When I pictured our secret tryst accidentally being exposed… my thoughts immediately shifted to Liza; this could affect her own future. People would whisper of her lowly, wanton harlot of a cousin. She’d be made a jester in her social circles.
Not that she’d be invited anywhere, because of the scandal. I covered my face, as if that might block the growing sickness of just how much had gone wrong. It seemed a cruel twist of fate, that something born of love could evoke such hatred.
Father and Uncle stayed behind, arguing facts and sorting out the situation, according to my aunt’s endless chatter when she’d come in to check on me at some point. There was another debate brewing on whether or not Miss Whitehall had shared the news with her extended family. If there was no public proof of her supposed betrothal to Thomas, then it could go away without involving the courts. If she’d sent letters, then there was nothing we could do until it was solved through proper legal measures. If it could be solved through legal channels. Thomas might be unable to break the agreement.
I couldn’t retain anything anyone said after that declaration. Betrothals were so rarely created out of love; they were business maneuvers, and as such there were many rules and regulations once one had entered into them. To imagine Thomas legally bound to another—I leaned over my skirts, praying I didn’t vomit on my gown.
First the shock of my brother and a second Jack the Ripper… and now this. I rubbed my temples.
Aunt Amelia and Liza had left me in my room with promises of tea and spiced wine and other things that would not mend my shattered heart. Nothing they could bring would calm the growing storm raging inside me. If only we’d waited a few more hours, this would be wretched, but at least I’d have one less thing to feel ill over. One less life I’d ruined.
Shoving aside worries over my forsaken virtue and how it could affect my family if anyone found out, I had no idea what to make of the situation. I hadn’t thought Thomas courted anyone else. Yet he knew who Miss Whitehall was immediately upon seeing her. They had to have had some interaction or encounter. She certainly seemed both familiar with and fond of him. And the way she’d smirked at me as if I was an opponent…
I rubbed my temples a bit harder, trying to recall exactly what he’d said when I’d inquired about his romantic history. I was fairly certain he’d claimed to have loved only me. But what did that mean in truth? If I dissected it, there was no mention of interest in another. He very well could have indulged in a romance with her. Perhaps it was meaningless to him, but clearly feelings were involved for her. Or, at the very least, finances.
I swiped at my tears. I wanted to take the vase of orchids someone had placed on my nightstand and smash it against the wall. It was startling, how quickly my emptiness filled with anger. My hurt needed an outlet, and fury at least made me feel something other than hollow. I didn’t care if there had been anyone else—the lies or falsehood was another matter. Especially after I’d directly asked Thomas about it a few weeks prior. He might not have agreed with my spending time with Mephistopheles, but I’d warned him first. Thomas knew my plan to infiltrate the carnival and get close to the ringmaster; he simply didn’t like that decision.
Which had been the entire source of my sliver of doubt. It was the first time I worried he might not be the person he claimed to be. That his insistence I proceed in another manner was a preview of what life would become, the more comfortable he was around me. I feared it was only going to get worse, that he’d start exerting his command in small ways until I eventually looked to him to see how I ought to feel. Men in our society were bred to falsely believe they knew best. Of course a sliver of doubt had crept in. He’d unintentionally gouged a hole in my deepest fear. But this? This was unthinkable.
I may have stumbled a bit, had fears of trusting in us, but I never pretended away my indecision. Even when admitting my hint of doubt, I’d told Thomas the truth. It had nearly broken us both, but I’d told him each fear in my heart, sparing no detail. I’d given him the choice, whether or not he could still love me, despite my confusion. My choice had never centered on another person. Though Mephistopheles certainly tried his hand at manipulating my feelings. My struggle was always on the direction of my life and how well I knew myself.
Miss Whitehall was not a direction. She was a living, breathing reminder that Thomas and I had known each other for only a few months. There was much about him that I still didn’t know. I almost cringed at the thought of what other secrets he’d yet to reveal.
“What have you gotten us into now, Cresswell?” I whispered.
It was medically impossible, but I swore my heart rattled instead of beat, the jagged pieces cutting me with each cursed movement. Inside I was a torn, bloody mess. Outside I feared I wasn’t faring much better. I couldn’t settle on which emotion was winning out: anger or pure emptiness. How silly of me to believe in happy endings when I lived and breathed in darkness.
I ought to have known better. Fairy tales don’t end well for the imposter princess. No amount of artistry or cunningly placed pieces of moss and flowers could make my enchanted forest a reality. I was a damned thing. I might as well be the devil’s heir. At least then I wouldn’t have to hide who or what I was.
“How are you?” Liza entered my bedchamber without knocking, her expression the most solemn I’d ever seen it. In a way her mood was a relief—it certainly felt as if a part of me had died and we were mourning it together. I laughed, the sound hysterical to my own ears. Of course. I’d be the one who’d planned a wedding but ended up with a funeral. I was the queen of death. A princess of corpses. Everything I touched decayed.
My laughter immediately cut off, replaced by uncontrollable sobs. I was thankful my tears didn’t spill over. I only hiccupped and choked them back down. Liza’s gaze paused on my face, her own mirroring the devastation I felt. I wondered how red my eyes were. How beaten I must look. There was no pretending, no mask to hide behind. My heart was wholly broken.
Liza took my hand in hers, squeezing until I tore my attention from the petals that had been sewn into my skirts. It was such a lovely gown. I longed to take my scalpels to it.
“Will you help me out of this dress?” My voice was scratchy and rough, sounding as if I’d swallowed mouthfuls of seawater. I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there, lost in the prison of my misery. It felt like centuries. “It chafes.”
My cousin hesitated, her hand dropping to her side.
“This is a momentary hurdle, nothing more.” She sounded firm, though I detected a slight tremor of worry that belied her resolve. There was no guarantee this would be reconciled. At least not in a favorable manner. Liza knew that as well as I did. “Clearly a mistake has been made, and Thomas will rectify it at once. You should have seen him. I was unaware he could be quite so… intimidating.” I flicked my attention up at that. “Not to us. His anger was directed entirely at the situation. He’s writing a telegram to his father now.”
I drew in a ragged breath, not quite ready to know the answer to my next question, but unable to keep myself in the dark any longer. “Was there… is there truly a written agreement? Between Thomas and… and her?”
Liza pursed her lips; clearly this wasn’t news she wanted to share. Not while I probably looked like a talking corpse. “Yes. Thomas told your father he’s never seen it before. That a mistake has been made, but confirmed it was his signature.” She watched me closely and I dropped my attention back to my dress. “If you saw the way Thomas was, you’d know there was nothing to worry over. Signature or not, he will fix this.”
I nodded, my head wobbling along of its own volition. I wanted to have the same faith my cousin was in possession of, but at my core sat mathematical unease. The numbers didn’t quite add together. Clearly Thomas’s father had entered into a written agreement with Miss Whitehall, meaning there would be legal repercussions involved with sorting it all out.
If he even could sort it out.
My head spun as the same conclusion
whipped around my mind again and again. Miss Whitehall would take Thomas and we’d no longer belong to each other and he’d end up marrying her and—my skin seemed to catch fire. I tugged at the neckline of my wedding gown.
“Please,” I ground out, pulling the material away from my body. I swore it came alive and delighted in choking me. Blotches of angry red welts appeared like petals on my skin. My own personal bouquet of regret. “Get this dress off me before I rip it off!”
Startled by either my tone or the welts, Liza began unlacing my bodice as quickly as she could manage. My deep breaths weren’t helping; my ribs expanded more and more until she reached around and pulled me into a fierce hug. I shook beneath her touch, unable to control my flood of tears. Thomas was promised to another. Our wedding was a mockery. I was losing him. I couldn’t breathe. I choked on tears that refused to cease.
“Breathe. You must breathe, Audrey Rose.” Liza held me fiercely. I closed my eyes, trying to command my lungs to breathe in time to my cousin’s steady breaths. It took a few tries, but I managed to collect myself again. Liza spun me around, shaking me a little. “Be still. Think. What is this?”
Tears threatened to spill again; my lips wobbled. “The worst day of my existence.”
“Yes, but think. Be still and think about it without emotion.” I flashed her an incredulous look. As if I could turn my emotions off now. She set her jaw, determined. She would be my strength when I couldn’t summon my own. It almost brought on another round of tears. I’d heard that brides cry at weddings, but this wasn’t how I’d imagined it. “This is a mystery for you both to solve. Understand? And, in case you’ve forgotten, your Mr. Cresswell is one of the best at solving mysteries. Do you truly believe he’ll let this stand? He seemed ready to unleash Hell upon the world. Satan himself would tremble. Have heart, Cousin. All will be well.”
Despite her reassuring words, I caught a flicker of doubt crossing her features, sending me tumbling into my own worries once more.
TWENTY
INCONVENIENT ARRANGEMENT
AUDREY ROSE’S ROOMS
FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY
6 FEBRUARY 1889
An hour or possibly five later, I huddled into my silk robe, sipping another herbal tea concoction Liza had brought before she slipped away to talk with our family. As I inhaled the fragrance and concentrated on the different herbal notes, I guessed at the deeper meaning behind them.
Though she didn’t inquire into my personal affairs, I’d wager anything that Liza was concerned about pregnancy and the tea would prevent it. I’d been ingesting it for weeks, so chances were good that I could cross one worry off the growing list. My cousin was truly a master of reading people and working her magic for romantic entanglements. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I was grateful beyond measure for her keen sense.
She’d suggested sitting in my room eating chocolate and drinking champagne, but I’d begged her to go downstairs and keep everyone away, unable to deal with their pity. Or their words of hope. I wasn’t sure which stung more. Their belief that all would be well, or my grappling with the truth that it would not.
Thomas could work out impossible equations, but even he couldn’t make two and two equal five. I sipped my tea, relishing its sharpness. It was almost as bitter as my mood. I’d grown used to the taste of fresh herbs and looked forward to breathing in the aromatic scent.
It was especially calming as I sat in the center of my own disaster. My wedding gown lay discarded beside me, a heap of tulle and petals and whimsy. Which was a contrast to my reading material. Nathaniel’s journals lay strewn across what should have been my marital bed, his notes scattered and dismal like my current thoughts. I glanced at the pile and winced. I’d accidentally smudged ink on my wedding gown. It was one more loss to add to the day’s tally.
I shook my head. Death invaded even the most sacred of spaces in my life.
If it was intent on joining me in my darkest hours, I might as well welcome it. I flipped through an entry, reading but not actually absorbing the information. I’d been so certain Thomas would visit me, but as the hours grew later, I couldn’t stop wondering if his devotion was another fantasy I’d concocted.
When the knock finally came, I sat straighter in bed, my fingers twisting my bedsheets as the door creaked open. He halted by the doorframe, leaning against it as if he were held there by some magic spell, a wary expression on his face.
After his initial inspection of me, he wouldn’t meet my gaze. How different it was from this morning, when he’d stared unabashedly into my eyes, our bodies melded into one. A thousand images fought their way into my mind—his hands in my hair, his lips on my throat, my fingers on his back, our hips pressed together. It had all been so wonderful, and now…
I clamped my jaw shut to keep from crying in front of him. The same fears were circling like vultures again, picking at the bones of my sadness. My reputation, my future. What did any of it matter? I didn’t want to think of marriage to another. Let the whole world talk of my wicked ways; they already did anyway. My lips trembled, snipping whatever cords had held Thomas in place.
In a few strides he was across the room, wrapping me in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Audrey Rose. I… I understand if you hate me or—or wish to end our—”
“Hate you?” I pulled out of his embrace, searching for any hint regarding his true emotions. His expression was carefully controlled, even now. “How could I hate you? You were unaware of the betrothal, weren’t you?”
Thomas released me to tug the letter Miss Whitehall had brandished from his jacket, holding it up by two fingers as if it were a stinking hunk of rotten meat he wished to toss away. I’d witnessed him nearly nose-deep inside more than one putrid corpse and his demeanor hadn’t been so distressed. He ran his free hand through his hair, tousling it in a most un-Thomas-like manner.
“I swear I had no inkling my father had arranged that betrothal.”
He tossed the paper to the floor, glaring as if his infernal stare might set it ablaze. An ounce of my worry dissipated. Only an ounce, however. Even though Thomas was disgusted by this news, depending on the terms of the betrothal, there might not be anything he could do about it—his signature was on the letter. In England, a letter requesting an engagement was as acceptable and binding as if Thomas had done so in person.
I wanted to fire a hundred questions at him, but I refrained. I watched as his icy exterior slowly melted, revealing the true depth of his own despair and worry.
“Though, given one of our last arguments in August,” he continued, “I’m not as surprised as I ought to be. Father had been rather put out that I hadn’t made more of an effort to court Miss Whitehall. I hadn’t—” He shook his head. “I hadn’t considered his motivations for doing so. Clearly, a mistake on my part. She’s the daughter of a marquess. My father believes marriage is nothing more than a wise business transaction. It was a lesson he was trying to teach me the night I met you, actually.”
“How…” I felt my emotions bubbling up again. A marquess was several ranks higher than my father’s lordship in the British peerage. For Thomas’s father, himself a duke, allying with my family would be a much poorer match. I drew in another deep breath. “How did you meet Miss Whitehall? I thought you hadn’t courted anyone.”
I glanced up in time to see him flinch. “It was never—” He rubbed his face. He looked tired, almost haggard. “My father requires I attend certain gatherings throughout the year. Mostly just one or two horrendous parties hosted by his friends. I met Miss Whitehall at her coming-out ball.”
He hesitated, which only made my nerves rattle more. When it seemed no further information was coming, I gathered my strength. I deserved to know. “And?”
Thomas stood up and prowled around my small room, almost as if he were subconsciously searching for an escape route. “I knew my father wanted me to show interest, but it was the furthest thing from what I desired.” He snuck a glance at me, his lips almost quirking.
“I wanted to be left alone. I considered science my one true love. Miss Whitehall was grating. She cornered me by the buffet, asking question after question.” At this memory, a full smile flashed across his face before he seemed to recall the horror of our day. “She agreed with everything I said, annoyingly so. Her eyes kept sliding over my shoulder, toward another young man. I began to understand that she was interested in my father’s title. That she’d tell me anything I wanted to hear. When I imagined how our life would unfold, I could think of no greater misery for either of us. I knew I needed to end her pursuit at once.” He inhaled deeply. “I suggested we run naked through the streets and she fainted into her dessert. I left soon after, not expecting to ever hear her name or see her again.”
I took a few moments to absorb his story. “So you never—there was never any… fondness… on your part?”
“Never. I hardly spent an hour with her. And our interaction was mostly me being obnoxious and her half listening.” Thomas settled next to me on the bed. “Are you sure you aren’t angry with me?”
I considered his story and how I felt.
Finally, I took a deep breath. “When you promised a lifetime full of surprises, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Thomas snorted as if the weight he’d been carrying had suddenly lifted. “If it’s any consolation, it isn’t quite what I had in mind, either.” He tentatively picked my hand up, tracing the outline of the red diamond I still wore on my ring finger. “Do you… regret what happened between us?”
My cheeks heated as memories of our bodies coming together in the most intimate way crossed my mind. His lips and hands paying homage to me in ways I’d never dreamed possible. How unbelievably good it felt, giving myself to him completely.
“No, not”—I swallowed hard, stalling—“not entirely.”
Capturing the Devil Page 14
