All Men of Genius

by Lev AC Rosen

  “Go wait in the garden,” Jack said. “I need to get back inside.” Violet nodded, but kept her eyes focused on Illyria awhile longer before heading into the garden. She looked at all the flowers, which were blooming and radiant. The dahlias in particular were stunning, she noted, and she observed the mathematics of their pattern and how the petals seemed to climb ever higher.

  “Oh,” said a voice behind her. She turned. It was the duke.

  She bowed her head instantly. “Sir, I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to see me, but Cecily wrote to me and asked me to meet her here, and I came because I wanted to apologize to her.” Violet found she was speaking very quickly.

  For a few moments, the only sound was of the river and the waterwheel. Violet stared at the ground.

  “Volio has been sent to prison for the rest of his life,” the duke said.

  “That’s good,” Violet said, staring at her feet. The silence continued.

  “I think Cecily arranged this. She asked me to meet her here as well.”

  Violet looked up at him. He looked tired, and his eyes were wet. “I should apologize to you as well, sir. I … I did not think we would become close. I only wanted to show you that you should let women into Illyria.”

  The duke laughed, a harsh sound. “And you have made your point,” he said. “I have already decided to begin accepting female applicants. Though I doubt any will be as brilliant as you.”

  Violet did not know what to say to this, so she just looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Why are you crying?” the duke asked, stepping forward. When he had walked away from her at the faire he had been stunned, but by the time he had reached Illyria he was angry. It had been a public humiliation. He, who supposedly cultivated intelligence in brilliant young minds, hadn’t even noticed that one of his students and the woman he was falling in love with were the same person. Was she trying to make him look like a fool? Was that part of her plot–not only to gain entry to Illyria by subterfuge, but to seduce him? Why had she written to him like that? Why had she let him send her that ridiculous flower he had put so much work into? Did she write back to him just so he wouldn’t notice she stood beside him in the classroom, at the river? Were the affections he thought he saw in her letters native to his own mind, or put there as part of her overall scheme? Didn’t this vast lie just indicate a thousand more, tiny, supporting lies?

  There was a lot to deal with those next few days, in the wake of Volio’s madness. He spoke to the police, the students. And in the meantime, Violet had never returned to Illyria, he noted with a strange mix of feelings that made it impossible to eat. He put her out of his mind. He didn’t speak of her. He couldn’t stand to be around Cecily, seeing her cry over the same person Ernest himself wanted to cry over. Why had Violet done this to him, his family, his school?

  And why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Whenever there was a lull, when he rode in a carriage or made himself eat something alone in his lab, she crept into his thoughts. He knew it was his father’s damned foolish policy that had made her do it, but he planned to change it next year, anyway. Couldn’t she have waited until then?

  He would never see her again, he’d decided. He would put her, and all ideas of love, out of his mind forever, because it could not be worth going through all the betrayal, the feeling like a fool, ever again.

  And because there would never be a more perfect woman.

  But then, seeing her in the garden again, crying, he felt all his resolve melt. He loved her so completely, he suddenly couldn’t help but forgive her her deceptions, forgive her her tricks. She had broken his heart, and he could forgive her that, too. He knew who she was, why she had enacted her scheme. She had been honest in every letter, had been honest when she spoke to him as Ashton, or as honest as she could be. He knew he loved her, still; knew the instant he saw her. It suddenly all made sense to him: his kiss with Ashton, who was really Violet; those moments they spent together on the river. Somehow knowing it was Violet made him love her even more.

  “I wish we had met under different circumstances,” Violet said. “Then we could be happy now.”

  “We?” the duke asked.

  “I cannot expect you to love me, after what I have done,” Violet said, “but your letters, even being with you when I was Ashton … they were my happiest moments. I fear, sir, that I am still in love with you.”

  “Oh, Violet,” he said, stepping forward. She stepped back, her head down.

  “But I know I have deceived you horribly.”

  “I don’t care,” the duke interrupted. “I admire you more for it. I was … unsettled by your revelation, and I admit I felt deceived, and hurt, and foolish for hours afterward. But I also could see why you did it. A mind such as yours … You deserve the best the world can offer you. Illyria is the best. Had I been you, I would have done whatever I could to get into Illyria as well. Nothing else would have satisfied me.” He paused. “So, I forgave, I think. I do forgive you.”

  Violet looked up, smiling. Tears were pouring down her face. Ernest could stand it no longer. He took her and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, their bodies fitting together like two parts of an engine. Ernest didn’t care about her lies, her deception. He cared about only one thing: He loved her. They parted, and Violet looked up at him through long wet lashes.

  “Ernest,” she said, and his heart spun to hear her say his name.

  “Will you marry me, Violet Adams?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Yes, Ernest.” And they kissed again, while Cecily and Jack, who had been watching from the bushes, applauded.

  XLIII.

  THE wedding of Ernest, Duke of Illyria, and the noted lady scientist, Violet Adams, who had herself obtained a little fame and a little infamy at that year’s Science Faire, was a grand spectacle. They chose not to be married in church, but in Illyria itself, with the Great Hall decorated and filled with chairs for the guests. Banners hung from the great gears on the wall in such a way that they rotated in time, so they kept flapping in the wind, giving the feeling that the wedding was taking place outside, and that a hundred white flags were waving in its honor.

  The bride wore a long gown of white silk, and was accompanied by her matron of honor, Miriam Isaacs, who carried the train for her. Both her father and her brother escorted her down the aisle to give her away, and in the front row, the family’s servant, Mrs. Wilks, could be seen blowing her nose most furiously, and crying. Violet’s veil was long, but as transparent as possible, as she had felt that being veiled was not something she wanted to do much more of in her life.

  The groom was done up in his ducal finery. In a most unorthodox move, he had chosen his lady cousin and ward, Cecily Worthing, to be his best man and ring bearer. She wore dark blue, and could be seen throwing glances to one of the groomsmen, Mr. Jack Feste, who would wink at her in return.

  The ceremony was officiated by a great clergyman of some renown, who isn’t particularly important to this story, and a powerful speech was given by the groom’s godmother, Ada Byron, who toasted the wedding of love and science. In the crowd could be seen all the students and professors of Illyria, applauding the happy match.

  Afterwards, the party, which was far too large for the garden, retired there anyway. Champagne was served and rice thrown as the now husband and wife clasped each other’s hands in the breeze, surrounded by those they loved, and by those who loved them.

  “I believe,” Ada Byron said to Ernest, “that I have won my bet.”

  “Indeed you have,” Ernest said with a laugh. “So you may choose a student for next year.”

  “Well, then, I choose Violet, Duchess of Illyria.” Ada said, “You must promise to keep her in school, despite your nuptials.”

  Ernest laughed again. “No, dear Godmother, you cannot choose Violet, for I have already insisted on her continuing at Illyria next year. I would never dream of denying my school her brilliance,” he said, and kissed her o
n the cheek. Violet laughed.

  “Then I’ll have to find someone else,” Ada said, sipping her champagne. “And you, Violet? Do you plan to remain true to science and stay a student of Illyria?”

  “Dear Godmother,” Violet said with a smile, “I keep science for life. And now, I shall keep Ernest, too.” Violet closed her hand tight around the duke’s, their fingers interwoven like perfectly fitted gears.

  They all raised their glasses in a toast to keeping earnest, and their laughter carried like song on the wind, overpowering even the noise from the gears of Illyria.

  Special Thanks

  ALTHOUGH it should be clear by now that I am talented and beautiful, I also endeavor to surround myself with talented, beautiful people. Without them, this book would not be what it is today, and I would most certainly be a puddle of crazy-beautiful-talent, oozing on the hardwood floors. These people are all amazing and they deserve as many thanks as I can give them, which alas, are limited to two pages:

  My family, and in particular my parents, who have supported me above and beyond the call of any parents throughout this whole “I’m going to be a writer” fantasy. My mother has probably read more drafts of this book than I have, correcting and commenting late into the night.

  And my agent, Joy, who is family as well at this point. No one fights harder with me, and no one fights harder for me, whether I made the changes or not. She is my paladin. No one looks out for me like she does.

  My editor, Liz, who not only made my sentences clear and readable, but helped me craft the best version of the book I wanted, and didn’t give up even when the Technical Difficulties began.

  Leslie, not just for being amazing, but also for her feedback, and also for explaining to me, very slowly, every minute detail of the business and helping me through more than one crazy moment.

  Robin, Paula, Laura, Holly, and Stella, who have pored over this manuscript countless times and given me constant feedback, support, and humor, not just in regards to writing this book, but in regards to writing in general.

  Cassie, for all the amazing work getting my book out there, and also showing me how to dress.

  Sam, Alexis, and Logan, not just for their excellent feedback, but for explaining how science works, and how I can best defeat it.

  Jackie, Rebecca, Aire, Mary, Rora, Christina, Angela, and Barry, for their invaluable and brilliant feedback, finessing, and advice.

  Barry and Desiree, for making me look way better than I do in real life, and Elyn and Macie, for the support and encouragement.

  Dan, for doing what everyone above has done, and also telling me I should maybe, possibly be a writer to begin with (no taking it back now).

  Larabell, Antonella, Allie, and everyone at David Black, for all the hard work they’ve put into this, and how universally awesome and funny they all are.

  Bridget, Aubrey, Irene, Patti, Miriam, and everyone at Tor, for being so warm, welcoming, and dedicated.

  Max, for being my go-to Latin Scholar, and for letting me flirt quite outrageously with him.

  And Chris, for just being Chris.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ALL MEN OF GENIUS

  Copyright © 2011 by Lev AC Rosen

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Liz Gorinsky

  A Tor® eBook

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Rosen, Lev AC.

  All men of genius / Lev AC Rosen.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

  ISBN 978-0-7653-2794-9

  1. Women science students—Fiction. 2. College students—Fiction. 3. London (England)—Fiction. 4. Steampunk fiction. I. Title.

  PS3618.O83149A79 2011

  813'.6—dc22

  2011021544

  First Edition: October 2011

  eISBN 978-1-4299-9501-6