Then I had to wonder why I was so willing to justify Lord Henry’s deception while I felt so betrayed by Lizzie’s scheme. Both pretended to be something they weren’t in order to achieve some goal. Lord Henry was living a lie, hiding his activities from everyone, while Lizzie had only lied to the general. She had admitted what she was doing to me, and it seemed to be a one-time-only event. Still, it felt different and I didn’t understand why.

If I was honest with myself, I wasn’t blameless either. I hadn’t let Lord Henry or the Mechanics know that I had magical abilities that implied I was the result of an illegal liaison. I was working among the Mechanics while being something I knew they hated. Perhaps I had been too harsh on them.

The next morning, I arrived in the breakfast room as breakfast was being set out to find Lord Henry already there, seated at the table with his head bent over the newspaper. I held my breath and hovered in the doorway for a moment, tempted to turn back and wait until later to eat. I didn’t know what to think of him anymore. Shockingly, it wasn’t his criminal activities that first came to mind, but rather the recollection of his hand on my waist, with only my nightgown between us. I unconsciously moved my own hand up to my waist at the memory.

But this morning I was armored in my layers of undergarments, corset, and woolen dress, and my hair was safely knotted at the back of my head. He was fully dressed as well, and his spectacles were back in their accustomed position, making it easier for me to pretend that he was exactly what he appeared to be instead of so much more.

“Good morning, Lord Henry,” I said as I forced myself to enter the room. When he looked up at me, I knew he’d slept even less than I had. Behind his glasses, his eyes were bloodshot with dark shadows underneath.

“Miss Newton,” he said mildly, but there was a slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw that made me wonder what he thought of the night before.

When the servants finished arranging the breakfast dishes and brought us tea, I asked, “How bad was the damage last night?”

“Not as bad as I feared. A few broken windows, some red paint thrown against walls, and any wooden fences were burned, but it wasn’t wholesale destruction. I suspect it was meant more as a demonstration than as a real attack. The neighbors thought it was the Irish from the slums, but this is a very long way for them to travel to throw a few rocks.”