Page 21 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“It’s springtime in London, so it’s to be expected. But it will stop. It always does.” She stepped into the room, and her mouth twisted grimly. “By July.”

Ella rolled her eyes and closed the dresser drawer. She paused with her hands still resting on the dresser top, almost addressing the piece of furniture when she asked quietly, “Do you miss France and our lives there?”

“Occasionally. We had many good times there.” She glanced out the window at the rainy day. “And more sun.” She smiled. “But we all grew up here in England. This is our home, and we need to give ourselves time to ease into new lives. You’ll make just as many wonderful friends here as you had in Paris, perhaps even more. You’ll see.” She paused, and her voice softened with reassurance. “You’ll have a good life here, Elenora.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked, putting voice to her fears as she finally turned to face her mother. “If I’m not accepted by society, if I don’t make friends…if I don’twantto fit in?”

“Don’t give up just yet.” Mama took Ella’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “It might take time to find your footing, but I have every faith you’ll be happy here.”

“And if I’m not?” she whispered. “Can I return to France and live there?”

Her mother didn’t answer for a long moment. Then, in an impossibly quiet voice, she said, “Yes, you can. We have friends there who would enjoy having you stay with them. But your father and I will miss you terribly, so will Geoffrey, even though he would never admit it.” Her face softened with love and concern. “So for our sake, give it a try here first, all right?” She placed a kiss to the top of Ella’s head just as she’d done since Ella was a toddler, although she knew her mother couldn’t help but see her as the grown woman she’d become. “For me.”

Ella gave a jerking nod, hoping Mama was right. She pulled in a deep breath and forced a weak smile to make her mother happy. “Is it time to go out calling, then?”

“Yes.” Mama strayed toward the window to take a better view of the gray day, then shrugged. “Or we can just stay here out of the rain, all warm and dry. No one would fault us if we spent the day having chocolate and biscuits all by ourselves instead.”

Ella would. She’d blame herself for giving up. There were only two men left on their list, and one way or another, by the end of this cold, dreary, wet day, she would have exhausted all attempts to find her masked man. She had to go through with this, or she would never be able to live with herself.

“I would enjoy leaving the house for a while,” Ella decided.

“Very well. I’ll have Hendricks call for the carriage, then.” Her mother turned to leave but stopped, then frowned down at the carpet. “What’s this?” She reached down and picked up Spenser’s note, which had fallen unseen to the floor when Ella had been putting it away. She held it out. “I think you dropped this.”

“Thank you.” Ella took the note and placed it on the dresser. She would read it again when they returned and decide what, if anything, she would do then about—

Her eyes landed on the printer’s mark on the stationery, and her heart skipped.

The printer’s mark.She’d seen it before. Quickly, she pulled open the dresser drawer and took out the other notes she’d received from Spenser since her introduction. A slow smile curled her lips. They all possessed the same watermark–B&Q.She opened the two books and looked at the printer’s plate in the front of each. The Book & Quill, Printers and Shop, Paternoster Row, St Paul’s, City of London.

Her heart bounced. Whoever Spenser was, he had a connection to this specific shop. If he purchased books and expensive stationery like these exclusively from there, then surely the clerks would recognize him and be able to identify him.

Oh, she simply had to try!

She ran to her little writing desk, sat down, and pulled a note card from the middle drawer. She was so excited that she could barely keep her hand from shaking as she dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.

“What’s the matter, Ella?” her mother asked with concern. “Did that letter bring bad news?”

“No,” Ella answered, barely able to contain her excitement. “Wonderful news!”

She finished her note, not daring to stop to think if what she was doing was at all proper…and truly, not really caring. She sprinkled sand across the page to dry the ink, then poured it away, folded the card, and reached for her wax to seal it.

Not bothering with lighting a candle, she hurried to the fireplace to melt the wax. “Before we make our calls this afternoon, can we make a stop in the city near St Paul’s?” she asked breathlessly. She gazed hopefully over her shoulder at her mother as the wax dropped onto the card. “I have a message I need to deliver in person.”

She held up the note. On its cardstock, she’d placed down her heart.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

S

penser paused in the narrow hallway leading to his office in the rear of the print shop and gazed out across the floor. The room was alive with activity despite the cold drizzle falling over London and the layer of fog drifting up from the river. The sun seemed a distant memory this afternoon, forcing the workers to light the oil lamps sitting on the front counter and hanging over the three presses behind it.

Yet even this snap of bad weather didn’t stop customers from coming into the shop.

Good.He’d worked hard to build his business, and pride warmed his chest at all he’d accomplished. He’d become a master printer at an age when others were just beginning to learn the craft, opening his own print shop, and growing it into one of the busiest in the City. Its reputation for quality was second to none.

Most of the customers stopping by today wanted print orders that would keep his presses busy for days; the consistency of those orders kept a roof over his head and his workers employed.

But others came inside to purchase one of the books displayed in the windows or sheets of fine stationery—including ladies in their straw bonnets and stylish walking dresses.Thosecustomers were a growing segment of his business and a market he hoped to capture. After all, why should he only print the books when he could also sell them? Why only print invitations to fancy parties to be addressed by hostesses in grand houses when he could also sell all the goods to go with them—quills, ink, blotters, seals. Then, when they came to pick up their orders, he would sell them linen note cards and double his profits.