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It was meant to be a quick and easy job for Theo.
He realized too late that it would be neither.
At first, he had been told he would serve as nothing more than a manservant at a party in Mayfair. Normally, he would have refused without a second thought. But when he learned it was to be a masquerade ball, he hesitated. Masks, after all, had a way of hiding your true self to the world. He needed the money, desperately. Enough to open a small printer shop, enough to finally free himself from apprenticeship and the narrow life it promised.The knowledge that even servants would wear masks almost felt like mercy.
It was not because he despised elegant society that he nearly declined. Nor was it because he feared being seen by a certain lady.
It was certainly not because of her.
That was what he repeated to himself as he secured the black mask over his eyes, its weight pressing gently into his skin, as though reminding him of everything it concealed.
Two years.
Two years since he last saw Eloise Bridgerton.
Time had not dulled the memory of how she had entered his life with her mission to unmask an infamous author. Back then, he had found excitement in the secrecy, the shared purpose. It had felt dangerous in the most thrilling way. Almost hopeful. An escape from his mundane life.
Until it became something else.
Until there was a moment.
A moment Theo Sharpe would carry with him for the rest of his life.
He still remembered the way her eyes had lifted to his, the way the world had narrowed to the space between them. The brush of her fingertips against his skin had been intoxicating. For one reckless second, he had forgotten who they were meant to be. He was not a printer’s apprentice, and she was not a lady bound by Society’s rules. They were simply two people standing at the edge of something impossible.
Theo exhaled sharply at the memory. He understood now that he would forever be haunted by if only when it came to Eloise Bridgerton.
And so here he stood, a manservant among chandeliers and silk, passing drinks to the glittering members of the Ton. A dull ache settled in his chest as he watched them laugh so freely. Somewhere deep within him stirred a quiet envy, not of their wealth, but of their belonging. He wanted a life where he did not have to calculate every meal, where beauty was not something observed from the margins.
“Another glass of wine.”
Theo turned at the sound of the woman’s voice and nodded. She wore a black dress and stood beside two younger ladies. Authority clung to her like perfume; he did not need to be told she was their mother.
He fetched the wine, hands steady despite the noise around him. As he set the glasses down, he finally allowed himself to look up.
The hall glowed.
Flowers climbed the walls, candlelight reflecting gold and rose through crystal chandeliers. The room felt alive, pulsing with warmth and elegance. Theo’s breath caught, not from awe alone, but from the sharp awareness that he did not belong here. He had known only the humble flicker of candlelight all his life. This world felt like a painting he was permitted to admire but never step into.
He inhaled deeply and turned back toward his work.
Then he heard her voice.
It was faint, nearly lost beneath the music and laughter, but it cut through him all the same. Theo froze.
Surely not.
He followed the sound and saw two women standing near the edge of the hall. One wore a pirate’s hat; the other stood in armor. Not costume armor, but something deliberate. Purposeful.
Joan of Arc.
Theo recognized her instantly, the cropped hair, the insignia upon her chest. A woman of conviction. A woman who refused to shrink.
And then it became painfully clear.
It was Eloise Bridgerton.
The only woman in the room brave enough to dress as a martyr and call it defiance.
The world slowed. Sound dulled. Without realizing it, Theo began moving toward her, drawn by something older than reason. Earlier, the beauty of the ball had overwhelmed him and now it was meaningless. There was only her.
Her laughter reached him, soft and unguarded. His heart tightened with each step. Questions crowded his mind, cruel in their hope. If she looked at him, would she know? Would she feel the same ache that hollowed his chest?
Of course not, he told himself. He wore a mask. He was a servant and men like him did not exist in worlds like hers.
Still, he moved forward.
Just a few steps, he thought. Just enough to hear her voice again.
“Sir.”
The call snapped him back into place. He turned, duty reclaiming him. When he glanced once more toward Eloise, she was already walking away, disappearing down the hallway, following a life that would never intersect with his again.
Another if only joined the rest.
He returned to the lady in black, the weight of reality settling heavily upon him. He was a servant. Eloise Bridgerton was a lady. The world had made its rules clear long before either of them had been born.
“Finally,” the woman scoffed. “I thought you had lost yourself.”
“Mother,” one of the girls protested gently, clad in teal. “There are so many people... surely...
“Posy,” her sister snapped. “Do not ramble.”
Theo felt an unexpected tenderness toward Posy. She met his gaze briefly, offering a small, apologetic smile, one kindness in a room full of indifference. He bowed and moved on.
The night continued.
Theo worked quietly, efficiently, his heart still aching yet strangely full. At least he had seen her. She seemed happy, unafraid, and uncontained. Society had not dulled her spirit, though it still threatened to cage it. That knowledge comforted him more than he expected.
Near midnight, he waited for the signal that would release him back into the shadows, money in hand, dreams deferred once more.
Yet one thought refused to leave him.
What would have happened if Eloise Bridgerton had known he was there? As he watched, remembered, and he finally admitted to himself, love her after all these years?