wigglesworth, favored intimate of Lord Falmouth, was known to acquire all her dresses there, the orders fairly floated in.

Minnie loved it. Faith was happy to see her so pleasantly situated. There were far more opportunities for a girl in such a skilled position than there were as a lady’s maid. It would be nice if one of them got what they wanted out of London.

Mrs Wigglesworth, address in hand and apparently satisfied, returned her attention to the matter of Faith’s position. “So, this engagement?”

Mrs Iftercast said in an effort at diversion, “There is a reception of some note at the National Gallery this evening. Would you like to attend? Many of London’s celebrated supernatural luminaries will be there. You know, vampires and werewolves. Art events are considered neutral ground.”

Mrs Wigglesworth pursed her lips. “Sounds awful.”

Mrs Iftercast blanched. “Oh, but if you wish to see Faith’s…”

“I suppose, if we must.”

“You go,” said Mr Wigglesworth. “I’ve business to conduct while we’re here.”

His wife looked even more sour than usual at being thrown to the wolves. “Oh, but—”

Faith braced herself, prepared for her mother’s temper to make an appearance.

“Very important business, my dear. Remember?” Only that tone in her father’s voice could quell her mother’s wrath. Faith winced. What were her parents up to?

She simpered. “Oh, yes, Hubert dear. I remember.”

Accordingly, it was with a heavy heart for all concerned, even the Iftercasts, who were beginning to understand how lucky they were to have received Faith (and not one of the other Wigglesworths) into their happy home, that they set out for the gallery that evening. The party was composed of Mrs Iftercast and her daughter accompanying Mrs Wigglesworth and her daughter. The gentlemen, to a man, had bowed out.



Channing had no good reason for being at the National Gallery that night, but he was grateful for it, in the end. He was not surprised when Faith entered the gathering along with the Iftercast ladies. If anything, he was delighted, although he did not let that show in word or deed.

There was one other female with them – an older, sour-faced rabbity woman with beady eyes. Much to his shock, instead of playing any kind of game, Faith led this new female directly towards him.

Ulric was standing next to him. “Who’s that with our little Faith?” He was already sounding protective. As if she were pack.

“Another American,” snorted Channing.

“How do you know? Have you met her before?”

“No, but would you look at her? Americans always gesture the biggest and walk the slowest.”

“Our little Faith is not like that.”

“Stop calling her that.”

“You would prefer I said your little Faith?”

“Hush, Ulric, they’re approaching.”

Faith had desperate eyes.

Channing instantly wanted to do anything to make that look go away. He made a small bow to her and the strange female, as did Ulric.

“Gentlemen, allow me to make my mother known to you? Mother, this is Major Channing and Mr Ditmarsh, of the London Werewolf Pack.”

The female gave them both a highly offensive once-over. Her narrowed eyes seemed to judge them lower than dirt.

My lovely, bright girl came from this creature?

“You’re a werewolf?” Her voice could strip wallpaper.

Channing was too old to bandy insults, but he did enjoy it so. “You are a human female?”

The lady bristled. “I bleed red, sir!”

“It was not the human part I questioned.”

The woman did an interpretive fish expression before going red about the ears and whirling to her daughter. Her voice was now cold and vicious. “He’s not what I expected, daughter. Not at all what I wanted. I don’t know about this.”

Channing went to say something even worse, to bring her attention and anger back to him and shield Faith, but Ulric beat him to it.

Ulric might enjoy abusing Channing as much as possible amongst pack-mates, but he would never stand idly by and permit anyone non-pack to abuse him. Ulric glared at the repugnant female. “Major Channing is a decorated soldier, the head of a powerful government body, reasonably tall, and passably good-looking. He has all his teeth, all his hair, and all his limbs. What more could you possibly wish for in a son-in-law?”

“Oh, but Mr Dickswamp—”

“Ditmarsh.”

“Mr Dickmark. I meant no offense to your – how do you say it? – pack-bud.”

“Pack-mate,” Ulric gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Whatever. I meant to say that I expected something less. Even with that attitude, he is probably too good for my worthless daughter.” Faith’s mother whirled back to face Channing, looking up at him, her face contorted with disgust. He was not sure if that was for him or Faith.