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…