Changeless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Second by Gail Carriger Page A

“So, in
     what capacity did my husband see fit to inform you of my nature and my position?”
    Madame Lefoux was leaning back slightly, a faint look of amusement on her lovely face. “What could your ladyship possibly
     mean?”
    “Was he in attendance upon you as Alpha, as earl, or as the head of BUR investigations?”
    Madame Lefoux dimpled once more at that. “Ah, yes, the many faces of Conall Maccon.”
    Alexia bridled at the Frenchwoman’s use of Conall’s first name. “And how long, exactly, have you known my husband?” Abnormal
     dress was one thing, but loose morals were an entirely different matter.
    “Calm yourself, my lady. My interest in your husband is purely professional. He and I know each other through BUR transactions,
     but he visited me here a month ago as the earl and your husband. He wished me to make you a special gift.”
    “A gift?”
    “Indeed.”
    “Well, where is it?”
    Madame Lefoux looked to her son. “Scat, you. Go find the cleaning mechanicals, hot water, and soap. Listen to your former
     great-aunt; she will tell you what can take water immersion and what will need to be cleaned and repaired by some other means.
     You have a very long night ahead of you.”
    “But,
Maman
, I simply wanted to see what would happen!”
    “So, now you see. What happens is it makes your
maman
angry and gets you nights and nights of cleaning as punishment.”
    “Aw,
Maman
!”
    “Right this very minute, Quesnel.”
    Quesnel sighed loudly and scampered off with a “nice to meet you” directed over his shoulder at Lady Maccon.
    “That will teach him to run experiments without some valid hypothesis. Go after him, please, Beatrice, and keep him away for
     at least a quarter of an hour while I finish my business with Lady Maccon.”
    “Fraternizing with a preternatural! You run a far more dangerous game than I did in my day, niece,” grumbled the ghost, but
     she dispersed easily enough, presumably after the boy.
    “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Formerly Lefoux,” said Alexia defiantly to the now-empty air.
    “Please do not concern yourself with her attitude. Even when alive, my aunt was difficult. Brilliant, but difficult. An inventor
     like me, you see, but less socially indoctrinated, I am afraid.”
    Lady Maccon smiled. “I have met many such scientists, and most of them could not claim brilliance as an excuse. That is not
     to say they didn’t claim it, of course, just that…” She trailed off. She was babbling. She wasn’t certain why, but something
     about the beautiful, strangely dressed Frenchwoman made Alexia nervous.
    “So.” The inventor moved closer to her. Madame Lefoux smelled of vanilla and mechanical oil. “We find ourselves alone. It
     is a genuine pleasure to meet you, Lady Maccon. The last time I was in the company of a preternatural, I was but a small child.
     And, of course, he was nowhere near as striking as you.”
    “Well, uh, thank you.” Alexia was a little taken aback by the compliment.
    The inventor took her hand gently. “Not at all.”
    The skin of the inventor’s palm was callused. Lady Maccon could feel the roughness even through her gloves. At the contact,
     Alexia experienced certain slight palpitations that had, heretofore, been associated only with the opposite sex and, more
     specifically, her husband. Not much truly shocked Alexia. This did.
    As soon as was seemly, she withdrew her hand, blushing furiously under her tan. Considering it a rude betrayal by her own
     body, Alexia ignored the phenomenon and grappled ineffectually for a moment, trying to remember the direction of her inquiry
     and the reason they were now alone together. Which was? Ah, yes, at her
husband’s
insistence.
    “I believe you may have something for me,” she said at long last.
    Madame Lefoux doffed her top hat in acknowledgment. “Indeed I do. One moment, please.” With a sly smile, she moved off to
     one side of the lab and rummaged about for a moment in a