“Your mother and grandmother would be proud of you for securing the affections of a noble as esteemed as Lord Hale.”
“I beg your pardon?” she choked, her mind stumbling over her half-formed excuses.
“Lord Hale came to ask me for your hand in marriage.”
Emmeline’s eyes widened. Her corset suddenly felt unbearably tight as the heat rose in her cheeks and her fear dissolved into butterflies.
“I said I would give my blessing on the condition that I spoke to you first. This is a commitment that shouldn’t be taken lightly. Marriage brings two lives together irrevocably, and I need to know you and Lord Hale are in accord with your feelings. No matter what anyone says, a marriage devoid of love is not something one can easily stomach.” James paused to wipe his glasses with his handkerchief. When he replaced them, he locked gazes with Emmeline. His dark eyes darted over her features as if truly seeing them for the first time. “You look so much like your mother when she was your age. Madeline of all people would tell you how hard a loveless marriage can be. Archibald Jardine wasn’t exactly her first choice, but he was the practical choice. Practical choices aren’t always the right ones.”
He sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. “What I’m getting at is, before you speak with him, I want to know how you honestly feel about Lord Hale. If you don’t love him, I can send him away. You needn’t feel pressured by an unwanted advance. Now, tell me, do you think you love him or is he merely the most pragmatic option?”
“Both,” Emmeline replied without a moment’s hesitation. “Against hope, I have wished for this, even if I thought him out of my reach.”
“Very well. You may go and see your beau. Tell him, I have given my blessing.”
With a wave of his hand, she was dismissed, and he returned to his typewriter and notes. A wide grin broke across her features as she resisted the urge to rush down the stairs and leap into Lord Hale’s arms. Her legs shook with each measured step until she and Lord Hale stood face-to-face. She needn’t say anything. The brightness in her features told him all he needed to know, and he dropped to one knee. Staring down at him as he pulled a box from his pocket and met her gaze with joyous hazel eyes, she found no trace of the darkness Claudia warned her of.
“Emmeline Jardine, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
She nodded, words escaping her as she flung her arms around his neck and drew him in for a kiss. He stumbled back, catching her mouth and waist in the same motion. Heat rose through his form at the brush of her lips on his and her fingers creeping along his neck and cheek. Drawing back, he found her sitting on his outstretched knee with her arms around his neck and her forehead resting against his. With unsteady hands, he pulled the ruby ring from its box and slid it up her finger. The gem glinted in the light as she inspected her hand.
Drawing in a tense breath, he stifled an anxious laugh. He leaned in close as he said barely above a whisper, “You have made me the happiest man, Emmeline. We will be unstoppable together, and with our combined lineages, we could create a dynasty of practioners the likes London has never seen.”
“My mother would have liked you. Cunning, handsome, and with a title. Best of all, you’re obviously very brilliant.”
He looked at her strangely, but then a wan smile crossed his lips. “And why am I suddenly so brilliant?”
“Because you picked me, of course.”
Chuckling, he helped her to her feet and placed a kiss above her brows. “I hate to leave so soon, but Aunt Claudia is waiting for me to return. She has something she wants me to do before nightfall.”
“I understand. I do hope we will see each other soon.”
“Actually, I was going to ask if you would like to accompany me to the Natural History Museum’s gala. Now that we’re engaged, no one should complain when I hog your attention.”
“I would like that very much.”
“Wednesday, then. I’ll meet you there.”
He bent down, placing a soft reverent kiss on her lips. When he pulled away, Emmeline could make out the unmistakable coil of fear within his eyes, but his face softened before lapsing into stony sobriety as he slipped out.
Emmeline closed her eyes and bit her lip with glee. Lord Hale wanted her. He loved her, and soon, she would be Lady Hale. A lady with a handsome husband, multiple houses, and staff to keep her company until they had children. She would never be lonely again.
The boards creaked behind her as she gathered her wits and smothered her mirth to an acceptable level. James regarded her blandly as he turned down the hall to descend into his basement laboratory. At the threshold he stopped and looked back at his niece.
“It’s strange that it should be Lord Hale. I thought we were done with Lord Rose and his ilk, but at least Lord Hales seems to be of different stock.”
“Lord— Lord Rose’s ilk, what do you mean?”
“Charles Leopold, the one who passed the London Spiritualist Society to Lord Rose, had a daughter who married a Lord Hale. He must have been your fiancé’s father.”
With a shrug James disappeared into the shadows. Emmeline’s lungs tightened as she stared at the blood-red stone on her finger. Lord Rose’s ilk.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By Invitation
Immanuel kept his head down, his eyes scanning the words typed in rickety letters without reading them. His gaze flickered to the open door across the hall where vines trailed over nearly every surface and poked out the door as if looking for their owner. Peregrine had been gone nearly all day. Immanuel had seen him in the morning when he first arrived, talking heatedly to Sir William but hadn’t seen him since. His gut gnarled when he added the hours and realized how long Peregrine had been gone. Immanuel’s mind raced to half a dozen horrible possibilities. What if he was down in the storeroom dead or maimed while Immanuel sat at his desk pretending to work? It was foolish to think. After all, Lord Rose was gone for good, and it was obvious that Peregrine could hold his own despite his short stature. Immanuel tried to ignore his foolish thoughts, but he knew he had to prove he was alive and well if he wanted to get any work done.
He chewed his lip. If he walked around the museum asking after him, someone would notice. There was only one way to find him quickly. Slipping from his chair, Immanuel closed his door and pulled the vivalabe from his bag. With a click, it sprung open and the marble and stone balls rolled away. Most stayed locked in their places, but the green ball sprang to life and set off across the etched grid. Immanuel stared down at the vivalabe, trying to match it to his hazy mental map of the museum’s many halls and alcoves. When the ball stopped not far from his own, he knew he had to be below him in the hall reserved for the New Ancient Flora and Fauna Exhibit. Stuffing the vivalabe into his pocket, he snuck out of his office and darted down the stairs.
Pushing past clusters of patrons milling around stuffed specimens of lions and bears, Immanuel spotted the wooden doors leading to the new exhibit with their polished wood and red-lettered sign that read Museum Employees Only. Despite being inside the secret ancient flora and fauna exhibit nearly every day, seeing the sign and knowing he could go inside unimpeded still set Immanuel’s heart aflutter with the fear he would be caught. He was an imposter, an invader, and part of him still worried he would be discovered.
In the exhibit’s main hall, Immanuel slowed his pace. Hugging the wall, he kept his face downcast as he passed Sir William Henry Flower barking orders at curators’ assistants and a few men he recognized from the loading dock. If he caught Sir William’s eye, there was no telling what task he would be given and he needed to find Peregrine. Immanuel wandered away from the main hall only to find walls of specimens carefully hung and mounted, their cards tacked beside them. Stopping before a cabinet of dried seeds of ranging from minute sprigs to heart-shaped pods, a smile spread across his lips. He had written the information for them. It was strange to see his work amount to something. In the days he had been absent from the museum, the exhibit had gone from cr
ates and stacks of research notes to an exhibit worthy of an educated audience. Part of him wished he could have been there to help.
He followed the trail of specimens until he reached a dead-end hall lined with shadow boxes of leaves from all corners of the globe. At the end, Peregrine Nichols stood in front of an upturned tree stump the size of a steamer. The petite curator stared up at it, his mouth agape and his head shaking. Muttering under his breath, he dipped a rag in wood polish and stood on tiptoe to apply it to the edge of the massive stump.
“Peregrine, I—”
“Look what they sent me! Look at this thing. What am I supposed to do with this? Bloody Americans decided to make an endowment only days before the gala. Now I’m supposed to count tree rings until I turn blue. Do you know how long that’ll take? All bloody day, that’s how long!”
Immanuel swallowed hard, watching the shorter man muttered again as he wiped the oily spot where he had attempted to polish the wood. “Do you need any help? I can’t reach the top, but I can do something.”
“You aren’t busy?” When Immanuel shook his head, Peregrine hooked his thumb toward a bucket of polish and the pile of rags behind him. “What are you doing down here? Didn’t Sir William leave you with a stack of cards to quadruple check?”
“He did, but I’ve read them so much I can’t bear to look at them again. They’re fine. I actually came down to speak with you.”
“Oh?” Peregrine raised an eyebrow, casting Immanuel a glance as he easily reached far above his head but recoiled with a grimace. “Side still hurting?”
“It’s healing,” Immanuel winced. Dropping his voice, he stepped closer until their arms nearly touched. “Have you spoken to Miss Elliott since we met?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Yesterday, I stopped by her office, and we got to talking. She thinks the Eidolon Club might be planning something for the night of the gala.”
Keeping one eye on Sir William, he told Peregrine the story of the battle with the revenant, the spell book and the powerful ritual the Eidolon Club might attempt. Peregrine released a low whistle and shook his head.
“Fantastic. Just what we need: a bunch of radical practioners trying to summon god knows what and the director breathing down our necks. Elliott better be on top of this because I’m not. I can’t not attend the gala.”
“Do— do you think anything will happen at the gala?”
“Do I think they’ll hold a ritual in the middle of the great hall? No.”
“But they supposedly need the vivalabe, and they only have two days to get it. Unless they catch me between now and then, the gala would be the best place to steal it.” Immanuel swallowed hard but snapped to attention when he realized he was drawing a sigil across the wood’s grain.
“Did you ask Elliott if Lady Rose will be there?”
“No, but I have this sinking feeling that something is going to happen.”
“Of course you do. You were knifed in the storeroom. I would be punchy too. Look, if you’re so worried, why don’t you look at the guest list and see if Lady Rose is on it?”
“Where is it?”
“In Sir William’s office.”
***
Immanuel held his breath as he stood next to Sir William Henry Flower’s office door. His heart pounded in his ears, but it couldn’t drown out his own reservations. He could get caught. He could get fired, but he could get killed if he didn’t know who would be at the gala. Watching a flock of white-haired curators and benefactors pass, Immanuel smiled and nodded a greeting as he pretended to give his exhibit notes one last look. The moment they were out of sight, Immanuel ducked inside Sir William’s office. Standing with his back resting against the molding, he exhaled a slow, silent breath. The room was as imposing as its owner with hulking dark wood on every surface and windows with their curtains drawn to cast the room in a somber grey gloom. Sir William’s heavy desk was flanked with stacks of papers in neat piles precisely squared and set an equal distance apart. Immanuel quickly rifled through the piles, feeling exposed in front of the door’s blurred glass. If someone saw him— He banished the thought as he tidied the papers and turned his attention to the drawers on either side of Sir William’s great leather chair.
Rooting through the first one, Immanuel found financial reports, copies of employee files, and a large tin of Palmer biscuits. He shoved it shut with a huff, but as he opened the next, his eyes lit up. A copy of the gala invitation stared up at him, covered in etchings of a primordial forest framing bold letters that announced the grand event. Beneath it, he found the menu along with a series of names and addresses. His eyes trailed down the names, flipping the pages until he found Miss Judith Elliott, Miss Cassandra Ashwood, the Earl and Countess of Dorset, and on the final page, Lady Claudia Leopold Rose. Immanuel sat back, his mouth dry and his pulse rattling the vessels on his neck with each beat. All those names… None of them had any idea of what was to transpire. Worst of all, Adam and the people he loved would be there. If they couldn’t get the vivalabe from him, would they hurt Adam instead?
As he carefully replaced the papers and stood to leave, a shadow fell across the door’s frosted glass. Immanuel looked at the desk and the narrow space behind the chair but knew he would be found the moment the director went to sit. His heart thundered with panic. There was nowhere else to hide. The doorknob whined, but by the time the door fell open, Immanuel stood behind it with his back and cheek flat against the wall.
“Indubitably. The reporters have backed down. They have more scandalous things to talk about. With beheadings and grave robbery, a little murder is mundane.”
At the sound of Sir William’s voice, Immanuel’s body locked and his eyes clenched tighter. He flattened against the wall paper, hoping he could disappear into it as the director pushed the door toward his chest.
“Yes, sir. Right, sir.”
Peregrine! Immanuel’s mind cried.
“Do you have a moment? I really need to show you something in my office.”
“Not now, Nichols. I have a meeting to attend.”
The door jerked forward as Immanuel slid out and braced himself for a solid hit and subsequent discovery, but the door hovered an inch from his face.
“Wait! Sir William, I heard Dr. Quinn calling for you.”
“Quinn? What does he want now?”
The director released the knob and pulled the door shut behind him. Immanuel released a tremulous exhalation as his energy drained from his limbs, leaving his legs weak and his hands clammy. The moment Sir William disappeared around the bend, Peregrine poked his head in and waved for him to come out. Casting a glance in either direction, Immanuel darted out to stand at Peregrine’s side. He drew in a tremulous breath, hoping the flush would leave his cheeks. The moment his heart calmed, he looked up in time to see Sir William return, his brows arched in confusion at the two men lingering outside his door.
“Quinn must have gone out.” Seeing it was Immanuel, the director released a huff and reached for the door. “You too, Winter? What is it you want? Get on with it. I still have the press to deal with because of you two.”
Immanuel reached into his jacket and handed over a pile of typed notecards. “I finished the exhibit cards you asked for, sir. I figured you would want to give them your final approval. Nichols, would you come to my office? I have a question about a certain botanical specimen.”
The director watched them as Immanuel and Peregrine turned on heel. Out of Sir William’s sight, Immanuel released a tense breath the second he could. He had gotten away with it. He couldn’t believe he had done it.
As they reached the wide hall of offices, Peregrine cast a glance over his shoulder and asked softly, “So, what’s the verdict?”
“I think we’re in grave trouble.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Memory of Bones
Peregrine’s reassurances of his safety did little to put Immanuel’s mind at ease. Though he had seen the amount of strength hidde
n within the botany curator’s small frame, Immanuel couldn’t help but think it would prove useless against someone like Lady Rose. Staring at his stack of notes, his left eye blurred. Immanuel futilely wiped at it, but the smudge in his vision stubbornly remained. He released a frustrated sigh and closed his eyes. Lord Rose had been a cruel, ruthless man, and she had married him. A wife. It was hard to picture the man in the devil mask standing at the altar promising to love and cherish anything. He couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, suffered from his cruelty. If she was anything like him, he didn’t stand a chance.
A light knock rattled the glass of his door, and when Immanuel looked up, he found Peregrine Nichols slipping inside. The little man’s eyes ran over him, lingering on his face before sliding along the contents of his desk. Immanuel mustered up a neutral expression, but even he knew it was a wasted effort.
“Still fretting about the gala?”
Staring down at his ink-stained hands, Immanuel nodded.
“I can’t say I blame you. I don’t know much about Lady Rose, but you seem to. Look, you need to just keep your wits about you. I’m going to stop by Interceptor headquarters and catch Elliott before she leaves. I’ll tell her what you found about the gala invitations.”
“Thanks. Let me know if she has any advice or if there is a plan of some sort. I can only imagine the Interceptors would do something to stop her.”
Peregrine shrugged, picking up a jar of seashells from the nearest bookshelf. “It’s hard when you don’t know what they’re planning. I mean, if there were more people involved, it would be easier. Someone always talks, but with a cabal this small, who knows. They were lucky Sumner said anything. It must be unsavory if a man like him is willing to tarnish his reputation by admitting he even knew of it.”
Dead Magic Page 23
