Maccon Quotes & Sayings

My sister is a woman of mean understanding," explained Lady Maccon apologetically.
"And what are you?" asked Sedheag.
"Oh, I am simply mean. — Gail Carriger

Later on Lady Maccon was to describe that particular day as the worst of her life. She had neither the soul nor the romanticism to consider childbirth magical or emotionally transporting. So far as she could gather it mostly involved pain indignity and mess. There was nothing engaging or appealing about the process. And as she told her husband firmly she intended never to go through it again. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon was Scottish-big; this gentleman was only English-big - there was a distinct difference. — Gail Carriger

What the hell is that?" yelled Lord Maccon. He had turned to anger so swiftly; Alexia could only stare at him, speechless.
She let out her pent-up breath in a whoosh. Her heart was beating a marathon somewhere in the region of her throat, her skin felt hot and stretched taut over her bones, and she was damp in places she was tolerably certain unmarried gentlewomen were not supposed to be damp in.
Lord Maccon was glaring at her coffee-colored skin, discolored between the neck and shoulder region by an ugly purple mark, the size and shape of a man's teeth.
"that is a bite mark, my lord," she said.
Lord Maccon was ever more enraged. "Who bit you?" he roared.
Alexia tilted her head to one side in amazement. "You did." She was then treated to the spectacle of an Alpha werewolf looking downright hangdog.
"I did?"
She raised both eyebrows at him.
"I did. — Gail Carriger

While her own taste was, frankly, pedestrian, Lady Maccon did enjoy seeing what all the peacocks had arranged to drape themselves with. In the better parts of London, one could run into almost anything: the latest evening gowns from Paris, floating dresses to the extremes of practicality from the Americas, and the fullest, most complex cravat ties imaginable. One could witness a veritable cornucopia of visual delights merely by driving through the crowded streets. If — Gail Carriger

No, Lord Maccon was riproaring, tumble down, without a doubt, pickled beyond the gherkin. — Gail Carriger

Stop playing verbal games with me, madam, or I shall go out into that ballroom, find your mother, and bring her here — Gail Carriger

The French inventor told the acting troupe about Lord Maccon's death. — Gail Carriger

Lady Maccon wondered if she had ever been so foolish over Lord Maccon. Then she recalled that her affection generally took the form of threats and verbal barbs. She gave herself a pat on the back for avoiding sentimentality. — Gail Carriger

Alexia suspected Lord Maccon's handling was a tad more than was strictly called for under the circumstances, but she secretly enjoyed the sensation. After all, how often did a spinster of her shelf life get manhandled by an earl of Lord Maccon's peerage? She had better take advantage of the situation. — Gail Carriger

She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial.
"Poison?" asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side.
"Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?"
"Oh." Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. "Certainly not. — Gail Carriger

That woman," Lord Maccon spat,"is is definitely alpha and most certainly female. — Gail Carriger

It was universally held among the drones that Lord Maccon had a particularly fine physique, and there had been quite the scuffle over who would be allowed to dress him in the evenings. After Floote assumed that role, it became a trickster's challenge to ascertain who among the boys could arrange such little incidences as would cause the London Alpha to bluster out into the hallway in the altogether of an afternoon. — Gail Carriger

As to your sister, she is quite a peach, is she not? You have been hiding her from me."
Lady Maccon would not be goaded. "Really, Channing, she is practically" - she paused to do some calculations - "one-twentieth your age. Or worse. Don't you want some maturity in your life?"
"Good God, no!"
"Well, how about some human decency?"
"Now you're just being insulting." Alexia huffed in amusement.
Channing raised blond eyebrows at her, handsome devil that he was. "Ah, but this is what I enjoy so much about immortality. The decades may pass for me, but the ladies, well, they will keep coming along all young and beautiful, now, won't they?"
"Channing, someone should lock you away."
"Now, Lady Maccon, that transpires tomorrow night, remember? — Gail Carriger

Well, my love," said Alexia with prodigious daring to Lord Maccon, "shall we?" The earl started to move forward and then stopped abruptly and looked down at her, not moving at all. "Am I?"
"Are you what?" She peeked up at him through her tangled hair, pretending confusion. There was no possible way she was going to make this easy for him.
"Your love?"
"Well, you are a werewolf, Scottish, naked, and covered in blood, and I am still holding your hand."
He sighed in evident relief. "Good. That is settled, then. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon looked up. "Grovel, you say?"
Lyall did not glance away from the latest vampire report he was perusing. "Grovel, my lord. — Gail Carriger

Lady Maccon declined in horror. She enjoyed most foods, but brussels sprouts were nothing more than underdeveloped cabbages. — Gail Carriger

Goodness," said an exhausted Lady Maccon, "are babies customarily that repulsive looking?"
Madame Lefoux pursed her lips and turned the infant about, as though she hadn't quite looked closely before.
"I assure you, the appearance improves with time."
Alexia held out her arms - her dress was already ruined anyway - and received the pink wriggling thing into her embrace. She smiled up at her husband.
"I told you it would be a girl."
"Why isna she crying?" complained Lord Maccon. "Shouldna she be crying? Aren't all bairns supposed to cry?"
"Perhaps she's mute," suggested Alexia. "Be a sensible thing with parents like us."
Lord Maccon looked properly horrified at the idea. — Gail Carriger

The Earl of Woolsey was indeed completely nude. He did not seem particularly perturbed by this fact, but Miss Tarabotti felt the sudden need to close her eyes tight and think about asparagus or something equally mundane. Coiled about him as she was, her chin wedged over one of his massive shoulders, she was being forced to look down, directly at a nicely round, but embarrassing bare, moon. And not the kind that caused werewolves to change either. Although it did seem to be changing aspects of her own anatomy that she would rather not think about. It was all a very heady - or bottomy? -experience. — Gail Carriger

Lady Maccon stopped suddenly. Her husband got four long strides ahead before he realized she had paused. She was starring thoughtfully up into the aether, twirling the deadly parasol about her head.
"I have just remembered something," Alexia said when he returned to her side.
"Oh, that explains everything. How foolish of me to think you could walk and remember at the same time. — Gail Carriger

Professor Lyall looked modestly proud. "I am considered a bit of an expert on the procreative practices of Ovis orientalis aries."
"Sheep?"
"Sheep."
"Sheep!" Madame Lefoux's voice came over suddenly high, as though she were suppressing an inclination to giggle.
"Yes, as in baaaa." Professor Lyall frowned. Sheep were a serious business, and he failed to see the source of Madame Lefoux's amusement.
"Let me understand this correctly. You are a werewolf with a keen interest in sheep breeding?" A little bit of French accent trickled into Madame Lefoux's speech in her glee.
Professor Lyall continued bravely on, ignoring her flippancy. "I preserve the nonviable embryo in formaldehyde for future study. Lord Maccon has been drinking my samples. When confronted, he admitted to enjoying both the refreshing beverage and the 'crunchy picked snack' as well. I was not pleased. — Gail Carriger

Lady Maccon cogitated. She would like to encourage this new spirit of social-mindedness. If Felicity needed anything in her life, it was a cause. Then she might stop nitpicking everyone else. — Gail Carriger

Funambulist.' said Sophronia Temminnick, quite suddenly.
'Sophronia, such language!' Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott reprimanded.
'Pardon?' said Agatha Woosmoss.
Sidheag Maccon, the final member of Sophronia's group, muttered, 'Bless you.'
'I wasn't sneezing, nor being indelicate, thank you all very much. I was thinking out loud.'
'As if thinking out loud weren't *decidedly* indelicate.' Dimity was not to be swayed out of disapproval when she felt it might exercise her creativity. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon had the good grace to look sheepish-if a werewolf can be said to look sheepish. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon, might we have words on the proper tying of a cravat? For my sanity's sake?
Lord Maccon was nonplussed. Professor Lyall, on the other hand, was pained. "I do what I can." Lord Akeldama looked at him, pity in his eyes. "You are a brave man. — Gail Carriger

She felt compelled to conclude that he was mortified to have kissed her in the first place and was hoping she would forget it ever happened. While knowing any well-bred lady would do simply that, Alexia had enjoyed the experience and did not feel like behaving properly over it. Still, she must conclude that all agreeable sensations were entirely one-sided, and now Lord Maccon felt nothing more than a palpable wish never to see her again. He would treat her with painful correctness in the meantime. — Gail Carriger

He has been mad for you these many months, ever since you prodded him in the nether regions with a hedgehog. — Gail Carriger

The more Lord Maccon considered it, the more he grew to like the idea. Certainly his imagination was full of pictures of what he and Alexia might do together once he got her home in a properly wedded state, but now those lusty images were mixing with others: waking up next to her, seeing her across the dining table, discussing science and politics, having her advice on points of pack controversy and BUR difficulties. No doubt she would be useful in verbal frays and social machinations, as long as she was on his side. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon reflected upon the state of his life wherein he had somehow gained a spouse who could not give a pig's foot for the latest dresses out of Paris but who whined about not owning an aethographic transmitter. Well, at least the two were comparable obsessions so far as expense was concerned. — Gail Carriger

Don't you think it's about time you sobered up?"
"Wait, lemme ponder that." Lord Maccon paused, as though giving the matter deep consideration. "Nope. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon asked meekly, shifting against her in a manner that ensured she realized the nibbling had affected his outsides just as much as her insides. Alexia was partly shocked, partly intrigued by the idea that as he was naked, she might actually get to see what he looked like. She had seen sketches of the nude male, of course, for purely technical purposes. She was given to wonder if werewolves were anatomically bigger in certain areas. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon, being Lord Maccon and good at such things, then changed, right there in the Thames, from dog-paddling wolf to large man treading water. He did so flawlessly, so that his head never went under the water. Professor Lyall suspected him of practicing such maneuvers in the bathtub. — Gail Carriger

Someone was trying to kill Lady Alexia Maccon. It was most inconvenient, as she was in a dreadful hurry. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon was built like a brick outhouse, with opinions twice as unmoving and often equally full of crap. — Gail Carriger

Oh, Lady Maccon, I am unreservedly in love with her. That black hair, that sweet disposition, those capital hats. — Gail Carriger

Madame Lefoux acted as midwife. In her scientific way, she was unexpectedly adept at the job. When the infant finally appeared, she held it up for Alexia to see, rather proudly, as though she'd done all the hard work herself. 'Goodness,' said an exhausted Lady Maccon, 'are babies customarily that repulsive looking? — Gail Carriger

She poked him in the center of his chest with two fingers to punctuate her words.
"You are an unfeeling" - poke - "traitorous" - poke - "mistrusting" - poke - "rude" - poke - "booby!"
Every poke turned him mortal, but Lord Maccon didn't seem to mind it in the least. Instead he grabbed the hand that poked him and brought it to his lips. "You put it very well, my love. — Gail Carriger

With his wife's imperious face peering down at him, Lord Maccon took a moment to wonder why he had thought to crave such a woman in his life. Alexia bent over and nibbled at his chest. Ah, yes, initiative and ingenuity. — Gail Carriger

I Preserve the nonviable embryo in formaldehyde for future study. Lord Maccon has been drinking my samples. When confronted, he admitted to be enjoying both the refreshing beverage and the 'crunchy pickled snack' as well. I was not pleased (Professor Lyall to Madame Lefoux) — Gail Carriger

My dearest girl,' said the vampire finally, examining Lord Maccon with an exhausted but appreciative eye, 'such a banquet. Never been one to favor werewolves myself, but he is very well equipped, now, is he not?'
Miss Tarabotti gave him an arch look. 'My goodies,' she warned.
Humans,' chuckled the vampire, 'so possessive. — Gail Carriger

Please, Lord Maccon, use one of the cups. My delicate sensibilities."
The earl actually snorted.
"My dear Miss Tarabotti, if you possessed any such things, you certainly have never shown them to me. — Gail Carriger

Professor Lyall said, "His lordship did say something about dealing with an embarrassing family emergency." "Am I not family?" wondered Lady Maccon. To which Lyall muttered under his breath, "And often embarrassing. — Gail Carriger

Yes, but look what a mess you have made of things prior to my arrival." Lady Maccon was not to be dissuaded from her chosen course of action. "Someone has to tell Conall that Kingair is to blame." "If none of them are changing, he'll find out as soon as he arrives. His lordship would not like you following him." "His lordship can eat my fat - " Lady Maccon paused, thought the better of her crass words, and said, " - does not have to like it. Nor do you. The fact remains that this morning Floote will secure for me passage on the afternoon's dirigible to Glasgow. His lordship can take it up with me when I arrive. — Gail Carriger

Do not trouble me with such weak excuses — Gail Carriger

Hello, princess," said Lord Maccon to the vampire.
"Got yourself into quite a pickle this time, didn't you?"
Lord Akeldama looked him up and down. "My sweet young naked boy, you are hardly one to talk. Not that I mind, of course. — Gail Carriger

Well, I am terribly concerned for your health. One simply should not weigh so much at your age. Lady Maccon poked at a sagging carrot and wondered if anyone would miss her dear sister were she to be oh-so-gently tipped over the rail of the upper deck. — Gail Carriger

Lord Maccon believed that if his trousers were on his legs, and something else was on his torso, he was dressed. The less done after that, the better. His wife had been startled to find that in the summertime, he actually went around their room barefoot! Once
and only once, mind you
he even attempted to join her for tea in such a state. Impossible man. Alexia put a stop to that posthaste. — Gail Carriger

I kissed her," he explained, aggrieved.
"Mmm, yes, I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing that, ah-hem, overly public occurrence." Lyall sharpened his pen nib, using a small copper blade that ejected from the end of his glassicals.
"Well! Why hasn't she done anything about it?" the Alpha wanted to know.
"You mean like whack you upside the noggin with that deadly parasol of hers? I would be cautious in that area if I were you. — Gail Carriger

As a general rule, Lord Maccon appreciated a voluptuous woman. He liked a bit of meat on the female form, more to grab on to - and more to chew off. — Gail Carriger

Oh, Professor Lyall, are you making a funny? It doesn't suit you."
The sandy-haired Beta gave Lady Maccon a dour look. "I am exploring new personality avenues."
"Well, stop it."
"Yes, my lady. — Gail Carriger

It was not a very prepossessing accessory for all it's serviceability, being both outlandish in design and indifferent in shape. It was a drab slate gray color, with cream ruffle trim, and it had a shaft in the new ancient-Egyptian style that looked rather like an elongated pineapple. Despite it's many advanced attributes, Lady Maccon's most common application of the parasol was through brute force enacted directly upon the cranium of an opponent. It was a crude and perhaps undignified modus operandi to be certain but it had worked so well for her in the past that she was loathe to rely too heavily on any of the newfangled aspects of her parasol's character. — Gail Carriger

Which was why, some six hours later, Alexia Maccon's daughter was born inside the head of an octomaton in the presence of her husband, a comatose werewolf dandy, and a French inventor. — Gail Carriger

As with most things in life, Lady Maccon preferred the civilized exterior to the dark underbelly (with the exception of pork products, of course.) — Gail Carriger

Very well, Lord Maccon. If we are going to play this particular hand, would you be interested in becoming my ... " "Mistress? — Gail Carriger

Lady Maccon."
"By George, Boots! How the deuce can you possibly tell that there is Lady Maccon?" queried the other top-hated gentleman.
"Who else would be standing in the middle of a street on full-moon night with a raging ruddy fire behind her, waving a parasol about?"
"Good point, good point. — Gail Carriger

Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn?
Laddy Maccon sighed. Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed. — Gail Carriger

Ah, Lady Maccon, how lovely. I did wonder when you would track us down."
"I was unavoidably delayed by husbands and Ivys," explained Alexia.
"These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended. — Gail Carriger