Dress the Neck Becomingly

Dress the Neck Becomingly Dress the Neck Becomingly Emmaline Strange Copyright © 2023 Emmaline Strange All rights reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Cover art by Bear Pettigrew Proofread by Angela O’Connell This book is for anyone who thinks fangs are hot, and/or was a goth in high school. Contents Prologue I.Practical Etiquette for Single Gentlemen II.A Manual of Courtship III.On the Art of Giving Presents IV.Everyday Problems in Etiquette V.Preventable Worries VI.Polite Answers to Impertinent Questions VII.Gossip on Names VIII.The Art of Dining IX.The Care of the Person X.If Your Clothes Take Fire XI.Animal Jealousies XII.Anecdotes of Unselfish Animals XIII.Table Service Etiquette XIV.A Homily Upon Fruit XV.Careless and Unsuspected Poisoning XVI.Poverty of Blood XVII.Curious Facts about Red Epilogue. Mighty Quill Sneak Peek! Also by Emmaline Strange About the Author Prologue Sinclair If I squinted just right at the pavement, I could almost still see the bloodstain. Never mind the fact that the night I’d produced the stain and tonight, this night, were separated by a dozen decades; never mind the fact that the alley had been repaved with asphalt in place of uneven cobbles. It didn’t matter, because I could never forget that stain—its color, its shape. How could I ever forget the night I died? I had followed the history of the building beside the alley since that night, from afar. I watched, and waited, for the property to go up for sale. Fifty years ago, I’d snapped up the deed, but I had never found the courage to return here, to this building, this alley, this city. Until tonight. Something told me it was time. It was time to return home, time to learn the truth of how I’d been born into this second life. If I closed my eyes, I. Practical Etiquette for Single Gentlemen Royce What had I been thinking? Perched on the stool at the corner of the bar, I took a gulp from my beer. I’d ordered my same old usual. Several, actually. I may as well have been wearing a sandwich board that read, “I don’t belong here.” It had taken me six weeks of denial, two weeks of drunken pining, and five days of psyching myself up to get here. I didn’t know what miracle I’d hoped to achieve by dragging my ass to a trendy, queer nightclub downtown instead of the pub down the street from my apartment. No matter where I sat, I was still the same old boring Royce Davis I’d always been. The same old boring Royce Davis who’d been dumped on his ass nine weeks ago by his boyfriend of three years. “I need more, Royce.” “More what?” I’d asked, floored, when I’d come home from an eighteen-hour shift to Derek and