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A moment later, Liza waltzed into the room, a small gold-foiled box tucked under each arm. She brandished the boxes like they were spoils of war. “Who would like some chocolate?”
We spent the better part of the morning talking about our work and our lives, and Liza had them howling with stories from her misadventures in the country. For the first time in a long while, I was surrounded by a boisterous, happy family. Death and sadness did not invade this sacred space—it was a time for laughter and living well. I wanted to capture this moment and hold it close to my heart forever. I had an uneasy feeling it wouldn’t last.
I glanced at the clock in the parlor, pulse mimicking the rhythm of the second hand as moments ticked by. I’d checked the dining room twice already—everything was perfectly set. The roasted whole pig lay proudly on a bed of herbs. But the true gem was the desser
t station.
It was piled high with tortes and petit fours and French macarons in petal pinks, icy blues, and pale yellows and greens. The chef had even managed a stunning lilac shade I’d never seen before. There were lemon cakes with lavender-infused frosting, puddings, cinnamon buns smothered with icing, and candied plums. I’d also seen to it that a Catherine Basket would be brought out later, the frozen cream fruit confection laid atop a silver service tray covered in fern fronds. It wasn’t the only iced-cream treat I’d commissioned—I’d designed a near-life-size replica of a swan to add a bit of whimsy to the table. The perfect dessert offering for a man with an insatiable sweet tooth.
“Miss Wadsworth?”
I turned at the sound of the butler’s voice. “Yes?”
“The mail just arrived.” He handed me a letter. It was a heavy cream envelope with no return address. I raised a brow.
“This is postmarked last week,” I said, turning it over.
“Weather has been difficult on the postal service, Miss Wadsworth.” He pointed a gloved hand toward a stately piece of furniture. “An envelope opener is in the top drawer of the secretary.”
“Thank you.” I waited until he’d closed the door again before making my way over to the ornate piece of furniture. Like everything else in Grandmama’s home, the edges were covered in a fine lace filigree made of gold. I found the letter opener and tore into the mysterious envelope.
It’s been too long, but worry not, I’ll see you soon enough. Be ready.
I flipped the card over, searching for any clue regarding the sender, but that was it. Two lonely lines. It was written in a hand I didn’t recognize, but it had a feminine feel to it, if such things could be applied to ink on parchment. I cursed myself for sending the previous letter up in flames. Now there was no way to be sure if it had been sent by the same person.
Daciana and Ileana were shopping for their presents for Thomas, so I’d inquire about it when they returned. Since the post was delayed, they’d probably arrived first. I exhaled. That was likely it. My nerves over Thomas’s party—and our engagement announcement—were granting my imagination permission to act out.
To ease my worry, I returned to the dining room, checking it over once more. Aunt Amelia walked in, her sharp gaze landing like a blow on each detail of the room. I went to fumble with my gloves, then stopped. The birthday party would be a success because we were celebrating Thomas. Little did my aunt know, we’d also be celebrating our shared news. I didn’t want to ruin my evening by developing an acidic stomach because the linens weren’t pressed within an inch of their lives.
Tonight, the only thing that would stand out in our memories was being surrounded by our loved ones. In ten years, I’d think back to the butterflies fluttering in my center, the quiet anticipation of unveiling the dessert table along with my ring.
Bolstered by what truly mattered, my own gaze swept across the room as surely as it assessed the dead. I was confident in the laboratory. I would be here, too. There was no reason I couldn’t marry the two parts of my life together as well.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” I asked cheerfully. My aunt pursed her lips but nodded. “Thomas will be pleased with the whole roasted boar. Though I suspect he’ll be mesmerized by the sweets.” I lifted my cane, pointing out the table filled with desserts from all over the world. “I imagine he might skip the main course entirely.”
Aunt Amelia drew in a long breath. The idea of eating only sweets obviously broke all sorts of polite society rules, though she was too well-bred to argue if Thomas wished to dine on pastry. He outranked everyone in the house, though he never acted as if he did.
She cleared her throat delicately. “The iced-cream swan is exceptional. I can’t imagine the artistry involved with crafting the mold. The details of the seeds for eyes is…” Aunt wet her lips, seeming to think long and hard about her next words. It was a miracle. “It’s a feat even Her Majesty would be inspired by, I’m sure.”
“Thank you.” I flushed, pleased by her hard-earned praise. I walked over to the life-size sculpture. It was grand. Liza had chided me for fussing, but the end result was magnificent. “Those are actually licorice drops. I hired a confectioner as well.”
At this my aunt appeared rather impressed. She lifted her chin in approval. “Lovely touch. Have you seen to the wine list? You’ll need to pair it well with each course. Although”—she strummed gloved fingers across the linen—“you may wish to not serve red tonight.”
I’d given my cousin as much freedom as she wished in choosing the pairings. I had focused on ordering champagne and rose petals for our toast. I didn’t know why my aunt was opposed to a red blend. Before I could inquire, she continued, crinkling her nose.
“No one needs to be reminded of blood. Especially after that horrid article.”
My focus snapped to my aunt. “What article?”
Seemingly irritated for having brought it up, she marched over to the sideboard and pushed a newspaper into my hands. They trembled ever so slightly as I read the headline.
ATROCIOUS MURDER.
Another Crime of the “Jack the Ripper” Type in New York City.
Without giving me a chance to finish the dreadful piece, she plucked the paper from my fingers. “I’ll mention the wine situation to the butler. You’re certain everything else is ready?”
“Yes, Aunt.” My response sounded wooden even to my own ears, but I feared the mask of calmness I’d donned was slipping. This was a nightmare. No matter how far I traveled or how hard I pushed it from my mind, Jack the Ripper stalked me, invading every aspect of my life. Before she could whip my nerves into a bigger tizzy, I dipped my head. “Excuse me. I need some air before the festivities begin.”
