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“Your mum, I would think, without question,” Alwyn replied. Ursella rubbed her face against his arm. He supposed he was spoken of amongst his kind as a cautionary tale. Maybe their parents had brought it up so they would not ask, but children were children and curious above all things.
“I am sorry such badness befell you, Your Grace.” Bernadette cuddled up on the side opposite her sister; she played with the ends of his hair and proceeded to work out the tangles.
“Thank you kindly, Bernadette. It was badness, the sort one would think was only found in a story.” His lion would take it amiss if he did not warn them himself, in a way they would appreciate. “Once upon a time, long ago, an evil sorcerer worked his terrible magic and made it so even the tiniest bit of gold could keep aversipelliscaught in their Shape forevermore. Those who know the spell can employ it against Shifters of all species. The sorcerers were a cunning lot and used devilish ploys to captureversipellesunawares. They tricked them into taking their Shape so the gold might be caught around their necks or their paws to trap them in it.” There was yet another aspect to it, a way to lull them into immobility, one he could not easily recall; his mind rebelled and refused to pursue it further.
“How do the Shifters escape?” Tarben asked.
“They must be freed by a human. I was released by a greedy creature as may be found in any species. He saw the golden chain on my paw and wanted it for himself.”
“How lucky he was greedy,” Bernadette declared.
“Who was greedy?” Charlotte asked as the children’s parents joined them.
“His Grace told us about the sorcerer and how they bewitched the gold and how you are the highest authority, Mum!” Tarben threw himself around his mother’s knees.
“Did he? I like that in a duke,” Charlotte said. Alwyn rose, and the lady smiled at him while hugging her cub. She and her husband showed their necks to him. “I cannot manage a curtsy, Your Grace, and certainly not as well as my daughters.”
Ben tugged lightly on his son’s ear. “I do hope you have been introduced properly to the Duke of Llewellyn and did not take it upon yourselves.”
“Aunt Beezy did the pretty,” Bernadette said.
“No one does it better,” Charlotte agreed.
“And they, in turn, did very prettily,” Alwyn said. “They are lovely children.”
Ben set his hands on his hips. “What, these children?” Their mother and father exchanged exaggerated, incredulous looks while their two eldest protested their prettiness with great volume. His parents had teased him and his siblings so, had looked at them with all the love in their hearts, as these two did their cubs. Grief coursed through him, and his perception of the world around him grew hazy, as it had not for weeks. His time with the cubs had drawn attention. As crowded as Lowell Close could be at any given time, there were greater numbers than usual, thanks to the addition of the Humphries. The pressure of all the people staring was oppressive; he felt the equanimity he’d achieved start to drain. His breath arrested, and his head swam until a little hand gripped his arm. Ursella tugged until he looked down at her; she put her hand in his, and he squeezed it in gratitude. They both held still as he inhaled deeply, once, twice, and nodded, calm once more.
Until yet another coach rolled into the forecourt of the public house.
Its postilions bounded into action as soon as the vehicle drew to a halt.
One of its attendants let down the steps and handed down a lady.
She was unknown to all, causing a murmur of speculation to break out.
Well…not quite unknown to all.
“Oh, my goodness!” Charlotte gasped. “It is the lady author, Mrs. Anchoretta Asquith.”
Fifteen
Alwyn gently removed the child’s hand from his.
As Lady Swinburn rushed forward to greet Mrs. Asquith, he edged away.
Lowell and Osborn, as well as Bates, Gambon, and Lord Swinburn, moved to stand in front of the citizens of the Close. Taking their cues from their Alpha and his cadre, the villagers clustered together, shielding one another against whatever had raised the protectiveness of their duke.
Alwyn slipped behind them.
He did not like the look of that lady author.
“Mrs. Asquith.” Lowell drew his power to him, adominatumwaiting to be unleashed.
“Your Grace.” Her polished obeisance was all it should be; Alwyn preferred the children’s effort. “I wrote to your duchess but found I could not wait to see the developments in Lowell Close for myself. I notice you have been joined by the Duke of Osborn.”
Arthur’s bear rumbled, and the lady duly offered him tribute. Her smile, as fine an example of a restrained expression fit for society, was not reflected in her eyes, which avidly took in her surroundings.
Alwyn wanted to charge over and knock her down—or incapacitate her to ensure she came no nearer to anyone in the gathering; he wanted to run in the other direction, flee her presence, put the whole world between them. His confusion built and built, the tension between the two choices too much to contain. His instincts screamed that she was a threat. How could this elegant lady be so? He was imagining it; it could not be true.
