by L G Rollins
Elise wasn’t so blind. There had been far too many things she’d learned and seen to ever pretend researching werewolves wasn’t vital to the safety of every individual in all England.
Her friendship first with William and now Addie was all the proof she needed—there was nothing more important she could do with her life.
Addie’s brow creased, and turned away, instead focusing on the tea and cakes. “Are you apologizing for momentarily forgetting my feelings, or for you being unfeeling?” Elise felt the sting of the sudden accusation, but Addie hurried on without giving Elise time to respond. “I realize, in your field, emotions are not given any credence. But please, Elise, don’t continue to be so unfeeling.”
Elise stared at her friend in momentary shock. “You make it sound as though I’m a calculating mad-man.” Elise glanced down at her own hands, hands that had mixed chemicals, tore through history books, and worked well into the night. The more she though back over her years of labor, the higher her defenses rose.
“Do you know what happens to ‘emotional females’ in my area of work? They’re laughed right out of the laboratory. If I’m ever going to be successful, I have to separate emotions and feelings from facts and proven science.” Though that didn’t justify ignoring Addie’s recent horrific experience. Elise stood once more, trying to breathe out all her sudden defensiveness. She deserved what Addie said. “I am sorry for ranting at you. No amount of science or logic makes what I did right.”
Addie relaxed back into the chair once more, a touch of color returning. “Think nothing of it.” She pointed toward the mechanical shoulder. “It happened. All of it. I’m not hiding from that reality.”
Elise eyed her friend. Just how well was she healing? Elise knew Addie was physically healing very well—Elise herself had seen to it that Addie had no one but the highest qualified physicians overseeing her body’s acceptance of the new mechanical implementation. But what of her heart? They had never, not once, mentioned who the werewolf had been or what had become of him afterward. Was she coming to terms with that?
The parlor door opened, and Elise’s butler approached with a letter atop a silver platter. Elise didn’t recognize the handwriting.
“Dare I say it,” Addie said in a low, teasing voice. “For one who doesn’t care much about what society is saying, you certainly do get a lot of correspondences.”
Elise was glad to hear Addie was quickly returning to her normal self. “That may be true,” she said warmly. “But my correspondences tend to be of the boring, scientific type.”
The seal broke with a light snap between her fingers and she read:
Dear Elise,
I am off to try and talk some sense into that recalcitrant Captain Hopkins. It seems the word of a marquess is simply not enough these days—it makes one wonder for the sanity of the future.
Never fear, though, I will soon set this right and we shall be off, diving beneath the blue of the ocean in less time than it takes your eldest brother to ready himself for supper.
Yours in this endeavor,
Lord Chauncey
Elise wanted to laugh; set it right quicker than her brother could ready himself for supper indeed. Why, last Christmas he’d taken to his room and required the services of three valets to ready him for supper. Even then he’d barely made it to the drawing room before the meal was announced. There were few things that couldn’t be done in the amount of time Elise’s eldest brother deemed necessary to garb himself. Her other brother, Hugo, shared Elise’s view of clothes: while they were an excellent way of showing one’s competency and status in society, they weren’t worth fussing over unduly.
But, she didn’t have time to reminisce about her brothers and family. Elise read through the letter again and pursed her lips—would Lord Chauncey be able to set things right? He’d done much for her in the past, but that didn’t guarantee he would be able to do so this time.
“Lord Chauncey is off to visit the captain as we speak,” she explained to a silent Addie. She tapped the letter against her lower lip. Waiting on Lord Chauncey to convince Captain Hopkins hadn’t been sitting well with her these past few days. So much so, she’d joined him in barraging the captain with letter after letter expressing her intense need for him to comply. Her conversation with Addie just now only made her feel more urgency toward the experiment and getting all the details lined up.
Surely Lord Chauncey should have known she’d want to be present if ever he spoke with the captain. “I am immensely grateful for his support.” She’d hate for Addie to assume otherwise. “But sometimes I fear he forgets which of us is the head scientist leading this experiment.” It seemed the time had come for her to remind him.
Addie took a sip of her tea and then returned the cup and saucer to the table. “I believe that is my cue to take my leave.”
Elise rose as her friend did. “I am sorry to cut our visit short.”
Addie let out an unladylike guffaw and waved off Elise’s apologies. “This is your passion, your dream, your everything. Lord Chauncey may have power and money, but you have beauty. Moreover, you are the brains behind the expedition. You can answer questions far better than the marquess.”
Excitement expanded inside Elise’s chest. The opportunity to talk, face to face, with the captain could prove precisely what they needed to convince him. She would have gone two days ago, directly after presenting before the committee, only Lord Chauncey had been so set against it.
Hurrying to the side of the mantle, Elise rang for the butler. “Thank you for understanding.” Her butler appeared in the doorway and Elise turned toward the man. “Instruct my maid to have my black breeches and navy blue blouse readied at once,” Elise told him. This would be it. No matter the captain’s objections she wouldn’t leave his home without an agreement.
“You look better in the plum,” Addie said moving toward the door.
No matter Addie’s claim that her beauty would be the ticket to winning over the captain’s approval, Elise felt certain an unaffected manner would prove better. “Bring the navy blue anyways,” Elise countered. “It looks more professional.”
“acres chats, you cannot be bloomin’ serious.” Second-in-command Rowley always sounded more French when he was relaxed. Which only made his unexpected use of English cant all the more amusing.
Nathaniel only shrugged and leaned further back in the large, book room chair. Though he wasn’t at all sure what “Sacres chats” meant, he was fairly confident it wasn’t something one said among high society. “Don’t worry, I’ve written back, repeatedly, stating my answer is a clear ‘no’.” It was relaxing to share a few moments of friendship with the young man that didn’t include submarine statistical updates and recent crew member dramatics.
“That is a relief. I don’t know how I’d explain to my sister that I’ll be late for my well overdue visit from”—he placed the back of his hand to his forehead, his voice rising in obvious imitation of his sibling—“a sorry excuse for a brother.”
Nathaniel chuckled. After all the stories Rowley had spun regarding his younger sister, Nathaniel had half expected Amelia to be standing, rope in hand, on the docks when they first arrived home, ready to tie him up and take him back to France herself. “I must admit, now that the Lord Chauncey has filled me in on a few of the details the proposal, I find it to be rather intriguing. I’ve never sailed to the bottom of the Puerto Rico Trench before.” He’d thought of his brief conversation with Doctor Sterling and Lord Chauncey several times the past few days—the constant stream of letters from both of them, reasserting their desire and urgent need to hire him had kept the matter in the forefront of his mind. “It may have been interesting to see what was down there.”
“What’s the point?” Rowley asked, staring at his near empty glass of wine. “What could possibly be gained by the experiment?” He downed the last bit in a single swallow.
That much, neither the doctor nor the marquess seemed interested in elaborating on. “Do
ctor Sterling has been quite adamant that this is worth pursuing.”
Rowley’s gaze settled on Nathaniel. “So, if you are so set on not going, why are you telling me about it?”
“No reason,” Nathaniel shook his head. Though, if he were being honest with himself, there was something alluring about the venture. Something that excited him and repeatedly drew his attention. No doubt, it was simply the never-ending correspondences. One could not receive that many missives on a single topic and not think about it most of the day.
“Could it be,” Rowley drawled. “It is not the venture that is intriguing, but one Doctor Sterling?”
Nathaniel looked away, Rowley’s observation striking a tad too close for comfort. Shifting in his seat, he chose to stare at the small fire in the hearth rather than his friend. Doctor Sterling’s rich brown eyes had come to mind more than once already that morning. Though, during their brief conversation, she’d remained painfully distant, which had made her eyes seem almost dull. She had been conversing easily enough with Lord Chauncey just before they approached him—though he doubted she was aware he’d noticed her. But after they were introduced, and as she spoke of her proposition, all the spark in her eyes seem to distinguish. Why was that? She was clearly passionate about her work, so why the intently unaffected manner? And, why did it rankle so?
“I see.”
Nathaniel turned back toward Rowley and shook a finger his direction. “You are a hopeless romantic.”
Rowley waved the comment away. “If that is an insult, Cap’n, it is lost on me.”
The sooner he pulled Rowley away from such talk the better. “It doesn’t matter, though, because Melissa needs me right now. Mother does too. I can’t leave again.”
Rowley’s lips turned up in a smile and, too late, Nathaniel realized his statement confirmed Rowley’s suspicions more than he intended to let on. But he was serious when he’d said it didn’t matter. No beautiful face, nor interesting venture could change his situation. He couldn’t leave, not right now.
Standing, Rowley stretched out a farewell hand. “I best be off. There is surprising much to do before one leaves for France. I should see to it before Amilia descends upon London and drags me home herself. Moreover, I should also leave you to your mail.” He chuckled as his gaze jumped to the pile of letters atop the desk.
Nathaniel only groaned at the reminder. However, once his Second-in-Command had left, Nathaniel remained in his book room and flipped idly through the letters. It had been only two days since his conversation with Doctor Sterling and Lord Chauncey at the circus. Since then, not a morning, afternoon, or evening had passed that he hadn’t received a correspondence from the pair. If he ever had any worries about the their sincere desire to hire him, it was most certainly gone now.
It was easy to tell which was from whom. Lord Chauncey wrote in a thick, bold print. Doctor Sterling’s handwriting was lighter, but no more frilly. He lifted one of Doctor Sterling’s letters, her face and particularly her eyes coming clearly to mind. She had pluck in spades, he’d give her that much. Whatever it was she was about, she certainly wasn’t one to back down.
Dropping it back into the stack with the others, Nathaniel turned toward the brown-paper package which arrived that morning. Blessedly, it arrived before his daughter was done with her morning lessons and he had easily secreted it here, where she would not find it.
Moving back toward the door, he shut it firmly and then returned to his desk. If Melissa ever caught wind of what he’d ordered, it would negate every conversation they’d had over the past several days regarding her becoming a werewolf huntress.
Pulling open the box he found the half-dozen silver bullets he’d been expecting inside. Granted, he always liked to be prepared. Some of his crew whispered behind hands that he was a bit obsessed. Regardless, he liked to think through any and all possible outcomes and be prepared for them all. It came with being a captain, and thusly, responsible for the life of nearly two dozen individuals.
Nonetheless, this was a bit extreme, even for him. Perhaps it was all this talk about Mademoiselle Dubois’ accident or Melissa’s constant chatter regarding her ambitions. Whatever the cause, Nathaniel—in a fit of insanity most likely—had ordered the silver bullets and now here they were.
He moved to the gun case resting on the bookshelf behind his desk and took out a pistol. Opening the cylinder, Nathaniel dumped all the bullets out and replaced them with silver ones. The silver bullets fit well and looked the same as the others, except the casing had been painted a brilliant blue for easy identification.
A knock came from the door. Nathaniel slammed the cylinder shut and quickly placed it in a desk drawer. If that was Melissa, he didn’t want to seem like he was supporting her crazy idea. He closed the box with the other silver bullets and set it aside before calling, “Enter.”
Thompson opened the door, presenting the familiar sight of a letter perched on a silver platter. Nathaniel sighed loudly. Another one? Supper had not yet been served and already this was the third one today.
However, instead of carrying the letter in to him, Thompson opened the door wider and announced Lord Chauncey.
Surprised, Nathaniel struggled to stand, as propriety dictated was absolutely necessary; a marquess was far above his own station. Swinging his cane, Lord Chauncey waltzed into the room and, without waiting for the customary invitation, sat himself down in the chair facing Nathaniel’s desk. Unruffled by the lack of decorum, Thompson, ever stiff and proper, moved forward and placed the letter on Nathaniel’s desk before leaving silently.
“Victor!” Lord Chauncey spoke heartily.
Nathaniel sat back down from his half-standing position, having not even had enough time to rise fully so swift was the marquess’ entrance. “Pardon me?”
Lord Chauncey poked a finger at the letter Thompson had just brought in. “That little devil and I were having a race. See who could get here first.”
The man was an undeniable oddity after all. Nathaniel had almost been worried his mother’s description was an exaggeration. “And you won?”
“Oh, it was difficult. I may not be first off the line, but I’m quick.”
Nathaniel wanted to laugh. It was rather a pity Lord Chauncey was here to badger him about being hired. More likely than not, the old man had many an interesting view on lands and people the world over. Nathaniel loved to chat with those who held unusual ideals.
“Now, sir,” Lord Chauncey began.
Nathaniel lifted a hand, stopping him. He was beginning to like Lord Chauncey, but that didn’t change his situation with Melissa. “I am sorry, but there is no way of convincing me to accept your offer at this time. I am simply not ready to leave England just yet.”
Lord Chauncey’s face turned serious. “It is imperative that we conduct this experiment promptly.”
Nathaniel shook his head. Just how bold could he allow himself to be? Lord Chauncey was titled, wealthy, highly influential, and if his mother was correct, slightly insane. It certainly would not bode well to be seen as belligerent. Maybe he should try a softer approach. “Perhaps in a year’s time. But just right now—”
“A year?” Lord Chauncey looked affronted. So much for the softer approach. Lord Chauncey leaned forward. “The Committee for Scientific Advancement is already anxious for Elise to withdraw her request for funds and further support. They will not wait any longer. We need this experiment to take place now.” A mischievous smile crossed the old man’s lips, appearing all the more devilish for the wrinkles and unmanaged gray hair. “We’ll just keep badgering you until you say yes.”
Nathaniel clamped his mouth shut. This was getting ridiculous. He waved toward the growing stack of letters. “So, I have more of this to look forward to?”
The old man smiled even wider at Nathaniel’s apparent frustration. “We are a persistent pair.”
“If Doctor Sterling cares so much, then why isn’t she here?” Not that he was hinting he’d like to meet with her aga
in. Nor did he care to see if he could draw out the spunk in her eyes, which she seemed determined not to let show. It was nothing like that.
Lord Chauncey waved away the comment. “I promised her I’d handle things. Although, between you and me, being told not to worry has never stopped her in—”
His words were cut off by another rap at the door, followed by Thompson opening it and announcing Doctor Sterling herself.
Nathaniel stood abruptly. Gads, having the very person one was discussing—and trying not to think too much about—suddenly appear left one feeling distinctly off-kilter.
Lord Chauncey burst out laughing. Perhaps it was at the uncanny timing of their conversation, or it could have just been due to Nathaniel’s face. He was quite certain more than a little surprise was showing there.
Doctor Sterling, brow creased in confusion, walked into the room, her gaze going from him to Lord Chauncey and back again.
Finally, she addressed Lord Chauncey. “What are you crowing about this time, you old rooster?”
Nathaniel was slightly taken aback by the bluntness. They must be closer acquaintances than he first gathered.
Lord Chauncey listed his head. “Are your ears burning, my dear?”
She turned her head quickly toward Nathaniel, a pretty eyebrow arching high. “Should they be?”
Nathaniel motioned toward the stack of letters. “We were discussing your persistence.”
She eyed him, all emotion unfortunately tucked away, as she clearly was trying to decide if her persistence was all they had said about her. Doctor Sterling was wearing a white laboratory coat, though it was tailored different than those Nathaniel had seen on doctors before. It had a form-fitting top with long sleeves and a row of black, off-centered buttons which she had fastened clear up the high collar. Below the slim waste, though, the coat flared out creating the same silhouette of a skirt. Below the waist, the coat remained open in front, showing off the doctor’s breeches and riding boots.