Page 45 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“What was Simon, then, if not the same reminder?”

“A disappointment.” Pensworth practically snarled out that admission. “And the heir, like it or not.”

Thatwas the answer, Spenser knew. The key to everything his stepfather had done to him—and had refused to doforhim.

Spenser wasn’t of high status, wasn’t independently wealthy due to birth…wasn’t the heir. For that, Simon would have been forgiven anything, including having him nearly beaten to death in order to steal Ella for himself. Spenser would be given nothing.

“As for you,” Pensworth continued, “your mother was right.” He nodded a look over Spenser from head to boots. “Look at the man you’ve become…accomplished, independent, respected— You’ve made more of yourself with your business than you ever could have as the stepson of a duke.”

Spenser yanked off his gloves and held up his hands. “Stained.”

Pensworth shrugged. “Proof that you earned your way all by yourself. The only people who sneer at success like yours are people who haven’t earned theirs. People like me.” He frowned into his glass. “Your mother charged me with raising you to be a good man, and I did that. You might not agree with the way I did it—”

“You mean selfishly, uncaringly, and protecting your blood son above all else?”

His eyes snapped up to Spenser’s. “You might not agree with the way I did it,” he repeated, “but you’ve gotten all you’ve wanted out of life, or at least been in a position to get it. So let that be the lesson for you.” He set down the glass, placed his hands flat on the desktop, and slowly pushed himself up to his feet. “If there’s anything you want, don’t come here looking for it. Go find it yourself.”

His stepfather returned to his position at the window, once more gazing out at the darkening garden and dismissing Spenser with his silence. Their conversation was over.

Go find it yourself.Spenser would do exactly that. He turned on his heel and walked out toward the front door. He knew he would never come here again.

He paused only for a moment in the three-story tall entrance hall with its marble floors and stone stairs that curved up through the floors above. A bespoke banister of gun metal and brass crafted to look like ivy, a finely plastered Robert Adam ceiling, Corinthian columns guarding the arched doorways of the reception rooms, a wide hallway that lead back into the rest of the house—it was exactly as Spenser remembered. For a moment, he felt as if he’d been dragged back in time, back to being nothing but the helpless little boy who had been sent away.

But he wasn’t. He was a grown man now, and the Duke of Pensworth no longer had any control over his life.

He walked out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

E

lla cast a weary glance around Lord and Lady Whitwell’s ballroom and forced down the urge to sigh. Again.

The night was still early, and the party was at its height. A crush of bodies filled the edges of the room, framing sets of dancers on the dance floor who roiled together in intricate knots. Even more people spilled out into the large square that fronted the house, while others lingered in the supper room, drawing room, and retiring rooms. Oil lamps and beeswax candles made the sea of jewels and satins shimmer, and music from the quintet in the corner drifted through the house.

Ella was tired of it all already. No, not tired—

Bored.Mind-numbingly so.

This annual ball might have been one of the most anticipated events of the season, but Ella simply wanted to go home to her books.

“Champagne?” Simon smiled down at her as he snatched a flute from the tray of a passing footman and offered it to her.

What would he have done with the drink if she’d refused? But she wouldn’t. If several glasses of champagne were what it took to survive the evening, then she would gladly take all he offered and let her head suffer the consequences in the morning.

Simon hadn’t left her side since she’d arrived with her parents, when he’d come forward through the crush to escort her into the ballroom, with a deep bow and bright smile. Tongues began to wag the moment everyone in the room saw her enter on Simon’s arm, and she knew what they were all thinking…it was only a matter of time until the duke’s son married the duke’s daughter. A perfect society pairing.

Her parents certainly thought so. Ella only had to glance across the room in their direction to see the hope lighting her mother’s face at the budding courtship and the relief on her father’s.

Unease sat heavily on her chest. She’d agreed to give Simon a chance, just as her parents wanted, but so far, he hadn’t snagged her heart.

Oh, he was perfectly charming, she supposed, with an easy smile, sparkling eyes, and perfect turns of phrases. But something about all that charm struck her as hollow. No,shallow.Not as if he were trying too hard, but that heknewhe was charming and found himself simply wonderful for it.

Far less wonderful than Ella did, for certain.

Yet she could have overlooked all that as gentlemanly arrogance had he simply been able to engage her intellectually. But he hadn’t. Simon preferred meaningless conversations about entertainments and the season’s events to deeper, more profound matters. He preferred discussing racing to Rousseau, saddles to Shakespeare, philandering to philosophy. He hadn’t once brought up any matters of science, political reform…poetry. There had been none of that.

Occasionally, during the time they’d spent together in the past few days, driving through the park or having tea, she threw out a line of poetry to him as bait, just to see how he would react. So far, he’d not taken the hook. Not once.