The thought was tempting. It was always tempting. However, we’d traveled down that path and no one wanted to hear the truth. I understood, in a way, that without any evidence to support our outrageous claims, there was no proof that the charming American con man was also the notorious Jack the Ripper. He vehemently denied any connection to the crimes, and without a confession, there wasn’t much anyone could do. Ripper madness had died down in the hearts and minds of people, and it seemed no one wished to reopen those wounds. Apparently a few dead “whores” weren’t a top priority any more. Not compared to the crime of the century.

When we returned to London, I’d even gone as far as telling Detective Inspector William Blackburn about my brother and his journals. I’d brought him to the laboratory in my family’s home, and he claimed all it proved was Nathaniel’s affinity for science. Something I ought to understand. I wondered if the detective inspector was being loyal to my father or if he truly couldn’t pursue that lead.

Uncle tried pressing the issue of connecting the crimes—pointing out forensic similarities between the two murder sprees. He showed proof that Holmes was in London during the murders and was in America when they ended. He’d secured samples of Holmes’s handwriting—which was startlingly identical to the notes Jack the Ripper had taunted police with. No one in a position to do anything cared. His colleagues laughed or sneered at him. They thought he was a fame-monger, wishing to see his name back in the papers. Feeling so helpless was abysmal.

Rumors began in upper-class circles that saw Thomas’s name swapped out for more salacious perpetrators: royals. No one spoke of the American killer, nor did they care he was in London during the Autumn of Terror.

They didn’t care that he’d also left a few bodies on the Etruria when we crossed the Atlantic. Nor did they care about a drunken brute whose neck had been nearly sliced clean off in an alleyway behind the Jolly Jack public house. Those cases remained unsolved, begging for attention they wouldn’t get. They were unfortunate, terribly sad, indeed, but that’s the way life was. At least that’s what I’d been told.

H. H. Holmes and Jack the Ripper were now becoming as mythic and legendary as Dracula. They were scary stories told during tea, in bawdy halls and gentlemen’s clubs. How quickly fear could be replaced with laughter. It was always easier to laugh at the devil when we believed he’d been captured.

I angrily swiped the paper off the mattress, flipping to the next ridiculous headline. Witches and vampires and werewolves were apparently having a war in Romania. Villagers blamed scorched plots of land, dead crops, and bloodless goats on the monsters. I sighed. It seemed the only true war was raging between fantasy and reality.

“You’re upset.” Thomas gently touched my face, his expression soft. “Understandably, and I’ll stand by your side, fighting to locate any shred of evidence we can to convince the world who the real Ripper is. I will devote my life to the cause if it would please you.”

I couldn’t help the smile that twitched across my lips. He was certainly dramatic. A trait that was wholly Cresswell. And I wouldn’t have him any other way. “I thought you wanted to start our own agency. Will that be our only case?” I shook my head. “We’ll starve. Though I suppose we can also go about proving vampires don’t exist.”

Thomas took the paper from me, quickly scanning it as he set it aside, chuckling.

“You know, I am quite talented with a sword, Wadsworth. I’ll hunt dinner for you. Or demons and werewolves.” The teasing slowly left his eyes. He picked up my hand, playing with the massive red diamond. He slipped it on and off my finger, almost absently. “Is that your answer, then? You wish to open our own investigative agency? I know we spoke of it…”

My attention shifted to the headline again, and I hardened my resolve.

H.H. HOLMES

AN ARCH-FIEND’S RECORD

“I don’t want to have another case like this one go ‘unsolved,’” I said. “With your deductions and my forensic skills, we will be quite a force to be reckoned with. Consulting on investigations—I can’t imagine a more fulfilling vocation. Our partnership and combined expertise will be beneficial to many. If they won’t listen to us about who Jack the Ripper is, we’ll keep searching for definitive proof, but we’ll also do our best to never allow another career murderer to go unpunished.”

Thomas held the ring in his hand, squinting at it as if it might speak to him. After a moment, he bit his lip. One of the signs he was stalling.

“Well?” I asked. “What sort of smart, witty remark are you debating?”

“I beg your pardon, dear Wadsworth.” He drew back, holding a hand to his heart. “I was imagining our very own sign hanging above the door to our agency.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And?”

“I was trying to picture what we’d call it.”

The tone he used was innocent enough, which indicated trouble on the horizon. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was slowly turning into my uncle. “Please. Please do not suggest that combination of our names again. No one will take us seriously if we call ourselves the Cressworth Agency.”

His eyes flashed with mischief. It struck me that that was exactly what he’d hoped I’d say, granting him the perfect opening for his real intentions. I waited, breath held for the truth.

“What do you think of Cresswell and Cresswell, then?” His voice was casual; however, his expression was anything but. He held the crimson diamond up, never taking his attention from mine. Always and forever watching for the slightest hesitation. As if he would ever not belong to me wholly. “Will you marry me, Audrey Rose?”

I glanced around the room, searching for any upturned bottles or signs of elixirs.

“I thought I already agreed ages ago,” I said. “You’re the one who slipped the ring off my finger. I fancy it right where it’s been.”

He shook his head. “I realized I’d never asked you properly. And then the debacle at the church…” His voice trailed off as he looked at the ring. “If you’ve changed your mind about taking my name, it won’t bother me. I only want you. Forever.”

“You have me.” I touched the curve of his lips, my pulse racing as he playfully nipped at my fingertips. “Is it not enough that we’ve made the happiest of memories this past year? Traveling and living as husband and wife in every sense of the term?”

“I do rather enjoy that part. Now if you’ll just drink too much wine and dance inappropriately, I will die a very happy man.”

His wicked mouth pulled into a grin. He slipped out of bed, ring in hand, and went down on one knee. A sweet vulnerability entered his features as he presented me with the crimson diamond once again. Sir Isaac Mewton, who’d been tolerating our movements in bed thus far, flicked his tail and hopped to the floor. He offered us one annoyed look before dashing out the door. Apparently he was through with declarations of affection for now.

“Audrey Rose Wadsworth, love of my heart and soul, I long to spend forever with you by my side. If you’ll have me. Will you do me the tremendous honor of—”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, our lips brushing as I whispered, “Yes. A million times over, Thomas Cresswell. I want to spend forever adventuring with you.”

My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite.

—ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 2, SCENE 2

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

BEYOND LIFE, BEYOND DEATH; MY LOVE FOR THEE IS ETERNAL

CRESSWELL’S COUNTRY ESTATE

ISLE OF WIGHT, ENGLAND

ONE YEAR LATER

Thomas and I waited, side by side, on the grounds of Blackstone Manor for the exact moment the sun turned the color of sleep. It was a drowsy pink—the kind of lazy shade that took its time fading into darkness. Thomas had charted the colors of the sky each night over the last two months, capturing each shade of tangerine or rose, calculating down to the minute how long we’d have before it collapsed into the purply black of night.

Waves lapped at the shore, the mist rising around the craggy bluffs. It reminded me of spirits, and I wondered if our mothers had managed to bridge the gap between life and death after all. They were certainly represented in both my ring and the heart-shaped locket I wore.

I heard a rather loud sniffle and fought a grin. I’d expected Mrs. Harvey to be sobbing into her handkerchief; I did not expect to see my aunt bawling with Liza’s arm slung about her.

I met my father’s eyes and saw joy shining in them. Uncle sat beside him, trying to ignore Sir Isaac as he settled onto his lap. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe a few tears had also slipped from his eyes. Daciana and Ileana sat together, their gowns sparkling like magic dust in the setting sun. Next came Mrs. Harvey and Noah, both dabbing at their eyes.

The most surprising addition was Thomas’s father. The duke sat with my grandmother and gave us both a small nod, the action enough to inspire hope for cultivating a better relationship with him in the future. In the end, Thomas and I were surrounded by the people we cherished the most, the ceremony small and focused solely on love.

Thomas kept his gaze locked onto the slow procession of the sun, holding his pocket watch in one fist. A peacock strutted down the path, its head bobbing in time with my heart. I grinned. The bird was his idea, unsurprisingly. Thomas flicked his attention to me, his expression softening. “Ready, Wadsworth? It’s time.”

I inhaled the salty scent of the sea. “Finally.”

I took his bare hand in mine, my heart fluttering like a bird in a cage of bone as he smiled back at me. Each shared memory flashed through my mind. From the moment I first saw him rushing down the stairs in my uncle’s laboratory, to the first time we made love, and every second in between our first adventure and today. He stole my breath now just as he’d done then.

His suit was midnight black, edged with champagne whorls at his cuffs and collar to match my dress. My capped sleeves fluttered in the light ocean breeze and I flushed as Thomas slowly scanned me, his attention pausing ever so slightly on my sweetheart neckline.