Page 2 of Twice Upon a Midnight

Castoff gentlemen—ha!Ella would be happy to give away the lot of them, if she could.

But she also knew she wasn’t growing any younger, and even at three-and-twenty, she’d missed five very important years of husband-hunting. Aye,there’sthe rub, because she did want a husband and a family to whom she could dedicate her life and her love, the way her parents had.

Yet time was marching on, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d run out of time before she found the man she wanted to marry.

As if on cue, the mantel clock struck the hour.

Ella pulled in a steeling breath. It was time to make her entrance.

Her mother gave her shoulders one last squeeze for luck. Looking at their shared reflection in the mirror, Ella noted once again how much she resembled her mother, right down to the same big, blue eyes and dark chestnut hair.

“Whatever you do tonight,” Mama whispered as the door opened and Papa entered the bedroom to collect them for Ella’s introduction, “try to have fun.”

With a quick kiss to her cheek, her mother stepped back to greet her husband.

Henry Darby, seventh Duke of Durham, smiled brightly as he strode across the room to greet his wife with a happy nod. Then he placed a kiss on the top of Ella’s head, the way he had done for as long as she could remember.

Ella’s chest tightened with guilt. She loved her parents and knew they loved her. She just wished their love hadn’t manifested itself as the party event of the season, right down to rented swans in the front courtyard and fireworks over The Green Park behind the house at midnight. Tonight was her debut. How could she ever live up to swans and fireworks, for heaven’s sake?

“Well now.” Papa glanced in the mirror at the picture the three of them made, complete with his brightly stripped waistcoat and elaborately knotted cravat. Then he rubbed his hands together, pleased at how the evening’s festivities were shaping up. “Don’t we look ready to take on London, or at least our party guests?”

Whichwasall of London, Ella judged, based on the noise emanating from the reception rooms and the front drive.

They were hosting the grandest party London had seen since the celebrations of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo, with over one thousand names on the guest list, a small army of footmen to offer refreshments, a regiment of grooms to attend to carriages and horses, dozens of cooks and assistants to create all the food, an entire orchestra…and a partridge in a pear tree, Ella was certain, hidden somewhere among the potted palms. So many guests, in fact, that they filled the St James’s townhouse, spilled out of its gardens, and overflowed into the surrounding park.

And Ella was supposed to meet every single one of them.Somehow.Just the thought of it was daunting.

Yet she couldn’t help but smile at her father. His happiness was infectious.

“Gregory should be here,” her mother murmured, noting the absence of Ella’s younger brother who was studying at Oxford and couldn’t come to London for the party.

Who didn’twantto come to London for the party, that is.Smart boy.Perhaps Gregory had learned something at Oxford after all. As the heir who would have to return home next year once he was graduated to learn the business of running the dukedom, he was eager to have as much fun with his friends as possible while he still could. That did not include playing host at his sister’s introduction, especially when thoughts of marriage hung in the air.Smart boy, indeed.

“Best not to bother him in the middle of the term,” Papa reminded them. “He needs to concentrate on his studies.”

Ella forced back a laugh. She didn’t know if her father truly believed that, or if Papa preferred to live in denial about the antics his son was up to in Oxfordshire. Either way, he loved both his children equally, unlike most of the aristocracy who cared only for sons and heirs. Tonight’s ball proved that. After all, would he be thrusting such a torturous evening onto his daughter if he didn’t love her? Despite everything, the ball was a labor of love by her parents, although Ella found it difficult to fathom how a towering papier-mâché pagoda in the rear gardens could be a sign of affection.

Her father squeezed her mother’s arm to reassure her, then turned more smartly toward Ella than she would have expected from a man of his age and girth. His brows rose toward his balding head. “Are you ready for your debut, my dear?”

As ready as I’ll ever be.Instead, she echoed,“Ready.”

Ella stood and picked up her ice-blue satin half-mask that matched her gown. With a quick look in the mirror, she tied it into place, careful not to muss her pearl-laced curls pinned to the top of her head.

Tonight’s ball was a masquerade—partially.Half-masks were encouraged simply because the duchess thought it would be romantic for everyone to unmask at midnight when the fireworks went off, but with none of the hassle of fancy dress and full-face masks that hid identities too thoroughly. After all, her mother wanted romance for Ella, but only with the right gentlemen, and how could she keep away the undesirables if she couldn’t easily recognize them?

Ella could have told her to spare herself the trouble. The exactly right gentleman for Ella would never have been invited to tonight’s party in the first place. He would have been closeted away in a library or museum, enjoying his books and artifacts far more than drinks and dancing.

Pushing down a defeated sigh, she put her hand on her father’s arm and let him lead her from her room, with her mother following proudly behind.

CHAPTER TWO

S

penser Rhodes glanced out the carriage window at the large Italianate villa and smiled to himself.

The house was ablaze with light. From the dark night outside, he could see chandeliers shining through tall, wide windows and open sets of French doors, along with dozens of lamps lighting up the garden terraces. Narrow paths stretched away behind the house until they were swallowed up by the dark park beyond the garden wall.

Around him on the wide drive to the front façade, dozens of grooms held lanterns to guide arriving guests as they exited the snaking line of carriages through St James’s that showed no signs of ending. The guests made their way past giant aviaries filled with swans to the front portico and large doors, held open by two uniform footmen whose only job for the evening seemed to be as human doorstops. More footmen waited within to take coats, hats, and fur wraps, while beyond them stood the butler, who busily checked invitations and then waved guests into the party to be announced by the master of ceremonies. Inside the reception rooms, a crush of bodies had already formed of satin-draped women and men wearing Bond Street’s finest, while strains of music from an orchestra ensconced in the ballroom drifted from the house and into the night.