Page 4 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“And who would be here, then, to rescue you when you get into trouble?”

Spenser tied his mask behind his head, yet he was certain Martin could see the lift of his brow despite it. “The way I saved you, you mean?”

A little over two years ago, Spenser had been making deliveries for his print shop early one evening when he’d come across Martin on the street near Paternoster. Two footpads had beset the old man in an attempt to rob him, then decided to beat him for their troubles. Spenser chased them away, then took Martin home to the room the old man rented above a warehouse in one of the poorest parts of London and nursed him back to health.

By the time Martin was able to walk again without pain, Spenser felt obligated to continue to care for him. He’d been doing exactly that ever since. Bringing him food from the local chophouse, new boots and gloves to ward off winter’s chills, even copies of newspapers and pamphlets his print shop produced—Spenser came up with whatever ready excuse he needed to drop by and check on the old man.

“Yes, yes—you saved me.” Martin dismissed that with a wave of his hand that turned into an accusatory point of his finger in the general direction of St Paul’s. “Those ruffians stole three perfectly good pennies from me, I’ll have you know. Never did get those back.”

“Here.” Spenser pulled a sovereign from his pocket and handed it over. “Now you’re ahead.” Ignoring Martin’s scowl, he nodded toward the front of the carriage. “Use it to pay the coachman to take you home and get yourself a meal on the way. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before Martin could stop him, he threw open the carriage door and bounded down to the ground, then hurried toward the villa’s front door.

A footman just inside the entry hall took his coat and hat, and the butler barely glanced at the name on the invitation as he took it from Spenser’s hand. The footman gave a low bow that would honor a prince—or a marquess—and welcomed him inside. At the doorway leading to the salon, the master of ceremonies took the invitation, announced his name to the crush of guests who couldn’t have cared less who he was—or who he was pretending to be—and tossed the card into a silver bowl on a side table with all the others from the hundreds of guests who had arrived before him.

Spenser fought back a smile and walked into the party unchallenged.

He stopped just inside the salon and tried to seem unaffected even as he stared, flabbergasted, at the display of wealth and rank noted by the villa’s extravagant show of marble, plasterwork, and gilding. He’d been inside some of the grandest townhouses in Mayfair and Piccadilly, but he’d never seen one like this, and certainly not one shining like a diamond for such an unbelievable party, packed to the gills with people. Of course, he knew how many invitations had been issued, but knowing a thousand invitations had been printed and actually seeing the results were two completely different things.

Whatever worries he’d had about being noticed as an uninvited guest flew right out the window. No one would question one more masked man in this crush, especially one who looked as if he belonged here. As if he truly were the Marquess of Walmesley.

He helped himself to a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, straightened his shoulders, and sauntered forward into the ball.

CHAPTER THREE

I

f Ella had to smile and hold out her hand so one more gentleman could bow over it, she was going to scream.

She had been standing at the head of the reception line for the past hour, a smile pasted on her face so wide her cheeks had begun to ache.How do you do?... So nice to meet you… How are you?... So glad you could attend our party… Yes, we’re absolutely thrilled to be back in London…So many people behind masks, so many names, that she would never be able to remember them all.

Thankfully, the end of the line had finally arrived. She let out a sigh of relief.

“Papa.” She placed a hand pleadingly on his arm. “I need a moment to check my hair and dress.”

What she really needed was a moment of space, peace, and quiet before she was expected to accept dances for the rest of the evening. At least she loved to dance, especially waltzing, and she could bear even the most boring conversation with hopeful suitors if it meant the chance to dance. That might just make the rest of the party bearable.

“Of course.” He signaled to her mother standing several feet away, surrounded by a group of chattering ladies.

“Please don’t bother Mama,” Ella insisted. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

Thiswasher home after all. True, it was only a rented house and one now filled with over a thousand strangers crammed into every nook and cranny and even spilling outside. But she could find her way to the retiring room and back by herself, for heaven’s sake. Although the idea of not returning grew deliciously more tempting with every passing moment.

With a kiss to her father’s cheek, she darted off into the crush before he could stop her.

She would do her duty tonight and make her parents proud. But sometime between now and when the first potential suitors began to make overtures to her father for permission to call on her, she hoped to have a long talk with her parents about what they needed to look for in a potential son-in-law.

“And it’s not a grand dukedom,” she muttered to herself. It was intellect, a sharp wit, a love of literature and the theatre—truly, was it too much to hope that at least one of her suitors could quote Shakespeare or recite poetry? “Idon’t think so.”

Yet she pulled up short at the sight of the Earl of Inslee, who smiled overeagerly at her. He was a dandy of the first order, right down to the elaborate cravat and high collar that forced his chin up and made him appear as if he were always looking down his nose at people.

Perhaps itwastoo much to ask.

Ignoring Inslee, she hurried out of the ballroom toward the long gallery with its series of side rooms her mother had transformed into retiring rooms.

But she didn’t need a retiring room. What Ella needed was simply a few minutes’ escape. So she ducked into an alcove behind a thick potted palm halfway down the hall. She let out a long sigh, and her shoulders deflated with relief to be alone.Finally.Between the palm and her mask, it would be a long time before anyone dared to wonder if the lady hiding in plain sight was the guest of honor.

“Can you believe this party?” A soft voice floated above the distant din of the ballroom as the door to the retiring room opened. Two young ladies in pastel pink satin and a shameless amount of pearls stepped into the hall. “I counted six swans in the front courtyard. Six!”