Changeless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Second Read Free

muhjah, more and more reliant upon his opinion, if only to confirm her own.
    Floote considered. “My concern is with the deregulation clause, madam. I suspect that it is too soon to release the scientists
     on their own recognizance.”
    “Mmm, that was my assessment as well. I shall recommend against that particular clause. Thank you, Floote.”
    The elderly man turned to go.
    “Oh, and, Floote.”
    He turned back, resigned.
    “Something substantial has happened to overset my husband. I suspect research in the library may be called for when I return
     tonight. Best to clear your schedule.”
    “Very good, madam,” said Floote with a little bow. He glided off to summon her a carriage.
    Alexia finished her repast, gathered up her dispatch case, her latest parasol, and her long woolen coat, and wandered out
     the front door.
    Only to discover exactly where everyone had gone—outside onto the sweeping front lawn that led up to the cobbled courtyard
     of the castle. They had managed to multiply themselves, don attire of a military persuasion, and, for some reason known only
     to their tiny little werewolf brains, proceed to engage in setting up a considerable number of large canvas tents. This involved
     the latest in government-issue self-expanding steam poles, boiled in large copper pots like so much metal pasta. Each one
     started out the size of a spyglass before the heat caused it to suddenly expand with a popping noise. As was the general military
     protocol, it took far more soldiers than it ought to stand around watching the poles boil, and when one expanded, a cheer
     erupted forth. The pole was grasped between a set of leather potholders and taken off to a tent.
    Lady Maccon lost her temper. “What
are
you all doing out here?”
    No one looked at her or acknowledged her presence.
    Alexia threw her head back and yelled, “
Tunstell!
” She had not quite the lung capacity to match that of her massive husband, but neither was she built on the delicate-flower
     end of the feminine spectrum. Alexia’s father’s ancestors had once conquered an empire, and it was when Lady Maccon yelled
     that people realized how that was accomplished.
    Tunstell came bouncing over, a handsome, if gangly, ginger fellow with a perpetual grin and a certain carelessness of manner
     that most found endearing and everybody else found exasperating.
    “Tunstell,” Alexia said calmly and reasonably, she thought, “
why
are there tents on my front lawn?”
    Tunstell, Lord Maccon’s valet and chief among the clavigers, looked about in his chipper way, as if to say that he had not
     noticed anything amiss and was now delighted to find that they had company. Tunstell was always chirpy. It was his greatest
     character flaw. He was also one of the few residents of Woolsey Castle who managed to remain entirely unfazed by, or possibly
     unaware of, either Lord or Lady Maccon’s wrath. This was his second-greatest character flaw.
    “He didn’t warn you?” The claviger’s freckled face was flushed with exertion from helping to raise one of the tents.
    “No,
he
most certainly did not.” Alexia tapped the silver tip of her parasol on the front stoop.
    Tunstell grinned. “Well, my lady, the rest of the pack has returned.” He flipped both hands at the canvas-ridden chaos before
     her, waggling his fingers dramatically. Tunstell was an actor of some note—everything he did was dramatic.
    “Tunstell,” said Alexia carefully, as though to a dim child, “this would indicate that my husband possessed a very, very big
     pack. There are no werewolf Alphas in England who can boast a pack of such proportions.”
    “Oh, well, the rest of the pack brought the rest of the regiment with them,” explained Tunstell in a conspiratorial way, as
     though he and Alexia were partners engaged in the most delightful lark.
    “I believe it is customary for the pack and fellow officers of a given regiment to separate upon returning home. So that,
     well, one