Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  I laughed, then quickly blinked tears away. Once I was certain I wouldn’t ruin my kohl, I looked at my father and smiled. He’d take me from this chapel at once, no questions or judgment, should I choose a different fate. And I loved him for it. I tried not to focus on the sudden overwhelming sadness of closing one chapter and stepping into a new one. No matter how much I’d longed for freedom, it was a strange sort of thing to no longer be under my father’s roof. Another bout of emotion welled up, threatening to spill down my cheeks. I uselessly fanned my face, picturing how angry Aunt Amelia would be if I cried my makeup off.

  As if he’d crafted some magical tool to see into my mind, my father hugged me near, patting my head. “There, there, Audrey Rose. You’ll always be my darling baby girl. If you’re happy, then I am, too. I just wanted you to know that you have choices. Options. Whatever you’d like, I will make happen. As I ought to have done for you a long while ago.”

  I accepted a handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes. “I scarcely know why I’m crying,” I said, unable to stop the flow of tears that had begun. Aunt Amelia would definitely murder me if she wasn’t preoccupied with last-minute arrangements. “I want this. More than anything. It’s… everything is going to be different now, is all.”

  “Ah.” Father gently took the handkerchief from me and tucked it back into his pocket. “Part of growing older means letting go. You can’t move forward if you never take those first few steps onto new ground. Now’s the time to be brave, Daughter. Walking into the future means trusting in yourself even when you can’t see around the bend. As long as you’re certain this is what you want, all will be well.”

  First Thomas and now my father. If this had been one of Liza’s novels, I’d probably have to face this question another dozen or so times before my journey was complete. I listened to the steady beat of my heart, waiting for a whisper of doubt or a niggle of uncertainty.

  Standing in my wedding gown, hair flowing most scandalously down my back in loose waves, with a braid of flowers and pearls twisted into a coronet about my crown, I glanced at the scarlet diamond glittering from my finger.

  “When I imagine my life without Thomas, that’s the only time I worry.” I hugged my father. “I’m quite sure about us, though I’m sad to leave you.”

  “Me, too. We shall both visit often.” Father sniffled and gave me a short, curt nod as he straightened. “Let’s see you two off, then, hm?”

  “I love you, Father.”

  He looked at me once more, his eyes filled with emotion, and I wondered if the same memories were playing through his mind. Me climbing onto his lap while he’d crafted mechanical toys in his office. The two of us dashing through the gardens and hedge maze at our country home, Thornbriar. Our whole family—Mother, Nathaniel, Father, and me—sitting out on the lawns of Hyde Park, enjoying a picnic along with the fairies Father had claimed were all around us. He swore folklore held kernels of truth—that evidence waited for curious little children to unravel the mystery of the Fair Folk and other, darker mythological creatures.

  All of it seemed as if it had occurred yesterday. And yet it also felt as if a hundred years had passed. I glanced down at my bouquet, at my mother’s heart-shaped locket, which Liza had thoughtfully woven around the stems. I hoped there was an ever after, and that my mother and brother were both smiling down upon me now. I certainly missed them and all the memories we never had the chance to make.

  “Ready?” Father asked, squeezing my hand gently.

  I took a deep breath and nodded. It was time to create new memories together. We’d do it for ourselves and our loved ones. As we stepped up to the aisle, a pipe organ began playing Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” My hand tightened on Father’s arm ever so subtly as everyone in attendance turned to watch us enter the room. I paused for a moment, breath stolen, as I finally got my first glimpse of the chapel.

  From the flowers to the lush greenery and colors chosen, it was gorgeous yet somehow a bit dangerous. Light with a hint of dark. Like dappled sunlight slipping into a moss-covered forest deep in the woods of Ireland or some other more magical land.

  “It’s like the enchanted forest you used to tell us about,” I whispered to Father. I blinked tears away. Liza must have recalled how much I’d adored those stories as a child. Back before I’d been altered by death.

  Garlands made of fern fronds, eucalyptus greens, lamb’s ears, and white cabbage roses were strung along the pews. Strings of peonies hung in varying intervals from the rafters like a canopy of petals. On the altar, a large decanter with red roses sat majestically—a centerpiece that demanded attention. Instead of setting the flowers right side up, Liza had opted to put the blossoms in the water, leaving the stems and thorns pointing heavenward. It was strangely beautiful and wholly unique.

  Orchids and more peonies in purples and petal pink were also woven into the floral design. My favorite flowers mixed with Thomas’s, each coming together to create something magnificent. There was so much to see, yet the only thing my gaze was desperate to find was—

  Thomas.

  The priest stepped aside, revealing my love in all his splendor. I suddenly forgot how to breathe. I felt everyone’s gaze as it landed on me, heard their intake of breath, but could only concentrate on not grabbing my skirts and rushing to the young man standing at the end of the enchanted aisle. My dark prince.

  Somehow, my father and I finally reached the end of the petal-strewn pathway. I took the final step, kissed my father good-bye, and barely breathed as he placed my hand in Thomas’s waiting grasp. It did not escape my notice that he appeared to be the heir to a dynasty.

  Thomas Cresswell looked more regal than Prince Albert. His black suit was tailored perfectly to his frame, hugging the angles and lines that were so sharp they made one consider sinking to one’s knees in supplication. Surely he had to be an angel sent directly from Heaven.

  His hair was styled with pomade and his eyes were filled with a steadiness I didn’t know I’d been craving until I drank it in. I spied an orchid dusted with glitter—my favorite flower—pinned to his lapel, and any remaining tension left my limbs at once. That dear detail was all Thomas, and I had to remind myself to not kiss him senselessly. It looked like a painting he’d created of an orchid with stars within its petals. After deducing how much I favored the flower, he’d married our two loves together. Much like we were about to do.

  I clasped his hands and he took a deep, shuddering breath. My gaze immediately dropped to his lips and lingered. I wondered if flashes of last night were playing across his mind, or if I was truly the only devious one.

  “You are exquisite, Audrey Rose,” he whispered.

  I allowed one more, indecently long assessment of his form, much to the priest’s dismay. His suit stretched across broad shoulders, and silver thread trimmed the collar, matching the silver whorls in his dark gray waistcoat. He was utterly magnificent. I recalled another time I’d had similar thoughts back in Romania. I hadn’t been truthful then. I’d not keep my heart from him now. “You’re devastatingly handsome, Thomas.”

  His grin was so radiant, he practically beamed. The priest cleared his throat, holding his prayer book up, likely reminding us we were in a house of God and were not yet married. If he was that put out by our appreciative glances, he’d likely go up in fire and brimstone if he knew we’d already consummated our marriage. Three times last night.

  And once this morning.

  “Will you, Thomas James Dorin cel Rău Cresswell, take Audrey Rose Aadhira Wadsworth to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

  Thomas gently ran his thumb over my knuckles. “I will.”

  The priest nodded. “Very good. Audrey—”

  “I will love and honor you every second, every minute, every hour of the day,” Thomas continued, stepping closer. “I vow to seek your counsel on all matters,
both big and small, and to cherish you with each breath in my lungs. I promise to never make the same mistake twice, to make it my daily duty to see you smile, and to hold your hand through each challenge, each victory, and each new adventure this life brings our way.” He slipped a wedding band next to my engagement ring, never taking his gaze from mine. “From this day until my last, I vow to love and hold you, as my equal in all ways, Audrey Rose.”

  Someone gasped from the pews at his shocking declaration. Distantly I heard a door open and close, but I couldn’t tear my attention away from Thomas. A woman was supposed to honor and obey her husband in all things. What Thomas had promised was freedom and respect for the remainder of our lives. He’d said as much plenty of times in private, but to do so in front of an entire chapel full of witnesses…

  I swallowed hard, tears welling, as he offered me an encouraging nod. I could practically see the words he’d said to me a thousand times before dancing across his expression. Expect a lifetime full of surprises.

  “Yes, well.” The priest turned to me, face stern. “Audrey Rose Aadhira Wadsworth, will you take Thomas James Dorin cel Rău Cresswell as your wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey him till death do you part?”

  My heart felt as if it were ready to burst through my chest as I stared into Thomas’s eyes. I took his other hand in mine and stepped near enough to require tilting my head back as I slowly placed a ring on the tip of his finger, waiting until our vows were complete before I secured it on him. We’d chosen matching bands—two serpents entwined in an infinity symbol.

  And if someone knew to look carefully enough, they’d recognize they were actually dragons, symbolic of his mother’s lineage. Thomas smiled down at me, his expression unabashedly open. I lightly squeezed his hands as I drew in a deep breath.

  “I will.” I pulled him nearer still, ignoring the disapproving grunt from the priest. “I promise to love and challenge you, to remind you to don warmth as much as you wear that cool, scientific exterior I adore so much. I vow to always remain the woman you fell in love with. I will honor you by never being afraid to express my opinion, to love you without limits, and to tell you each day of our lives how incredible you are. How kind and gentle and intelligent. I promise to love you with every part of me now until our next lifetime. I love you, Thomas James Dorin cel Rău Cresswell, now and forever more.”

  Footsteps sounded behind us, but I didn’t quite care who we’d offended with our proclamations. Let them leave. This moment was ours. Despite the enchanted forest setting, standing here, in front of Thomas, it was the simple wedding we’d wished for all along—a day where we could speak to each other from our hearts as if it were just the two of us.

  The priest drew in a long, measured breath. “If no one sees fit to object to this… ceremony… yet, then I now pronounce you husband and—”

  “Pardon my interruption,” a new voice said. “I’m afraid this wedding cannot continue.”

  Thomas and I—along with the rest of the church—turned, the combined sound of rustling silks like bird wings flapping in the chapel. An attractive young woman in a claret traveling dress was halfway down the aisle, advancing on the altar with an envelope clutched in her gloved hands.

  “Who is that?” I swiveled my attention back on Thomas, expecting a shrug. Instead, he’d gone exceptionally pale. His reaction set off shrill warning bells in my head. “Thomas?”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed down some emotion—fear? “Merciful God above.”

  “What?” I asked, looking between him and the young woman. My heart had now taken full flight. It was pounding so hard I felt faint. “Who is she? What’s happening?”

  He stared, unblinking, for what felt like a full minute before mustering up a response. Perhaps he thought this was some dream. Or a nightmare, given the way he’d stopped breathing.

  “That’s Miss W-Whitehall.”

  “Not for long, silly.” Miss Whitehall, who’d continued her slow march toward us, turned a dazzling smile on the priest. “You see, Thomas and I are betrothed.”

  “What?” My voice echoed around the chapel. Thomas’s ring fell from my hands, the tinny sound much too loud for such a grand space. No one moved to pick it up. I swore the earth tilted on its axis or perhaps Liza had pulled my corset too tight. It sounded as if she’d said she was betrothed to Thomas. My Thomas. The man I gave myself to last night. The man who—moments ago—swore to love me forever. The man I’d just exchanged rings with. Well, almost. I could still faintly pick out the sound of the gold band as it rolled to a stop. It was odd, hearing something so insignificant while my heart cracked wide open.

  I glanced at him, but his attention was fixed on what Miss Whitehall was carrying, the muscle in his jaw strained. I closed my eyes briefly, hoping this was a nightmare. That my subconscious was torturing me with fears before our day. Surely this could not truly be happening. Not when I’d finally overcome my reservations.

  Not after we’d spent the night together…

  Unimpressed by the deadly stares from our friends and family, Miss Whitehall walked up the last few steps to the dais and handed the priest the envelope she’d been waving about like a declaration of war. I could only watch, horror-struck, as the priest opened the cursed letter.

  “I’ve got official correspondence as proof. See?” She leaned her blond head over the document, pointing out a line for the priest. “It says so right… there.”

  He fumbled for control, or perhaps an answer from God on how to proceed. I watched him scan it twice, as if he’d hoped what was written there had changed. “Er… it does say you two are—” The priest glanced at us, brows tugged close. “When did you and Miss Wadsworth become betrothed?”

  My heart thumped wildly. Thomas held fast to my hand, addressing the priest. “I made my intentions for courtship known in December. Miss Wadsworth agreed to our betrothal in January.”

  I gripped Thomas’s hand until I was sure it must have been painful, but he didn’t seem to mind or notice. He held me with equal force, as if by clinging to each other our bond could not be broken. We waited, fused together, as the priest’s gaze dropped back to the letter, his mouth tightening.

  “And the announcement?” the priest prodded, his expression growing grimmer by the second. “When did you formally declare your engagement?”

  Thomas stared at the broken seal on the envelope, his tone clipped. “A fortnight ago.”

  “I-I’m sorry.” The priest shook his head, glancing from the letter to us. “This is postmarked the first week of December. I do not have the legal authority to marry you today.” He swallowed hard, and I saw true regret enter his eyes. “Nor ever, if this remains a binding agreement.”

  Miss Whitehall shifted her attention to my fiancé, smiling demurely.

  “Surprise, Mr. Cresswell. I do hope you’re pleased to see me again. I’ve certainly missed you.”

  NINETEEN

  DASHED TO BITS

  AUDREY ROSE’S ROOMS

  FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

  6 FEBRUARY 1889

  I perched on the edge of my bed, voluminous skirts of tulle cushioning me in case I pitched forward, giving in to the shock still settling in. Honestly, I was surprised I felt anything other than the emptiness where my heart once beat. I could not fathom how the events of the last hour had unfolded. A day full of hopes and dreams, dashed to bits in an instant.

  Liza had filled me in on pieces of the story I missed after I’d fled to my rooms. Even now the tale was disjointed and filled with conjecture. Apparently Thomas’s father made the cursed arrangement, but a letter was allegedly signed by my fiancé requesting permission to marry Miss Whitehall. At present, there was a great debate on its authenticity.

  Thomas and I were so certain of each other, so confident that we’d battled against our own doubts and were now victorious. We didn’t consider enemies
sneaking in, destroying the life we’d envisioned building together. The future that was so close I nearly clutched it in my grasp. My jaw clenched as the scene played back in my mind, each dreadful detail cutting like a knife.

  Thomas was betrothed. To another.

  It couldn’t be true. And yet… each time I closed my eyes, I saw Miss Whitehall waving that portent of doom about, an expression of glee upon her face. Until this morning, I’d never heard her name uttered. Not once. I’d looked to Thomas for answers, but he’d donned that icy exterior, permitting no one a glimpse into his heartbreak. The absolute elation I’d seen in his eyes had disappeared, gone so quickly it was as if it never existed. The young man standing at that altar no longer resembled the affectionate, loving man I’d shared my heart—and body—with. This Thomas was remote and cold. Something I recognized as his emotional shield, though it didn’t stop the sting of him leaving me to deal with my devastation alone.

  Once the priest had declared Miss Whitehall and Thomas’s betrothal standing and ours invalid, my aunt and cousin sprang into immediate action, whisking me from the church, buffeting me against the dawning horror that our wedding day had been ruined.

  I, too, was now ruined. At least in society’s tiny little mind. My hands were clammy and cold as I curled them into fists, my nails creating crescent moons in my palms. I’d discarded my gloves somewhere on the way back to my chambers. They were likely stained beyond repair now, too. Just like—I could barely draw in breath.

  This couldn’t be happening. Thomas and I had exchanged our virtues the eve of our wedding, never dreaming everything would go to hell in a few short hours. He’d be all right. Not that I’d wish otherwise; my anger lay elsewhere. Society never condemned men for their part in untoward romantic encounters. Women were harlots and upstarts while men were experienced and savvy. Oh, how I loathed the world.