The rest of the day, Amelia and I catalogued the notes I received. Jane had ordered thank you cards edged in black (for replying to notes of sympathy). After tea, I spent an hour signing them for Amelia to address and send.

Exhausted, I took dinner in my room, Tony at my side. We ate in silence, but gradually my strength returned. “Do we need to fear this invitation from the Clubbs?”

That sent Tony into a long period of motionless staring at his plate. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I fear it nonetheless.”

“At the Grand Ball, didn’t they invite us to visit?” Mrs. Clubb invited us to stay a whole week at Clubb Manor. We’d never been invited there before, which is why the comment marked itself so firmly in my mind. But the visit never occurred.

Tony nodded. “Something happened.” He drained his glass. “I fear they disliked my answer to Lance on Queen’s Day.”

“What’s it to be named?”

Lance Clubb leaned towards me with a wry smile. “They haven’t decided yet. We’re considering the Asking Bid.”

At the time, it seemed he asked us to declare our allegiances. A test, if you will.

I let out a breath, placed my hand on his. “I didn’t know how to answer. Why approach us in front of guests?”

“Why approach us at all? As if I have any say in who the Family allies with.” Tony put down his fork. “My father is still Patriarch, and probably will be long after we’re gone.”

I chuckled at that.

“But perhaps they have approached my father,” Tony said.

This startled me. “They suspect our Family’s divided.”

“And now they know.” Tony shook his head. “Whatever possessed me to name the Harts? My father hates Charles Hart as fiercely as magma hates rock — he wishes nothing less than his utter destruction.”

“But why does he hate him? Do you know?”

Tony held my hand in both of his, kissing it with a desperate intensity. “No, and it frightens me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Did you know he started the Bloody Year?”

Thousands died — long before either of us were born — as Family slaughtered Family. “He did?”

Tony nodded, his eyes still closed. “And he was my age.” He peered at me. “Almost exactly. I don’t understand anything about him. Yet now I’m sure he feels I oppose him. What might a man like that do when taken by such hate?”

* * *

Later, after the servants undressed us, Tony came to me.

I knew what Tony would do and say; back then, it seemed impossible for him to hide his feelings from me.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Let’s lie down and love each other, as we used to before all this tragedy.” He reached up to touch my face, then slid his hand behind my neck and kissed me.

I didn’t love Tony, except sometimes as a brother. But his father Roy put a gun to my head before we were married and told me that if Tony learned this, he would kill me.

Tony put his arms around me, sliding them up and down my back as we kissed, his cock hard against the front of my body.

If I thought about it too much it made my skin crawl.

I must not weep. I had to stop the roiling of my stomach.

I can do this, I thought, as I did almost every night.

My mother trained me in her brothel beside the other girls, in everything but the act itself. That had been forbidden me by my mother’s patron, who I secretly called the Masked Man because of the dark brown leather mask he wore showing only his eyes.

I was never allowed to touch a man, or even to be in the room when others did, always observing in darkness behind sheer curtains. What fault did the Masked Man find in me to forbid me to take my place with the other women?

Maybe he recognized my inability to put aside my personal wishes and fuck a man I didn’t desire.

The thought startled me. Tony said, “What is it?”

Oh, gods, he knows something isn’t right. I took a deep breath. “I felt off-balance.” I forced myself to giggle. “That’s all.”

Tony laughed. “Let’s lie down then, before we fall over.”

We lay down. Tony drew the covers over me, slid his arm under my neck, caressed my face.

My husband was an ordinary-looking man, but the way he gazed at me ... it made me sad. Yes, he was in the Family, but he wasn’t evil: he deserved so much better than this pretense.

Perhaps he saw my sadness, because he said, “Your life has been very hard, I see that now. When you spoke about being put in such danger as a small girl ... it troubled me.”

I shrugged. “What does it matter? All that is past.”

He reached over to smooth my hair. “It matters because it’s part of you. We’ve been in each other’s lives ten years, married almost four, yet I never knew this. It makes me wonder what else I don’t know.” He smiled in a free, relaxed manner, and in that instant he reminded me of the man I loved, Joseph Kerr. “I want to know everything about you, Jacqui. Everything. I love you.”

Oh no. The last thing I wanted was for him to start asking questions, especially about my past. My mind raced, searching for something to divert this line of thought.

And I had an idea.

I hated it. It was so dishonest. And I feared what he might say. Would he think I was too forward? Would he rebuke me? Men here were so different than in the Pot; for a woman here even to smile might be improper, depending on the circumstances.

But I had to do something.

I can do this. “Let’s talk of that later.” I snuggled closer, sliding my trembling hand on his cock. He gasped as I stroked his skin, his body stiffening to my touch.

He closed his eyes, and a deep moan came forth I had never heard him make before. “Oh, Jacqui.”

It seemed, at least for a time, that all discussion was forgotten.

* * *

The intersection was grimy, dark, cold. I was small and frightened.

A reeking hand grabbed my arm. I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t get away! “If she goes, I go with her.”

My best friend Air stared at Peedro Sluff in horror. “No!” He ran towards us brandishing a broken bottle. “Leave her alone!”

Peedro’s gun rose, and he shot Air.

The light left Air’s eyes as they stared into mine. The color left his face, and his little body collapsed into the spray of his own blood.

I stood in the stairwell in Jack’s factory. Bodies lay everywhere. Losing balance, I fell forward onto Air’s chest. His blood, welling up through his shirt, covered my hands.

Stephen, Herbert, Marja, and Anastasia lay crumpled around me.

Air opened his eyes. “We loved you, Jacqui. Why did you kill us?”

Tony held me. “I’m here, my love. You’re safe.”

Tony’s cousin Blitz Spadros, our night footman, opened the door, candle in hand. “Another dream?

Embarrassment flooded over me. I sobbed, “I’m sorry.”

Blitz smiled. “No trouble at all, mum. Good night.”

Tony rocked me as I clung to him, and eventually he slept.

But I did not.