Werewolves & Glass slippers

Family

*Ella*

“For the Goddess sake,” I exclaim. “You hardly know Blanklake, Anastasia!”

“I love Algie,” Anastasia says, her big eyes earnest. “I didn’t even want to debut, not after I saw him at Westminster Abbey that Sunday back in March, but Mother made me.”

“March,” I say. “You met him in March and now it’s June. Tell me that darling Algie proposed, oh, say three months ago, just after you fell in love, and you have kept it a secret?”

Anastasia giggles at that. “You know exactly when he proposed, Ella! I told you first, after Mother. It was just two weeks ago.”

The lines between Minna’s nose and mouth can’t be plumped by a miracle cream made of crushed pearls. “Blanklake was slightly tardy in his attentions.”

“Not tardy in his attentions,” I say. “He seems to have been remarkably forward in that department.”

Minna throws me a look of dislike. “Alpha Blanklake very properly proposed marriage once he understood the situation.”

“I would kill the man, were I you,” I tell her.

“Would you?” She gives an odd smile. “You always were a fool. The Alpha has a title and a snug fortune, once he gets his hands on it. He’s utterly infatuated with your sister, and he’s set on marrying her.”

“Fortunate,” I comment. I look back at Anastasia. She is delicately patting her lip over and over again. “I told you to hire a chaperone, Minna. She could have had anyone.”

Minna turns back to her glass without a comment. In truth, Anastasia probably isn’t for just any man. She is too soft, too much like a soggy pudding. She cries too much.

Though she is terribly pretty and, apparently, fertile. Fertility is always a good thing in a she-wolf. Look how much my own father has despaired over his lack of a son. My mother’s inability to have more children apparently led to his marriage a mere fortnight after his mate’s death… he must have been that anxious to start a new family.

Presumably he thought Minna was as fertile as her daughter has now proved to be. At any rate, he died before testing the premise.

“So you’re asking me to visit the prince and pretend to be Anastasia,” I say.

“I’m not asking you,” Minna says instantly. “I’m commanding you.”

“Oh, Mother,” Anastasia says. “Please, Ella. Please. I want to marry Algie. And, really, I rather need to... I didn’t quite understand, and, well...” She smooths her gown. “I don’t want everyone to know about the baby. And Algie doesn’t either.”

Of course Anastasia hasn’t understood that she is carrying a child. I would be amazed to think that my stepsister had even understood the act of conception, let alone its consequences.

“You’re asking me,” I say to my stepmother, ignoring Anastasia for the moment. “Because although you could force me into the carriage with Alpha Blanklake, you certainly couldn’t control what I said once I met this prince.”

Minna shows her teeth.

“Even more relevant,” I continue, “is the fact that Anastasia made a very prominent debut just a few months ago. Surely people at the ball will have met her… or even just have seen her?”

“That’s why I’m sending you rather than any girl I could find on the street,” Minna says with her usual courtesy.

“You will have my little doggies with you,” Anastasia says. “They made me famous, so everyone will think you are me.” And then, as if she just remembers, another big tear rolls down her cheek. “Though Mother says that I must give them up.”

“Apparently they are in my bedchamber,” I say.

“They are yours now,” Minna says. “At least for the visit. After that we will… ” She breaks off with a glance at her daughter. “We’ll give them to some deserving orphans.”

“The poor tots will love them,” Anastasia says mistily, ignoring the fact that the said orphans might not like being nipped by their new pets.

“Who would accompany me as chaperone?” I ask, putting the question of Anastasia’s rats aside for the moment.

“You don’t need one,” Minna says with a hard edge of scorn, “the way you careen about the countryside on your own.”

“A pity I didn’t keep Anastasia with me,” I retort. “I would have ensured that Blanklake didn’t treat her like a common trollop.”

“Oh, I suppose that you have preserved your virtue,” Minna snaps. “Much good may it do you. You needn’t worry about Alpha Blanklake making an attempt at that dusty asset; he’s in love with Anastasia.”

“Yes, he is,” Anastasia says, sniffing. “And I love him too.” Another tear slides down her cheek.

I sigh. “If I am pretending to be Anastasia, it will create a scandal if I appear in a carriage alone with Blanklake, and the scandal will not attach to me, but to Anastasia. In short, no one will be surprised when her child appears on an abbreviated schedule after the wedding.”

There is a moment of silence. “All right,” Minna says. “I would have accompanied Anastasia, of course, but I can’t leave her, given her poor state of health. You can take Rosalie with you.”

“A maid? You’re giving me a maid as a chaperone?” I ask.

“What’s the matter with that?” Minna demands. “She can sit between you in case you lose your head and lunge at Alpha Blanklake. You will have the rats’ maid as well, of course.”

I blink, “Anastasia’s dogs have their own maid?”

“Mary-Downstairs,” Anastasia says. “She cleans the fireplaces, but she also gives them a bath every day, and brushes them. Pets,” Anastasia adds, “are a responsibility.”

“I shall not take Mary with me,” I state. “How on earth do you expect Mrs. Swallow to manage without her?”

Minna just shrugs.

“This won’t work,” I say, trying to drag the conversation back into some sort of sensible channel. “We don’t even look alike.”

“Of course you do!” Minna snaps.

“Well, actually, we don’t,” Anastasia says. “I—well, I look like me and Ella, well . . .” She flounders to a halt.

“What Anastasia is trying to say is that she is remarkably beautiful,” I say, feeling my heart like a little stone in my chest, “and I am not. Put that together with the fact that we are stepsisters related only by marriage, and there’s no more resemblance between us than any pair of English she-wolves seen together.”

“You have the same color hair,” Minna says, dragging on her cigarillo.

“Really?” Anastasia says doubtfully.

Actually, Minna is probably right. But Anastasia’s hair is cut in pretty curls around her head, in the very newest style, and fixed with a delicate bandeau. I brush mine out in the morning, twist it about, and pin it flat to my head. I have no time for meticulous grooming. More accurately, I have no time for grooming at all.

“You’re cracked,” I say, staring at my stepmother. “You can’t pass me off as your daughter.”

Anastasia is frowning now. “I’m afraid she’s right, Mother. I wasn’t thinking.”

Minna has a kind of tight look about her eyes that I know from long experience signals true rage. But for once, I am rather perplexed about why.

“Ella is taller than I am,” Anastasia says, counting on her fingers. “Her hair is a little more yellow, not to mention long, and we don’t have the same sort of look at all. Even if she put on my clothing..:”

“She’s your sister,” Minna says, her mouth tight, as if the copper pipe has been hammered flat.

“She’s my stepsister,” I say patiently. “The fact that you married my father does not make us blood relatives, and your first husband—”

“She’s your sister.”