Page 22 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“Don’t limit your dreams,” he mumbled to himself, the old phrase one his mother used to tell him all the time as a boy.

Yet the dirty apron covering his clothes and the black stains on his hands reminded him that those dreams would never bring him fully into society, while the money and respect he earned as a successful businessman excluded him from the world of the working class. This shop might have been the one place where he felt the most at ease, but outside its walls, he was a man caught between worlds. Most likely he always would be, despite his grand plans to parlay his work into a business that would take him far beyond printing and into all kinds of merchandise, shipping, and warehousing.

“The account books are going to be filled by day’s end if business continues like this,” George Nantes, his foreman and most trusted employee, commented as he approached Spenser.

“Let’s hope so,” Spenser agreed. “I just leased the old warehouse we were looking at, the one on Addle Hill near the wharf.”

His foreman was surprised. “I thought you were planning on waiting until fall to expand the business.”

“I’ve decided to take the opportunity now. I’m tired of waiting.”

He was also tired of being buffeted about by the whims and intolerances of others. If printing would be his life—if he would never be the sort of man deserving of a duke’s daughter—then he’d do everything he could to make his business the grandest in England, and damn to hell anyone who dared stand in his way. In this, at least, he would prove himself worthy.

“We’ll move the presses there and expand our printing capacity,” he explained, casting a slow look across the shop. “Then we’ll turn this place into a proper stationery shop and bookseller. I want a storefront on Oxford Street and another under Burlington’s arcade by the end of next year.”

Nantes gave a low whistle. “That’s ambitious.”

He nodded firmly to convince himself as much as Nantes of the validity of his plans. “Fortune favors the bold.” Or at least he prayed it would when it came to his business, in recompense for forsaking him when it came to love.

The front bell jangled as the door swung open, and two ladies hurried inside from the rain. They paused near the doorway to brush off the raindrops on their coats and bonnets, fussing and flapping and laughing at themselves.

Spenser smiled. Ladies who dared venture into a print shop were always a refreshing sight, especially in weather like this. That meant they shared his love of books and fine stationery. Kindred spirits amidst a bleak day.

Then the younger woman turned, and Spenser glimpsed her face—

Ella.

He ducked inside the hallway, out of sight. His heart pounded furiously.Damnation.What was she doing here?

He couldn’t let her see him, not like this, smeared with ink and in his dirty work clothes. At the very least, she’d hate him for pretending to be someone he wasn’t. At worst, she’d laugh at him. And if she did that, she would simply kill him.

“Mr. Rhodes?” Nantes leaned around the corner, concern darkening his expression. “What’s the—”

“The woman who just entered the shop, the one in the yellow dress.” Good Lord! His voice was hoarse, and he’d barely laid eyes on her. God help him if she discovered he was here. “Would you please attend to her?”

Nantes frowned as he glanced over his shoulder at the door. “She’s quality. You usually wait on those ladies yourself.”

“Not this time.” He jerked his thumb toward the front of the shop. “Find out what she wants.Don’ttell her I’m here.”

A sly smile stretched across Nantes’s face. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Spenser corrected sharply. “Just wait on her, will you?”

With a nod, Nantes walked toward the counter.

Spenser felt like an idiot hiding in his own shop. And a coward. But he couldn’t have borne it if she discovered that the man who sent her poetry and waltzed with her wasn’t part of her world, who at that moment had grime under his nails from putting in a day’s labor before the clock had even struck noon. He knew she was accepting and tolerant, but she’d also thought he was part of society, at the very least some sort of scholar or university don. Nothing good could happen if she saw him here and realized who he was.

She’d think he’d played her for a fool…although hadn’t he?

Nantes returned a few moments later.

“Lady Elenora Darby has a letter she’d like to be delivered to one of our customers,” the foreman explained. Nantes was a hard worker, dependable, and serious about this craft, but even he couldn’t hide the touch of amusement in his voice at finding his employer unwilling to approach a young miss in a bonnet and pastel muslin. “A man who has purchased several books of poetry and card stock from our shop. Dark brown hair, tall, muscular…someone who goes by the name of Spenser.” He shook with barely concealed laughter. “Any idea whom she might mean?”

Christ.He rolled his eyes. “Just take it from her, will you? Tell her we’ll make certain the man receives it, but we can’t reveal his name. Understand? We owe our clients privacy and discretion.”

“Do we now?” Not so much a question as verbalized laughter.

Spenser folded his arms across his chest. “Remind me to fire you in the morning.”