How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(38)

“You don’t know my daughter very well, do you, sir, to be actually interested in marrying her?”

Nothing upset Channing more than a mother abusing her own child. This woman was beyond repulsive. They were in public! To say such a thing about her daughter when others could overhear? Is her intent to humiliate me or Faith or both? “I know her as well as can be expected, given the restrictions of polite society.” He would not defame Faith’s character, no matter what had been done to her in the past.

“He’s a good man, Mother. Please don’t make a scene. Please, your temper.”

Mrs Wigglesworth wrinkled her lip. “He is not a man at all. I’m shocked you caught him, girl. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Channing blinked a moment. She sent Faith here believing she would fail? Why?

Faith was looking ever more desperate. As though she was trying to hold her mother back, hold her silent through sheer force of will. Channing hurt with the need to fix this. But he did not know how. Mrs Wigglesworth would not shut up, and she was Faith’s mother, after all.

People were listening in now. Mrs Wigglesworth’s voice was strident and nasal, carrying throughout the gallery. Channing had grown accustomed to Faith’s accent, but Faith’s voice was calm and smooth, nothing like that of this woman.

He looked down his nose at the female in front of him. She didn’t smell right, either, drenched in perfume – chemical flowers and some dead animal’s musk. That kind of thing was banned at parties in London. This whole situation was, well, appalling. Channing should know; he had done a number of appalling things in his day.

“My daughter won’t make you a good wife, sir.”

She continues to sabotage her own daughter? What is going on here?

His Lazuli looked down at her feet and whispered. “But, Mother, I thought you wanted me to marry a werewolf.” Clearly, she was confused, too.

Channing growled at Mrs Wigglesworth. “She is perfect. Do hush yourself, woman. No one here cares for your good opinion.”

“You’re making a mistake,” warned the lady. Although Channing hesitated to use the word lady. Creature suited her better. Or was that an insult to other creatures?

Faith obviously did not know what to do. Admit to an attachment, which her mother had once wanted, and prove she had succeeded as instructed, yet be totally undermined? Or admit to no attachment, which her mother now wanted, and be told off for failure? Mrs Wigglesworth had put her daughter in an untenable position. No matter what Faith said, her mother would have an excuse to attack. Which Channing suspected was the woman’s real objective.

Finally, Faith admitted, to her slippers, “We are not engaged.”

“Well, fine, he’s safe from you and your corruption, isn’t he? Good thing I arrived in time to warn him, isn’t it? Did he have his way with you, too? Did you let him, you whore?”

“Mother!” Faith’s voice was cracked and quiet.

“She is broken, Major Channing. If your intent is honorable and decent, you should know that she is neither.”

Faith had begun to cry now. Silent tears rolling down out of those blue eyes. Her fists were clenched as well. The tears were humiliation; the fists were fury.

Channing felt sick. This, then, was Mrs Wigglesworth’s objective. To humiliate her daughter on two continents. Revenge for some perceived slight to family name or her own petty vanity. Channing would not have it!

Mrs Iftercast made herself known at this juncture. She put an arm about Faith’s waist. “I thought you came to see her settled, cousin. To give your blessing. We all thought you had come to London so the correct forms could be observed.” Mrs Iftercast’s voice was trembling. Her round face and cubby form fairly vibrated with offence.

Channing said, wishing it was his arm offering comfort, “I begin to think this female crossed the Atlantic merely to shame her daughter in my eyes.”

He leaned forward so his mouth almost touched Mrs Wigglesworth’s ear. He wrapped one large hand about her upper arm, holding her in place.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat, “you beast!”

He spoke so quietly, only she could hear him. Well, maybe Ulric could, too, with his supernatural senses, but he was pack, so that was fine. Although with all the murmuring and shocked exclamations at the public scene, his words were masked.

“Madam, you are the mother of the woman I love, and all the things you think I do not know about her, I know. This act of sabotage of yours is petty and foolish, for it will no more dissuade me from anything I chose to do than your piss could divert a river.”

She gasped at his crassness and struggled against his grip.

“Stay still, or you will see what kind of monster I am.”

She froze.

He continued to hiss in her ear. “Faith is ours now. You will leave this country and never return. You will not speak to her. You will not write to her. You will not even look at her again. You think what you have done here, now, ruins her in the eyes of London society? We control society.” He tilted his head towards Ulric’s imposing form, hovering protectively near Faith. “I will drag your name through the gutter as a liar and a mad zealot who comes to destroy her own daughter’s relationship out of hatred for the supernatural. Do you think they will side with an American over me? Over us?” He flicked the fingers of his free hand once more towards Ulric, who was at his most gorgeous and pompous. “We are the London Pack. You are nothing. And if you think we will try to preserve your reputation because it is tied to Miss Wigglesworth’s, well, then even as I dirty your name, you can be certain I will change hers. I will give her mine. And I am one of the Chesterfield Channings.”