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Thomas set his journal on the table, head canting to the side. “What is it?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re not going to enjoy my thoughts.”
“On the contrary, I find them quite alluring. Especially when they’re untoward.”
This, at least, coaxed a smile to my lips. Reading about mad science and detailed murder seemed to be just the tonic Thomas required to continue flirting shamelessly. My smile disintegrated. “I was thinking about Ayden.”
“Mephisto?” Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Well, then. I hope you were picturing him fully clothed in one of his ridiculous masks and gaudy jackets.” He smiled, much too sincerely, and I braced myself for what had brought about such a contented look. “Covered in maggots might be fun, too. Remember when that happened to Prince Nicolae? It was one of the top moments of my life, really. I swear, sometimes I replay his expression as they shot out of that cadaver onto him and my mood is lifted all day. You ought to try it whenever you’re feeling glum. There”—he grinned widely—“I’m doing it right now and it’s marvelous.”
“Honestly? I scarcely remembered that, and with good reason.” I shook my head. “Also, by the by, we’re in the midst of an investigation and you’re still annoyed about Mephistopheles’s choice in sequins?”
“No.” Thomas bristled. “I’m annoyed I forgot mine and couldn’t strut around in my carnival best, too. Aside from his mediocre jokes, he truly had nothing else going in his favor. Perhaps it was best I didn’t upstage him in that regard as well.”
At my eye roll, he held his hands up. The scoundrel had definitely lightened my heavy mood and he knew it. Perhaps we could make this post-wedding friendship work. It wouldn’t be easy, but most things in life weren’t.
“All right, all right,” he relented. “What were you really thinking?”
“That he and Nathaniel would’ve been good friends.” I flipped the journal open, resuming my scan of the dark material. “Perhaps if my brother had found someone else who enjoyed crafting mechanisms… maybe he would have put his skill to better use. Maybe he’d still be alive.” I traced his writing. “Perhaps those poor women would never have been killed.”
Thomas was up and out of his seat in the time it took me to blink. He sat next to me, wrapping an arm about my shoulders. “Do not travel down that path, Wadsworth. It will only lead to heartbreak. Maybe, perhaps, what if, if only; they all ought to be stricken from the world. At least in our world they ought to be outlawed.” He pressed his lips to my temple, their warmth shocking and pleasant. “Nathaniel made his choices. Regardless of any infinite number of paths he could have taken, he might always end up in that laboratory, flipping that lever. Those women, as brutal as it may sound, would always be in danger based on the nature of what they’d been forced to do to survive. If your brother didn’t kill them himself, if someone else was truly wielding that knife, then their fate might have always been decided. No amount of altering a few facts might change that.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“I do.” Thomas nodded fiercely. “You spoke of choices and mistakes earlier. Nathaniel chose his path. Granted it was a mistake that turned out to be fatal, but he had every right to make it. No matter how wrong we know his actions to be.”
“Yes, but—”
“If it’s true for you and me and anyone else who makes mistakes,” Thomas said, “then it applies to your brother as well. Just because his were on a grander, more wretched scale, doesn’t negate that basic fact. If you can forgive yourself and learn, then see this for what it is. A terrible mistake—on many levels—that ended in tragedy for many people.”
Something deep inside uncoiled slowly at first, then more swiftly. Guilt. Only in its absence did I realize how tightly I’d been holding on to it. Guilt had stalked me since my mother died, and had followed more closely after my brother passed on. I’d blamed myself for both their deaths. I’d grown so used to it, I was almost terrified to let it go.
Forgetting about secret fiancées and all the reasons I ought to keep my distance, I sank against Thomas, using his steadiness as support.
“It’s hard,” I said, swallowing hard. “Letting go.”
“You don’t ever have to let go of them.” Thomas rubbed my arm soothingly. “But you must learn to part ways with both guilt and blame. If you do not, they will latch on like thirsty leeches, bleeding you dry.”
“I know. Sometimes I wish I could change the past. Just once.”
“Ah. That might be a mathematical impossibility for now, but you can alter the future. By taking what you’ve learned yesterday and putting it to practice today, you can build better tomorrows.” He leaned closer, smiling against my neck. “Speaking of a better future. I’ve been thinking of solutions for our problem. At least for—”
“Father will be here within the hour,” Daciana said by way of greeting. Her face flushed a brilli
ant scarlet as she stepped into the room. “He’s come to take you back to England. With… with Miss Whitehall.”
TWENTY-SIX
THE DUKE OF PORTLAND
GRANDMAMA’S GRAND FOYER
FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY
8 FEBRUARY 1889
Grandmama did not enjoy being interrupted, whether it was while reading a good book or choosing her next move in a game of chess. She most certainly despised being woken up at an indecent hour, forced to receive guests she wished to toss into the snow-covered streets.
She inspected Thomas in a way that made me reconsider whether or not I believed in the power of prayer. After what felt like an eternity, she nodded curtly. “You better be worth all the trouble you’re causing.”
