Page 14 of Twice Upon a Midnight
He punctuated that pronouncement by popping another bite of sweet roll into his mouth.
Spenser rolled his eyes, but there was no point in denying it. Martin knew him too well for that. Part of the reason he still took care of the old man was because they’d become fast friends, and Martin reminded Spenser of the father he should have had. At the very least, a troublesome old uncle he could confide in. Sometimes, he was certain the old man was proud of Spenser’s accomplishments, even though he had nothing to do with them.
“You like her, don’t you?” When Spenser didn’t answer, Martin repeated, this time as a declaration, “Youlikeher!”
To hide his consternation, Spenser pushed himself out of the chair and busied himself at the fireplace. “What’s not to like?” He peered into the small coal box at the side of the mantel and grabbed out the last few black bits, then made a show of starting a small fire. “She’s smart, sharp as a whip, sassy—”
“That pretty, eh?”
“No.” When Spenser sank down onto his heels, he corrected, “That beautiful.” With a grimace, he admitted, “Her name is Ella, and she loves literature.”
Martin laughed as Spenser finished starting the fire. After a few minutes, they had a warm, if small, fire against the cold morning. Spenser made another mental note to have one of his apprentices bring over a print or two for the walls to brighten up the place, perhaps some flowers—
Spenser froze. Flowers?For a man like Martin? Good lord. Encountering Ella last night reallyhadaffected him.
“So what do you plan on doing about her?”
Spenser rose to his full height and slapped his hands together to wipe the coal dust from his fingers, although the gesture was an empty one given the black ink stains that always marked his hands. What coal dust could ever be seen against those? “What can I do? You know how society works. Her sort and mine never mix.”
“You mixed well enough last night.”
“Only because I was there uninvited.” He added a bit guiltily, “And because she didn’t know who I was.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell her that I’m the unwanted stepson of a duke? That I’m nothing but a printer? That I work with my hands for a living instead of living off the labor of others?” He shook his head as he rested his arm across the mantelpiece and frowned down into the fire. “Do you think she would have let me dance with her if she knew I might tarnish her?”
Martin scoffed. “Tarnish! You would never—”
“For God’s sake! I wasn’t invited to that ball for a reason.” He raked his fingers through his hair. He’d been frustrated since he’d had to flee the party and leave Ella so suddenly, without the chance to say goodbye. “The duke and duchess don’t even know who I am. At the very least, they might know I’m Pensworth’s stepson, but even then, I wasn’t good enough to receive one of over a thousand invitations.”
“What you are, lad, is one of the most successful businessmen in London, the second most successful printer in England, and the owner of a shop that’s the pride of Paternoster. Your library is equal to your weight in gold, one of the finest—no,thefinest private library this side of the Channel. And you did it all through your own hard work, smarts, and sweat. None of those aristocratic dandies from last night can say the same.” He lowered his breath and added, “Certainly not your brother Simon.”
Spenser’s mouth twisted. “Well, when you put it like that…” He faced Martin and leveled a hard look at him that brooked no misunderstanding of exactly where Spenser stood in the world’s hierarchy. “I’m still not good enough for her.”
“More than you realize,” Martin countered. “The world is changing. The old order isn’t as fixed as it once was.”
Spenser scoffed at that. Anyone who witnessed last night’s spectacle wouldn’t be able to honestly argue that.
“You have to show her you’re interested,” Martin continued. “Send her flowers and love notes and those poems you’re always reading. You haveto try, lad, or else you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Spenser said nothing and turned back toward the fire. What was the point in trying?
Last night was a singular, wonderful event that would never happen again. Unlike Martin, he knew how rank and rule worked in English society. He wasn’t fool enough to dare think all the poets in all the world could ever change that.
Yet his foolish heart refused to accept the truth. The temptation of seeing Ella again was simply too great.
He glanced up at Martin, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Send her a note, you say?”
The old man grinned and popped the rest of the roll into his mouth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
E
lla stared out the window at the passing city as the carriage made its way from Mayfair toward home in St James’s. Her chest rang hollow with disappointment, and she murmured, “We’ll never find him at this rate.”
Their search was not going well.
