The only room with any real life was the nursery. I spent more and more time there with Justine, Ernest, and William. And even though I had done my best to avoid the boys all these years—preferring to be responsible for only Victor rather than taking on even more Frankensteins—they were…rather delightful. It was probably Justine’s effusive love of them infecting me, but Ernest was at an age where he tried to speak like an adult, and William was at an age where he tried to copy Ernest, and they were both so absurd and simple and easy to please.

“Actually,” William said, watching Ernest pack his things for school one morning, “I am going to school soon, too.”

“That is an incorrect use of the word actually,” I said. “You were not correcting him or disputing any information, merely stating a fact.”

Justine frowned at me. “You hush! If you dare correct another thing he says, I will banish you! And, William, you are not going to school soon. I have you all to myself for a few years yet.”

William gave her a sloppy, wet kiss. I wanted to wipe my own cheek just seeing it. Ernest and I shared a knowing look of disgust, then laughed.

Victor had never been this way, even as a child. They were nothing like him. Maybe it was because they had Justine instead of me. Had I truly helped Victor, or had I made him even more unusual? The madness I had seen of his work in Ingolstadt made me wonder.

But he had gone mad without me. Not with me.

Shaking off the worry, I volunteered to see Ernest off at the dock for school. I was tempted to row into town with him and check to see if there had been any letters, but that promised anxiety. It had not been that long. I would wait.

Victor would write.

“Should I bring you back a flower?” Ernest called as the boat pulled away.

“No! Bring me back an equation. The most beautiful equation you can find!”

He giggled, and I smiled. It was unfeigned. These boys were too easy to make happy. They reminded me of Henry, which made me sad. So I went back inside, intending to stop at the kitchen to find some little treat for William. Soon I would spoil them as much as Justine did. I was doing it to make myself feel better, but it was working.

I paused in the grand entry, staring at the huge double doors that led to the dining room. There, carved into the wood more than a century before, was the Frankenstein family crest. How many times had I traced those lines, willing myself a place on that shield? How often had I imagined myself crouching behind that shield, claiming the protection of the Frankenstein name—a name that had never been given to me?