“Take these and see to them,” Madame told Ella. “We will discuss that gown later.”

Ella bowed politely, took the notes and also fled to the back room.

She didn’t know whether to continue her work on the gown for Lady Shore or begin the task of packing her bags. It had only been lucky happenstance that she’d gotten this job when she’d returned to London six months ago.

Luck, and her skill with a needle. Another job might not be so easily gotten.

For to be dismissed yet again and always without references — Ella shuddered at such a prospect.

“She’ll not sack you,” Hazel said, as if reading her friend’s bleak expression. “She’s made too much money from your designs.”

Ella absently sorted through the notes in her hands. “That gown cost a fortune, and if Lady Fitzsimon doesn’t pay for it—”

Hazel nodded in grim agreement.

It would come out of Ella’s salary. Glancing over at the silk, which now lay on the work table, she sighed, for it was ever so lovely a dress and it had been meant to be worn this night and this night only.

Lady Fitzsimon was utterly mistaken on the matter. Lord Ashe would never have thought that gown common. He would have loved it.

“Gar, Ella! Whatever is that in your hand?” Hazel said, coming around the work table in a flash.

Martha had slipped into the workroom just then, a stack of sample brocades in her arms. Her mouth fell open and she nearly dropped her burden when she saw what Ella was holding. “Oh, as I live and breathe! It is.”

“Is what?” Ella said, before she glanced down at the thick cream card in her hand.

Viscount Ashe

Invites the bearer of this invitation

To his masquerade ball

The 11th of April

Ella’s mouth fell open. An invitation to the Ashe Ball.

Hazel began to laugh. “That old cow must have dropped it when she went off in a huff.”

“She won’t be able to get in without it.” Ella crossed the room and caught up her cloak. She started for the back door, when Hazel caught her by the arm.

“And just what do you think you are doing?”

“Returning this to Lady Fitzsimon.”

“Why would you be doing that?” Hazel held her fast.

“Because she can’t get in without it,” Ella told her, pulling her arm free and reaching for the door.

“Well, she don’t need it now, does she?” Martha said. “Since her daughter hasn’t got a gown to wear.”

Something about the girl’s words — nay, suggestion — stayed Ella’s steps. “Whatever do you mean?”

Martha glanced over at Hazel, who nodded in agreement. “That we didn’t work our fingers raw to see that gown spend the night here, being taken apart, so the mistress could not only charge you for it, but sell the makings off again to someone else, taking the profit twice over.”

Hazel nodded.

“You could go, with that gown and that invitation,” Martha whispered.

Ella shook her head. “I couldn’t—”

“And why ever not? It isn’t like you aren’t quality, and it isn’t like that gown doesn’t fit.”

“You could see him again, Ella,” Hazel said.

“No,” Ella gasped, staring down at the name on the invitation. Viscount Ashe.

Him.

“I can’t … I would be discovered … Think of the trouble …”

“Think of seeing him again,” Hazel said. “You know very well that you sewed that gown with him in mind. So he would think it was you.”

“I did no such—” But she stopped herself. She had. Shamelessly designed and embroidered every stitch for his eyes, his favour.

“Wouldn’t seeing him again be worth a bundle of trouble and then some?”

“Julian, you vowed tonight would be the last time,” Lady Ashe said, over the tea table.

The Ashe residence was a flurry of activity as the servants and the added help that had been hired for the ball continued working at a furious pace to ensure that everything went off as planned.

“Yes, yes, Mother, I recall my promise,” Julian, Viscount Ashe, told her.

“You will choose a bride tonight and no more of this foolishness about finding ‘her’.”

Julian glanced out the window at the garden beyond. Her. His mysterious lady love. The one who’d come to the first Ashe Ball five years earlier.

The Ashes had always been a romantic lot, and family tradition held that the Ashe viscount had five seasons to find his true love. Five. A bride to be plucked from a masquerade before the five years were out.

Julian had found his the very first year.

Found her and lost her.

He’d spent the last five years searching for the mysterious lady who’d come to the ball, danced with him, kissed him — Julian glanced over at his mother who was deep in discussion with the housekeeper over where to find their extra plates — the lady whose virginity he had stolen in an impetuous moment of passion.

But it wasn’t just her passion that had intrigued him, it was her lively nature, her bright eyes, her sharp wit.

She’d stolen his heart that night, just as the Ashe legend said a lady would. But what the Ashe legend didn’t say was what to do when the love of your life, your future viscountess, ups and disappears into thin air.

And now tonight was his last chance to find her.

It wasn’t as if Julian hadn’t searched for her — but all he’d come to were dead ends.

At first, he’d thought his choice was Lady Pamela Osborn. Everyone had assumed that the young lady, who the elder Lady Osborn hauled out of the ball just before the unmasking, had been her daughter. But, as it turned out, Lady Pamela had given her costume to another and used the night to elope with Lord Percy Snodgrass. Who Lady Pamela’s twin had been was the real mystery, for Lady Osborn had refused to give Ashe any information about the scandal. And the newly minted Lady Percy had sent back his enquiries unopened.

He’d even taken to haunting the streets outside the Osborn townhouse in hopes of spying a maid or companion who might fit the bill, or one willing to be bribed to give a hint who his mysterious lady love might be. But not a one would give Ashe even a crumb of information about the lady in green silk who had haunted his every day for five years.

Two

The Ashe Ball — 1810

Miss Ella Cynders, companion to Lady Pamela, the daughter of the Earl of Osborn, stood at the entrance of the Ashe Ball, her knees quaking with fear and her heart hammering with excitement.

Fear, because if she were discovered impersonating Pamela, she’d be sacked without references.

Of course, if she was honest, her being sacked was a given. By the morning, there would be no way to conceal Pamela’s runaway marriage and she, Ella, would be let go.

But Pamela, the soon-to-be Lady Percy Snodgrass, had promised to hire her immediately as her companion to come live with her in the country. So if Ella were to be unemployed, it wouldn’t be for long.

Still, Ella couldn’t help but allow a bit of excitement to nudge aside her fears. This was the legendary Ashe masquerade after all. There hadn’t been one in twenty-seven years, not since the last Lord Ashe had plucked the unlikely Miss Amelia Levingston out of the crowd as his perfect bride.

Tonight would be their son Julian’s first attempt to find his viscountess, and the ton was abuzz at the opportunity the ball afforded on a lucky young lady. To become Lady Ashe.

“Pamela,” Lady Osborn said, “remember, if you are to catch his eye, do not be obvious, but not so shy that he doesn’t notice you.”

Ella nodded, but didn’t say a word. Luckily, she and Pamela were of the same height and build, and with Ella’s red hair powdered and done up in a crown of flowers, it was impossible to discern that it wasn’t Pamela’s blonde locks beneath.

And it helped that Lady Osborn was dreadfully near-sighted.

“Certainly, Lord Ashe’s mother has left nothing to chance,” Lady Osborn was saying as they walked deeper into the room. “There are the Damerells, and the Sadlers. And I see Lady Houghton has both her daughters here. I daresay, Lady Ashe knew what she was doing — including only the best families, so there was no chance of some undesirable parti catching her son’s eye.”

Ella flinched. Undesirable partis were the bane of Lady Osborn’s existence. Such as the one Lady Pamela was running away with this very night.

“I am glad you had Ella rework your costume,” the lady said. “She has such an eye for these things, for I daresay your costume is the finest in the room. I had my doubts when we hired her, but she has the most exquisite hand with a needle.” The lady sighed. “Now, make the most of this evening. While Ashe is only a viscount, at least he has a title and lands.”

This was a pointed snub about the attentions of Lord Percy, who claimed only a courtesy title and no property. Second sons held little appeal to an ambitious mother like Lady Osborn and being in love with one was nothing short of treason.

So Ella nodded and smiled, thankful the lady really spent so little time with her daughter and cared so little for her opinions and even less for her conversation. Thus, Ella wasn’t required to do much more than nod obediently.

They continued to wade through the crush, and Ella felt a bit light-headed, for the crowd was dazzling in its costumes and masks — she’d never seen the likes of such a party. Certainly she’d been to other affairs as Pamela’s companion, but she’d always spent her time alone on the periphery, watching Pamela being courted, while the marchioness was off getting caught up with her cronies.

“I wish I knew how Lord Ashe was disguised,” Lady Osborn mused, tapping her fan against her lips and scanning the crowd, though it was unlikely she could tell a Robin Hood from a Cavalier. “But then again, I have to imagine there isn’t a mother here who wouldn’t give up a year’s worth of pin money for that confidence.”

Lord Ashe … Ella had heard nothing but talk of him and his ball for the last two months. Certainly everyone knew what he looked like — burnished gold hair, a square jaw and wide shoulders. Tall and elegant, he made lady after lady swoon. He would be hard to disguise, so like everyone else she couldn’t help scanning the crowd trying to discover him.

But her quest to find Lord Ashe suddenly paled.

Dutifully following Lady Osborn through the crush of bodies, she spied a tall man dressed in a long, embroidered surcoat and form-fitting hose and boots coming towards them. She didn’t know if it was her own love of medieval stories or the way he carried himself, but she was utterly and instantly mesmerized. From the dark mane of hair brushed back, to the straight line of his shoulders, to the way his leggings showed every muscle in his long legs — it was as if Lancelot or Richard the Lionheart had just stepped out of the Crusades or a tournament, minus the chain mail and sword. He came closer, prowling through the crowd as if it was his to command, and Ella’s breath caught in her throat.

She, who had no business falling in love, fell. Fell in an instant. If that was what this was — being unable to breathe, afraid to move, afraid even to blink, lest he disappear from sight.

Oh, save me, came an errant thought. Save me, oh, knight.

And as he passed by, his gaze met hers, and something inside her flamed to life. A spark passed between the two of them.

It was as if they had always been together, were destined to be united. That they had known and loved each other until the ages had torn them apart, and now …

Now they had found each other once again.

Even as she continued past him, their gazes held, her head turning so she could gape after him. Then he was surrounded by the crowd and disappeared from sight and, in a flash, the connection was broken.

Ella shivered. I cannot lose him. It was a cry from deep within her heart, a place within her that until now had been silently slumbering. Sleeping no longer, she couldn’t do anything other than stop and whirl around.

She forgot all about being Pamela, all about deceiving Lady Osborn — who had waded ahead, having spied a friend she knew would have the most current on dits, and had all but forgotten her daughter.

And to her shock, as she turned to determine where he had gone, he was no more than a few feet from her. For he had stopped as well. Frozen and fixed as if he couldn’t take another step away from her.

Gazing at her, his eyes sparkled beneath his mask, and a smile rose on his lips. And that connection, the one that had brought them to this moment, sparked anew. It drew her closer to him, even as he closed the final bit of difference between them.