“Then why did we go to all that effort if it didn’t matter?”
“The truth always matters, Mira. The overall outcome, a perfect ending, is never my goal. And yes, this war Circe is planning will likely still happen. But if our efforts may delay it a bit longer, I think it is worth it.”
Mira sighed. It all felt so futile. Every time they took a step towards stopping Circe once and for all, another plot would surface. It was like a hydra. With every head they cut away, more took its place.
“By the way,” Byron said, “Sibyl Hand came to Bolton Street yesterday. Castel related their conversation to me after dinner.”
“Is Bolton the address you gave her?”
Byron nodded. “We’ve arranged for her and her son, along with Elvina and Lucille, to go to America. According to Castel, she seemed in earnest about leaving the thieving lifestylebehind.”
Mira looked up at him. “First Grace Trimbell, now Sibyl. How many ex-Circe members have you two helped to escape?”
His eyes twinkled. “A handful over the years. But don’t you see? This case had so much more to it than Circe and the treaty? If we had left it alone, Sibyl Hand wouldn’t have had the opportunity to escape the Crescent. Miss Harris would likely have been sent to an asylum. She never would have learned why her father was killed. The truth mattered a great deal for them.” He took her hand in his. “My work as a detective may have started because I wanted to stop Circe, but I have continued to do it because of the people I am able to help. It’s impossible to right every wrong, but I will always chase the truth.”
“And fight for it?” Mira asked.
“Exactly.”
They fell silent, walking down the streets of London hand in hand. It wasn’t long before they came to Westminster Bridge where the sunset was in full force, colors rippling over the Thames. It made her want to paint again.
“You know,” Byron said, leaning over the balustrade. “This was where I wanted to propose to you.”
“Oh?”
“When we are apart and I think of you, I like to think of you here. Of us, here. When it’s just the two of us and the light shines through your hair making a golden shining halo. It’s my favorite memory.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her face, his hand brushing her cheek.
Her face flushed, unexpected tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
He pulled his hand away, the warmth lingering. “I’d been planning it for weeks and then lost the opportunity because of that silly spat with Mary.”
“It’s all right,” she said, placing her hand on top of his on thebalustrade.
He shook his head. “No. It isn’t. But I suppose there’s nothing to be done. The important thing is, we’re going to be married.”
Mira looked out over the Thames. It was beautiful. The perfect place. She took his hand and turned it over, pulling the ruby ring from her finger and placing it into his palm.
His brow furrowed.
“Are we engaged?” she said, trying to hide her smile. “I don’t remember you ever proposing.”
He stared at her for a moment. His confusion soon turned to realization, and his smile soon devolved into a hearty laugh. For a moment she was scared he would drop the ring. But then he smiled at her and tucked it away.
“You are quite extraordinary, aren’t you? You anticipate my every move.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box.
“Samira Blayse,” he said. “I may not remember every moment we’ve shared, but because of you I know that love does not persist in memory or even in the heart, but in the soul.”
He kneeled and opened the box, revealing an intricate ring with three hexagonal cut sapphires in a row, with dozens of diamonds following the edge of the band. The position of the stones formed a rhombus that curved along her finger as he slipped it into place.
“The very essence of my being longs for you and I cannot imagine living without you. Will you marry me?”
“You already know the answer.”
“What if I’ve forgotten?”
She cupped his cheek with her hand, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “Of course I will.”
