The Chosen

by Theresa Meyers

The powder blue ruffled confection of yesterday had been replaced by a more somber, dark rust-colored gown today, with identical rows of brass buttons down the front and a heavily pleated black underskirt. The color brought out the red highlights in her curls and turned her eyes from cornflower to sapphire. Every inch of his skin contracted, and his heart threatened to crack a rib with its sudden hard thumps.

  Lady Persephone started forward with a warm, genuine smile that made his head very rummy. Tucking her hand about his arm, she led him to a comfortable if overstuffed chair. “Sir Turlock, how good to see you. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant William Wallace Frobisher. Lieutenant Frobisher, this is the brilliant inventor, Sir Marley Turlock.”

  The man was military. From his black hessians that could reflect an image as well as a mirror in the hall to the cut of his scarlet coat over his massive shoulders, the man’s appearance left no doubt of his occupation. He was all brawn, and Marley suspected not much brain. Marley nodded in greeting, but said nothing.

  “So you’re the bloke Lord Hargrieve is so eager to talk to,” the Lieutenant said as he rocked back on his heels. “Have any actual flying experience?”

  Marley adjusted his spectacles. “Yes.” He didn’t feel the need to expound on his experience simply to appease the man. He was far more interested in delivering the mechanical toy to Lady Persephone before her father took him elsewhere.

  Marley pulled open his worn leather satchel and pulled out the bit of plain black velvet tied with a blue bow. The bow had been his idea. He thought the satin ribbon would match the color of her eyes. The dog must have wound down again, because it was no longer wriggling. “A gift for you, Lady Persephone, for your assistance at the exhibition.”

  Her eyes widened, and her face lit with delight. “For me? Really? You didn’t need to, Sir Turlock.”

  “What exactly did she do?” Marley didn’t like Frobisher’s annoyed, angry tone one bit.

  Lady Persephone’s gaze never strayed from Marley’s, and they both ignored Frobisher’s question. The instant she took the gift from him her hand dipped with the sudden weight. “It’s heavy.” She sounded surprised.

  “I hope it’s to your liking.”

  Her fingers eagerly plucked at the bow, gingerly peeling the fabric apart and revealing the gleaming little mechanical dog.

  Frobisher leaned in closer to inspect it. “What the devil is that?”

  Persephone glared at him. “Language, Lieutenant. And clearly it’s a dog.”

  His face grew thunderous, his dark gaze shifting to Marley; he had the unmistakable look of a man whose territory has been trespassed upon by a poacher. “A toy?” he scoffed.

  Marley tried his best to ignore him. “It’s just a trinket, really. My cousin Thadeus and I make them for the little ones in the family, but I—we thought you might enjoy this one.”

  Her slender fingers caressed the little dog, then took hold of the winding key and twisted, bringing the creature once more to life. “Oh!” The sound of her genuine laughter, bright and delightful, filled the room as she set the small dog down upon the tea table and watched it with fascination. “Oh, Martha, come and look how she lifts her ears and twists her sweet little head! She even sits and wags her tail. Isn’t she precious?”

  Frobisher took a step, inserting himself as much as he could between Lady Persephone and her maid and Marley. “Thank you for your gift. I’m sure my fiancée appreciates it.” His tone was low and threatening, almost a growl.

  Marley’s chest contracted for a moment. Lady Persephone was affianced? She had not uttered a word of this to him. He felt a crushing pressure on his chest at the thought that she was in love with someo—with Frobisher. The thought of such a capable and brilliant young woman being attached to such an obvious buffoon stuck like a bit of sand where one ought not to get sand, grating and irritating in the extreme. He lifted one brow. “Many felicitations to you both,” he said with no genuine enthusiasm.

  Lady Persephone picked up the little dog and held it close in the crook of her arm. “We are not engaged.” Her firm and resolute tone eased Marley’s discomfort some.

  Frobisher gave her a hard stare. “We are intended, and that is enough until your father decides we should declare it formally.”

  Her nostrils flared slightly, and Marley found the blue flicker of fire in her eyes most enchanting. “We shall see about that.” She turned to her maid. “Martha, I feel a sudden headache.” She glanced at Frobisher and then at Marley, her body vibrating with restrained anger he could nearly feel shimmering in the air of the room. “Will you gentlemen please excuse me?”

  The men bowed as she swept from the room.

  Frobisher waited a second after she’d left before he flopped himself down on the settee, making himself at home. “I thought she hated dogs.”

  Marley’s eyes burned inexplicably. She hadn’t seemed disappointed in his choice. Was she just being kind as a hostess? She didn’t seem the type to offer false flattery.

  Frobisher grabbed up three little finger sandwiches at once and stuffed them all in his mouth and chewed. “Bit of a fireball, isn’t she? I’ll soon have that corrected.”

  Marley swallowed hard. He might not know as much as Thadeus knew about women, but he knew enough to tell when one was truly angry versus just playing the coquette to earn male attention. “She doesn’t seem to take well to the idea of your coming nuptials.”

  Frobisher brushed the crumbs from the front of his jacket onto the fine hand-cut wool carpet beneath his feet. “She’ll get used to it. Love isn’t always necessary in these arrangements, is it?”

  At that moment Marley was quite sure of two things. One, given the right opportunity, he’d like to light Lieutenant Frobisher up with a great wallop of an electric charge just to watch him bounce about on the ground like a beached fish; and two, Lady Persephone Hargrieve deserved better than this big lout for a husband.

  Marley pulled back his shoulders, stretching himself to his full height, and glared openly at Frobisher. “Perhaps the arrangement isn’t necessary at all. She might have more than one suitor to choose from.”

  Frobisher rose to his feet, his face turning red, his fists bunched by his sides, arms slightly bent, as if he intended to throw a punch. Marley stood his ground, refusing to budge. Let the oaf do his worst. He’d find a way to make him pay in spades.

  “Don’t go getting ideas about Lady Persephone, little man. She’s mine. And if you get in my way, I’ll squash you. You haven’t the skills it takes to protect her.”

  “I’d say that matter is up to the lady.”

  A deep clearing of the throat from the doorway had them both turning to see Lord Hargrieve staring at them. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

  Frobisher’s stance changed immediately. “No, my lord. No problem at all. Just giving our inventor some useful advice.”

  Lord Hargrieve gave Frobisher a pointed look. “He’s not our inventor yet, Lieutenant. We might want to be more cordial to him in the meantime.” The man looked over his shoulder. “Wattly, please show Sir Turlock to my study.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler edged around Lord Hargrieve and inclined his head to Marley. “This way, if you please, Sir Turlock.”

  From the alcove in the great hall, Sephie spied Sir Turlock following Wattly to her father’s study. She’d found pleading a headache or some other sort of feminine ill was the easiest way to extract oneself without too much questioning from a room full of men. There’d been many such occasions in her father’s house, and since her mother’s passing, she’d had to act as his hostess, even in the most tedious of social situations.

  Her hands were still shaking. Overhearing the exchange between Frobisher and Sir Turlock had left her giddy. In her own flights of female fancy she’d imagined that the looks Sir Turlock had given her were more than his approval of her mechanic skills. Now that she knew he might even offer for her, she was beside herself with joy. Not only was Sir Turlock fascinating, he found her passion f
or machines a wonderful thing rather than trying to quash it as Frobisher and her father did. How marvelous would it be to be one’s self with one’s spouse?

  She held up the adorable little dog he’d brought her, her heart swelling with emotion. She’d been given so few toys as a child, and had never been allowed to have a dog because of her allergies to them, despite her fondest wish to have one. In one fell swoop, Sir Turlock had given her both and made her smile from the inside out. But her happiness was drowned out by low and angry voices coming from the parlor where Frobisher and her father argued.

  “He has intentions toward Persephone,” Frobisher ground out. Sephie huffed. He was complaining as if she were his property already. The great oaf.

  “You will not undermine my authority in this, Lieutenant. He is not to be harmed until we have the weapon from him. It could make all the difference in our battle with the Darkin. We need him. Do I make myself clear?”

  “And what if his energy cannon doesn’t do what he thinks it will?”

  “Then that will change matters. But until that time, if he wishes to court Persephone, then I shall allow him to.”

  Anger filled Frobisher’s voice. “And what of our agreement? You promised her to me!”

  “I promised you could court her, Lieutenant, and I’ve made every effort to place her in your presence so that you could convince her of your sincere interest. But you know as well as I do how headstrong she can be.”

  Sephie ducked back behind the edge of the alcove as her father stalked back to his study.

  “Perhaps you ought to beat that stubbornness out of her,” Frobisher muttered as he stamped out of the parlor toward the front door. “I know I would.”

  The front door slammed behind him, and Sephie shuddered and held the little dog closer. She knew the risks her family took. Her father thought Frobisher could protect her from the hideous things they hunted and were in turn hunted by. But Sir Turlock was smart. If he knew the truth, perhaps he could think of ways to protect her that Frobisher never could.

  Marley waited in Lord Hargrieve’s study. Since it was midsummer there was no fire in the grate, but the odor of cigar tobacco clung to the room along with the mellow scent of the old leather binding the hundreds of books in the room.

  Every wall of Lord Hargrieve’s study was covered in built-in shelving. Much of the shelving contained books, and other shelves were covered in far more curious items. Marley stared at the rows of glass bell jars on the shelves. Some held displays of unusual dried flora and fauna; others were filled with preserving liquid in which strange creatures floated in limbo. Marley was surprised to think of Lord Hargrieve as a naturalist. Certainly it was a hobby many appreciated, but Lord Hargrieve seemed more a man of industry.

  “May I get you anything, sir?”

  Marley started and glanced back at the butler, unaware that he’d slowly walked to the near middle of the room. “No. No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Very good, sir.” Wattly closed the door, leaving Marley alone with the bizarre collection. One jar in particular caught his attention. It was a smaller jar, inside which were what looked like they could have been a set of human teeth; but upon closer inspection, Marley decided they had to be animal in nature. The canines were far longer, more suited to a large predator like a wolf or big dog. He bent closer to look.

  “I see you’ve found my collection.”

  Lord Hargrieve’s voice startled Marley. He jerked up. “I—yes. Most unusual. You have quite an extensive set of specimens.”

  Persephone’s father settled himself in the large, upright chair behind the massive mahogany desk. He leaned forward and pulled over a humidor, flipping it open and pulling a fat brown cigar from it. “Would you care for a cigar?”

  Marley shook his head, unable to keep his eyes from straying to the odd mandibles in the jar. “No, thank you, my lord.”

  “Please take a seat.”

  Marley dutifully sat down in one of the two overstuffed chairs facing Lord Hargrieve.

  The man took several puffs on his cigar, held his lips closed for a second, then blew out a stream of fragrant smoke. “Sir Turlock, I assume you know of my interest in your work. But what you may not know is why I have an interest.”

  “I assumed it had to do with your involvement in the Aeronautical Society, my lord.”

  “Quite. But there are other, more pressing reasons for my interest and that of my colleague Lieutenant Frobisher. We are part of a special group of the military that answers only to Her Majesty. We deal with things of a questionable nature and are always looking for new ways to defeat our enemies.”

  “And what, may I ask, has that to do with my aeronautical display at the exhibition, my lord?”

  “We think you might be a very useful part of our cause.”

  Marley’s skin prickled with apprehension. Somewhere deep in his gut something told him this was no normal interview. Whatever Lord Hargrieve was involved with, along with that Frobisher chap, was serious business.

  Chapter 4

  Thoughts of secret societies and strange rituals swirled in Marley’s head. What exactly was Lord Hargrieve into? He swallowed past the thick lump swelling in his throat to address the older man seated behind the enormous mahogany desk.

  “What is your cause, if I may be so bold as to inquire, my lord?” Marley tried to minimize the tightness in his voice.

  Lord Hargrieve tapped the gray ash from the end of his cigar into a small brass tray on his desk. “We are called Her Majesty’s Hunter Service.”

  “And what, do you, um, hunt, my lord?”

  Hargrieve chuckled and wedged his cigar back between his lips, giving it a few great puffs. “What we hunt isn’t mentioned in polite society, Sir Turlock. It isn’t fit to grace the hunting lodge walls. And if people knew, they might panic.”

  “You mean big game from Africa, my lord?”

  An odd twinkle sparked in Hargrieve’s eyes. “No. Something far deeper and darker than anything that continent could provide. The creatures we hunt are Darkin. Werewolves, vampires, ghosts, demons, and such. But that’s not the point. The point is, are you up to the challenge of assisting us in weapons development, to annihilate these creatures?”

  Marley could tell from the look in the other man’s eyes that this was no jest. No alarmist musings. “Such things actually exist?” Marley asked, mouth dry as his fingers gripped the smooth wood of the chair arms.

  Lord Hargrieve leaned toward him, his dark blue eyes intense and serious. “I saw you eyeing my set of vampire fangs earlier.”

  Marley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A shiver shot down his spine. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. Ghosts. Fae. If all the dark things he’d thought were only the vestiges of unscientific mythology and lore were actually real, what did that mean for their society? What did it mean for science? How did one possibly fight against things one couldn’t comprehend?

  “We have training, Sir Turlock, knowledge that is kept within the society on how to effectively attack and resist the Darkin. We will share that with you, but we need weapons. We need your scientific mind to help us break the stalemate between our forces and the Darkin. Will you do it?”

  “I suppose it would depend on what kinds of weapons you wanted, my lord.” He hadn’t the faintest clue what one would use to defeat any of the Darkin Lord Hargrieve had just mentioned.

  Hargrieve rolled the cigar to the corner of his mouth, his lips spreading into an approving smile that calmed Marley’s nerves slightly. For a moment he had been certain Lord Hargrieve was going to tell him they hunted humans or some such strangeness.

  “Excellent, Sir Turlock. Now we’d like to begin by having you test your electrostatic transmission ray in a demonstration for us in North Umbria.”

  “My device? But how—”

  Hargrieve raised a hand to stop his question. “Suffice it to say Her Majesty is well aware of your experiments, Sir Marley. We’re particularly interested in the transmission ray. We believe i
t could have use as an electrical cannon of sorts.”

  Marley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, my lord. But it isn’t yet fully operational.”

  Hargrieve pulled the cigar out of his mouth and set it to rest on the edge of the brass tray. “That may be, but Her Majesty and I have full faith in your skills. We’d like a demonstration of it by next month. Will that be sufficient time to ready the device?”

  A cold, prickly sweat broke out on Marley’s brow and upper lip. It would be possible for him to get it done, but he’d have to work night and day to make it happen. But Marley knew an opportunity when it was presented. He didn’t dare pass it up. “Certainly, my lord.”

  “Excellent. Then I’ll inform Her Majesty. And as compensation, following a successful demonstration of your device, shall we say five hundred pounds and admission into the Aeronautical Society?”

  Marley practically sprang out of his chair. That was far more than he’d anticipated. “Very generous, my lord.”

  Hargrieve extended his hand to shake Marley’s on the deal, then rose from his chair, signaling their interview was at an end. “I’ll have the papers outlining our expectations sent round, and I look forward to your demonstration,” he said.

  Marley stood and gave a slight bow of his head. It had been the strangest half hour of his life. “Thank you for the opportunity, my lord.” Marley hesitated one moment, his heart practically climbing out of his chest and into his throat. It was now or never. “Lord Hargrieve, if I may be so bold, would you allow me the honor of courting your daughter?”

  Lord Hargrieve stared long and hard at him, and the moment seemed to stretch on into what felt like infinity. “You know she has a suitor already, don’t you?”

  “Yes, my lord, but if she is willing to entertain my suit as well, I shall give her every reason to be happy for it.”

  Hargrieve nodded his head and rubbed the white whiskers on his right cheek. “Very well, then. If you know the risks and are still up to the challenge, you have my permission.”