Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(41)
First Thomas and now my father. If this had been one of Liza’s novels, I’d probably have to face this question another dozen or so times before my journey was complete. I listened to the steady beat of my heart, waiting for a whisper of doubt or a niggle of uncertainty.
Standing in my wedding gown, hair flowing most scandalously down my back in loose waves, with a braid of flowers and pearls twisted into a coronet about my crown, I glanced at the scarlet diamond glittering from my finger.
“When I imagine my life without Thomas, that’s the only time I worry.” I hugged my father. “I’m quite sure about us, though I’m sad to leave you.”
“Me, too. We shall both visit often.” Father sniffled and gave me a short, curt nod as he straightened. “Let’s see you two off, then, hm?”
“I love you, Father.”
He looked at me once more, his eyes filled with emotion, and I wondered if the same memories were playing through his mind. Me climbing onto his lap while he’d crafted mechanical toys in his office. The two of us dashing through the gardens and hedge maze at our country home, Thornbriar. Our whole family
—Mother, Nathaniel, Father, and me—sitting out on the lawns of Hyde Park, enjoying a picnic along with the fairies Father had claimed were all around us.
He swore folklore held kernels of truth—that evidence waited for curious little children to unravel the mystery of the Fair Folk and other, darker mythological creatures.
All of it seemed as if it had occurred yesterday. And yet it also felt as if a hundred years had passed. I glanced down at my bouquet, at my mother’s heart-shaped locket, which Liza had thoughtfully woven around the stems. I hoped there was an ever after, and that my mother and brother were both smiling down upon me now. I certainly missed them and all the memories we never had the chance to make.
“Ready?” Father asked, squeezing my hand gently.
I took a deep breath and nodded. It was time to create new memories together. We’d do it for ourselves and our loved ones. As we stepped up to the aisle, a pipe organ began playing Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” My hand tightened on Father’s arm ever so subtly as everyone in attendance turned to watch us enter the room. I paused for a moment, breath stolen, as I finally got my first glimpse of the chapel.
From the flowers to the lush greenery and colors chosen, it was gorgeous yet somehow a bit dangerous. Light with a hint of dark. Like dappled sunlight slipping into a moss-covered forest deep in the woods of Ireland or some other more magical land.
“It’s like the enchanted forest you used to tell us about,” I whispered to Father. I blinked tears away. Liza must have recalled how much I’d adored those stories as a child. Back before I’d been altered by death.
Garlands made of fern fronds, eucalyptus greens, lamb’s ears, and white cabbage roses were strung along the pews. Strings of peonies hung in varying intervals from the rafters like a canopy of petals. On the altar, a large decanter with red roses sat majestically—a centerpiece that demanded attention. Instead of setting the flowers right side up, Liza had opted to put the blossoms in the water, leaving the stems and thorns pointing heavenward. It was strangely beautiful and wholly unique.
Orchids and more peonies in purples and petal pink were also woven into the floral design. My favorite flowers mixed with Thomas’s, each coming together to create something magnificent. There was so much to see, yet the only thing my gaze was desperate to find was—
Thomas.
The priest stepped aside, revealing my love in all his splendor. I suddenly forgot how to breathe. I felt everyone’s gaze as it landed on me, heard their intake of breath, but could only concentrate on not grabbing my skirts and rushing to the young man standing at the end of the enchanted aisle. My dark prince.
Somehow, my father and I finally reached the end of the petal-strewn pathway. I took the final step, kissed my father good-bye, and barely breathed as he placed my hand in Thomas’s waiting grasp. It did not escape my notice that he appeared to be the heir to a dynasty.
Thomas Cresswell looked more regal than Prince Albert. His black suit was tailored perfectly to his frame, hugging the angles and lines that were so sharp
they made one consider sinking to one’s knees in supplication. Surely he had to be an angel sent directly from Heaven.
His hair was styled with pomade and his eyes were filled with a steadiness I didn’t know I’d been craving until I drank it in. I spied an orchid dusted with glitter—my favorite flower—pinned to his lapel, and any remaining tension left my limbs at once. That dear detail was all Thomas, and I had to remind myself to not kiss him senselessly. It looked like a painting he’d created of an orchid with stars within its petals. After deducing how much I favored the flower, he’d married our two loves together. Much like we were about to do.
I clasped his hands and he took a deep, shuddering breath. My gaze immediately dropped to his lips and lingered. I wondered if flashes of last night were playing across his mind, or if I was truly the only devious one.
“You are exquisite, Audrey Rose,” he whispered.
I allowed one more, indecently long assessment of his form, much to the priest’s dismay. His suit stretched across broad shoulders, and silver thread trimmed the collar, matching the silver whorls in his dark gray waistcoat. He was utterly magnificent. I recalled another time I’d had similar thoughts back in Romania. I hadn’t been truthful then. I’d not keep my heart from him now.