Once Upon a Midnight Dream

Chapter 1

The letter in Mateo’s hand, writ by his own solicitor and sealed with black wax, weighed heavy in his grip. ‘Twas not bad enough the dismal color foretold of ill news, but combined with the fact ‘twas in a scroll, delivered in person by said solicitor, sent an army of chilled ants marching up Mateo’s spine. Words gathered and tumbled about on his tongue before he, the unlucky Count of Manila, forced them into speech.

Please, Señor Osario, I need more time.

Osario dropped his tall hat on his head and tapped it down, the motion indicating the conversation was over and he intended to leave. "I am sorry, mi conde, but the title inheritance is quite specific."

I am not yet one-and-twenty. All would have been perfect had his betrothed not died while still in the nursery. Three years younger than he had she been when their parents had tied together their fate, though it had been nigh fifteen years since Mateo had even heard her name. But as an adult now about to lose his home, he resented her untimely death, not to mention the resultant complications in his life.

"You are but a month away, mi conde. Time, as they say, is running out."

Mateo felt his expression darken, and he leaned against the window, where all he loved, all he’d thought to inherit, was at risk. Rows of orange trees filled his view, the fruit having lost its green hue weeks ago and now grew plumper by the day. A dozen gardeners combed through those very limbs for damaging insects to remove. Across the villa, three of his prized Andalusian mares grazed in the wide paddock, two with foals as black as their sire at their flanks. A goatherder moved his flock out of the barn to an open paddock, the excited bleats carrying to him even on the second floor.

All of this was about to become the king’s land.

He could not let that happen.

‘Tis not my fault my father died. ‘Tis not my fault my betrothed died. I have committed myself to God and country. Why would King Alfonso punish me by stripping me of my inheritance when I have done him no wrong?

My lord, forgive me, but you are not married and have no heirs. How do you expect the title to bear weight when you have produced no sons for our king? Your father had promised him an advantageous match with your betrothal, and that, he says, will clearly never happen now.

He wanted to crush the script in his hand, but ‘twould be most unseemly for the Count of Manila to lash out at his own solicitor, for the man followed the law and did his job well. ‘Twas the very reason Mateo had hired him, though he had not expected such a downturn of events. He attempted humor by saying, And here I had expected you to bring me glad tidings.

Alas, he said, shaking his head and flagging the butler to bring his overcoat. I see no way to rectify this matter.

With a heavy sigh that those around him would recognize as him having come to a decision, Mateo twisted the scroll in his hands until the tube grew smaller and tighter. I have exhausted all options here, so I shall try my luck in England.

The man started. "England? Truly? Are there no Spanish brides you fancy, mi conde?"

Mateo shook his head. "I have skated too long on the assumption that my former betrothal would suffice. I see now I have been mistaken. My mamá lives in London and knows many people. I will visit her, and she will find me a suitable bride."

In four weeks’ time?

The London season yet continues. He quirked an eyebrow. Do you not believe in miracles, Señor?

His solicitor’s mouth popped open, and he paused. He clearly thought better of whatever he first wished to say and then smiled broadly. "Mi conte, if Dios can create our world in seven days, I have no doubt you can find a beautiful bride in thirty."

"Beautiful? At this point, I shall be happy with suitable."

"Oh, no, mi conte, you must procure the most beautiful of brides. Refined. Biddable. The more elegant, the more likely the king will forget all about this matter. He indicated the scroll with his chin. To make haste, perhaps you might wish to take one of the steam-engine ships. My brother sailed to London and said it was much faster than sails."

Distracted, Mateo nodded, for he had taken a steamship prior. Inwardly, he remembered childish laughter, giggles, echoing from his far past. He remembered soliciting smiles and mirth from the chiquita who he’d known would someday be his bride. And something else, something about a dressing down of one of his sisters, though the specific words had been lost to time. But the shock on Antonia’s face at the comeuppance had been priceless.

"¿Mi conte?"

Mateo startled out of his thoughts. "¿Sí?"

"Do you not seek a beautiful bride? A guapo man as yourself should not date a woman with the face of a horse."

His lips twitched in what he hoped was a smile. Thank you for the compliment. I believe I must plan my trip north.

Señor Osario executed a smart bow. I wish you well on your travels, and may you return wed.

Wed or dead, Mateo thought, for without the first, he knew he would certainly wish for the second.

Chapter 2

When Ellie heard the thundering stomp of footsteps drawing near, she lowered her mending and braced for the verbal onslaught from the pinched-face bearer of said feet. A darted glance out the window revealed it was barely dawn; what could the orphan keeper possibly have to blame her for at this early hour?

The door to the cold sewing room flung open, and Mrs. Bitterworth scowled at her. Put that down, you lazy cow, and get yourself upstairs. I shall be taking my daughters to Mayfair proper, and you need to get them ready. I heard that a Spanish nobleman is coming to town in search of a bride. If he is not soon married, he risks losing his holdings, so my precious angels need to do whatever they must to gain his attention.

Mayfair? Where was that? Acting dutiful was the only thing that kept the belt from her backside, so Ellie lowered the silken shift from the elder precious angel that got torn in a fight in the dining hall as she defended her younger sister. Ellie supposed that knowing her little sister almost died made Ida an overprotective sibling—or avenging demon—as the case may be. But she bowed her head and said, Of course, Mrs. Bitterworth. No point arguing that neither daughter would be able to communicate with a Spaniard, not to mention that there had been no ballroom invitations, no cards delivered stating he was set to come calling, meaning this entire endeavor was likely yet another excuse to waste the orphanage’s income on frivolous spending. Truly, how did they intend to find this mysterious Spaniard? Loiter about the docks? Everyone knew that area of town was unsafe and best avoided.

Ellie’s back already ached as she envisioned how much these spendthrifts would burden her to carry.

The scowl followed her out of the chamber, and Ellie knew enough to scoot through the portal to avoid a kick to her posterior. Ellie raced upstairs, past the cavernous chamber that held all fifteen girls, then to the cozy room at the end, where Mrs. Bitterworth’s angels shared their own private quarters, complete with their very own brazier and never-ending supply of coal. She rapped on the door, then opened it.

Ladies, rise and shine. None of the Bitterworths bore true titles, though the matron had always insisted Ellie refer to her children as such. Ellie tugged back the plush velvet window dressing and watched her two mistresses fling arms over their eyes. ‘Twas not rises and shines that greeted her, but rather moans and whines.

Ida whipped her fine, quilted covers over her face. Leave us, stupid girl. We but came to bed five hours prior.

Well did Ellie know this, for she had been instructed to await their return. ‘Twas well past midnight when the Bitterworths returned from the opera, and Ellie then had to undress them and prep them for bed before crawling into her own, only to have to arise early to start the mending. She clapped her hands sharply. Come, Ida. Your mother wants you dressed for Mayfair today. While she moaned about the early rise, Ellie tapped Beryl’s foot to gain her attention. Once Beryl looked at her, Ellie waved her upright, then motioned walking with her fingers, then spelled out coach and Mayfair with her fingers in a silent language they had created. That girl’s eyes lit with excitement, and she bounced on the bed, making nonsensical noises.

Ellie smiled to encourage her to rise, and then Beryl pulled her protesting older sister out of bed and to their armoire, where Ellie had already laid out the day’s garments. But further scrutiny revealed these would not do, not if Mrs. Bitterworth intended them to encounter nobility, so she opened their wardrobes and pulled out their second-best dresses and crinoline, which, like all else they owned, came from funds intended to feed and clothe all the children, not just Mrs. Bitterworths’ offspring. Oh, how she resented that woman’s interference when it came to funds! Stifling her anger as she slid the fine linen through her calloused fingers, Ellie helped them don their clothes and style their hair with expensive pins and ribands. Once ready, they all descended to the bottom floor and adjourned to the main room, where a separate table with three seats at the end of the room had been set with the best cuts of sliced ham, freshest eggs, and finest bread for Mrs. Bitterworth and her progeny. Ellie took her regular seat at the long, sagging table in the middle of the room with the rest of the orphans and doled lukewarm porridge onto her chipped plate, then took yesterday’s apple with the bite out of it, recognizing Ida’s handiwork. Ellie knew that girl liked to take the best bites of everything, then proclaim them substandard and leave them to everyone else in the building as a constant reminder that she believed herself better than all of them combined.

Precious angel, indeed.

What Ellie would not give to see the two eldest Bitterworths have a grand comeuppance! Alas, should aught happen to them, what would be her own fate? And that of the remaining children?

But a trip to Mayfair, she decided, would be a nice change of pace. She gazed off, wondering which of her two frocks would be best suited for town, for the better one was dreadfully outdated, while the other, though more modern in style, had been patched with not-quite matching bits of fabric.

A grape hit her on the side of the head, and she turned to see Ida sneering at her. Stop your woolgathering and listen when I address you.

Sorry, my lady. Yes?

You’ll need to change into a walking outfit. The yellow one. Derision filled her expression as she scanned Ellie from head to toe. Mama says we can’t have you looking like we’re destitute.

Decision made. Patched yellow dress it would be.

Now, pick that up.

Ellie glanced down and found the small plump fruit lodged against her chair leg. She picked it off the floor.

Mustn’t waste food. Eat it.

Ellie locked eyes with Ida. Off the floor? As a dog? But Ida and Mrs. Bitterworth both issued challenging gazes, so Ellie wiped the grape off on her skirt and popped it into her mouth.

Swallow it.

She chewed. Crunched the seed. Moved to spit it out but was halted.

Swallow it, I said.

She did as ordered, feeling what little remained of her pride knot her stomach.

Not an hour later, their carriage pulled into Mayfair proper, the sights, smells, and sounds so much different than the dark and dingy streets where Ellie lived. No factories pumping smoke into the air, no whores, no cutpurses. Nay, Mayfair was built of brick and cobblestone, with buildings far taller and grander than any she’d ever seen. Some had corner towers, some bay windows, one even had marble statues standing in carved niches along its width! She watched people with wide, soapy brooms scrubbing the brickwork to remove the oily residue from the belching chimneys while others cleaned up the streets behind the horses. Merchants along the sidewalks sold fresh flowers and fruit-topped pastries, not day-old fish or scraps of material. Women wore lovely bonnets trimmed in lace and ribands that matched their beautiful gowns, and the men bore tall, smart hats upon their pates.

Ellie would be most happy living here.

The hansom driver pulled to the curb and assisted Ellie’s descent from the elevated seat at the rear of the conveyance, then Ellie hastened to