He was no imposing presence, although the man had near-perfect posture, and a near perfect posterior, which was imposing enough as far as Lyall was concerned. But his movements were so beautiful and his appearance so impeccable, he managed to be intimidating for all he was the smallest in the room. Apart from me, of course.
Hemming was entirely the opposite of his Alpha, a large, bumbling, salt-of-the-earth breed of chap. Big, blond, and rangy but with almost delicate features. The others referred to him, when Hemming wasn’t listening, as sensitive. He had wistful, watery blue eyes – which were currently wide and panicked – and subtle but thick sideburns. He was the kind of man to be depicted in art as mucking out stalls and pitching hay. He likely had been, since he’d once modeled for various well-known painters who specialized in rural depictions of manor houses and handsome farmers and ducks and the like. I wonder if he still does. Saddled with a baby, he looked utterly overwhelmed. Although Lyall knew exactly how it had landed in his arms. Hemming was widely thought of by the entire pack as the gentlest among them.
“Oh, heaven forfend! What do I do? Why won’t he stop crying?” Hemming tried bouncing the tiny thing. The screaming persisted.
Biffy marched up to him.
Hemming’s desperate gaze landed on his Alpha and, to Lyall’s delight, instantly turned to one of profound relief. “Oh, thank the fates. Here.”
The squalling bundle was thrust into Biffy’s arms.
It wasn’t that Lyall didn’t like children. It’s simply that they were, by and large, quite messy. Lyall abhorred a mess. This one proved to live up to his assessment.
Biffy took the little creature and cradled it up against his shoulder, and began patting its back. This action caused the child to stop screaming.
It seems my new Alpha has untold depths. Or perhaps it’s only that as the youngest werewolf amongst us, he has more recent experience with the procreative habits of mortals.
Then the infant emitted an entirely ungentlemanly burp and spilled what appeared to be most of its dinner down the back of Biffy’s beautiful burgundy gabardine evening jacket.
The Alpha’s face! Lyall swallowed his smile with difficulty.
Biffy jerked the offensive creature away from said jacket. The baby instantly began screaming again, perhaps not quite so loudly. Biffy thrust it back into Hemming’s arms.
“Oh, my goodness, Alpha, I am so sorry! I know how you feel about your jackets. James! Quickly!” Adelphus, properly horrified, waved frantically at one of the clavigers.
“My lord!” A good-looking young blunt rushed Biffy. “Let me take that for you.”
This is, no doubt, James. Lyall assessed the lad. All the clavigers would be new to him. There were only a few home at the moment, wringing their hands and trying to be useful. Unless the traditions of pack had drastically altered, which Lyall doubted, most of the clavigers were off duty at this time of night. Thank goodness for small mercies. As half of them are usually actors, their presence would only have added to the general drama of a baby among the werewolves.
Lyall watched as James attempted to help Biffy remove his coat. Impressive that he still manages to wear them so tight. This unfortunately revealed the fact that some of the regurgitated fluids also decorated Biffy’s silver cravat, brocade burgundy and silver waistcoat, and white shirt as well.
See what I mean? Babies, messy.
Clearly desperate to be useful, James then began stripping Biffy of every piece of clothing.
Lyall was not at all averse to this turn of events.
Meanwhile, the chaos around them continued. Exacerbated, perhaps, by the Alpha being covered in spit-up. Now all the werewolves were worried for the safety of their new charge. Alphas had tempers.
Lyall stayed quiet and calm, waiting to see if Beta interference would be necessary. He was trying to get a read on the currents of his new-yet-old pack. Some things most certainly would have changed over the last twenty years.
And some things definitely had not.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it!” That would be Rafe, of course. Rafe looked like a bruiser but was in fact a big-hearted softy, prone to accommodating strays. Their previous house had come with a family of alley cats adjacent, who’d discovered early on that Rafe was one for accidentally leaving the hunt’s rabbit liver out for them rather than eating it himself.
Rafe was currently trying to pet the baby’s head. No doubt wondering if the child liked liver. And if he should go hunt him something fresh.
Lyall sensed his Alpha’s frustration rise.
Biffy batted off his claviger. “Do stop attempting to get me naked, James. I know you’ve been trying for months, but now is not the time.”
Lyall certainly hoped that was a joke.
“But sir, the stains will set!”
“And so I can buy new garments. At the moment, the state of my dress seems the least of our problems. Take the coat away and tend to it, do.”
Lyall was only a little sad to see the lad leave – Biffy was still in his shirt, after all.
*
Biffy, with an exasperated sigh, took the child back.
The infant quieted, perhaps simply because Biffy was not harrowed by his presence. Children could sense distress, he always thought. Biffy hoisted the little chap to his shoulder, patting him again. Hoping there would be no additional dietary return engagements, but not really minding now that he was only wearing a shirt.
It is a marker of my acceptance of my own werewolf state that I am not self-conscious about wearing so little in front of so many in my own drawing room.
The baby stopped screaming and the pack settled into awed relief – the quiet after the storm.
“Alpha, how’d you do that?”
Biffy sighed. “I’ve eleven siblings. Or I did, you know, before. Only three of them were older than me. I’ve more than enough experience with babies. Now, Adelphus, this boy here is very young. We will need a wet nurse. You and Quinn go inquire at the church – the local pastor might know of some able-bodied local lady.”
He continued issuing orders, feeling rather proudly in charge. It was nice, for a change, to know more about something than the rest of his pack. Most of them were at least sixty years older than he, many of them three or four times that; it was a rare privilege to be commanding by reason of capability, not simply Alpha nature. This must be how Lyall feels.
“Hemming, where did the child originate?” Biffy directed his stare at the original holder of the goods.
“He was left on our doorstep, Alpha. Simply, you know, there. Wriggling.”
Biffy called Adelphus and Quinn back before they could leave. “Also see if the pastor has any idea who the infant’s mother might be. Go by the workhouse as well. I take it there is one nearby?”
“Yes, Alpha,” said Adelphus smartly.
“I know where it is, Alpha,” said Rafe.
“Good, then Rafe, you go to the workhouse while Quinn and Adelphus go to the church. If they’re asleep at the rectory, rouse them. They know we’re in the neighborhood and should be expecting the occasional nighttime call. I went by and had tea after we first arrived.” Biffy made a face. “That said, I advise against drinking the tea, if he offers. It’s perishingly weak.”
“Yes, Alpha!” The three turned to leave. The clavigers scattered ahead of them in search of hats and coats.
Only then did they catch sight of Lyall, standing in his diffident way, slightly to the back of the room.
Lyall’s eyes crinkled in a suppressed smile as the (there was no better way of putting it) ecstatic squeals of the first three caused the rest of the pack to swivel around and stare at him.
Quinn, Adelphus, and Rafe descended upon him.
“Professor! You’re home!” That was Quinn.
“Randolph, how delightful. It’s been too long. Far too long!” Adelphus looked genuinely pleased, a rarity from he who liked to pretend ennui at the state of the universe.
Rafe pounced upon their returned pack mate and gave him a hug. Rafe was like that.
Hemming instantly followed.