Chapter 1
London, December 10, 1825
Martin Banks despised Christmas. He sat in his armchair at his club, Brooks’s, and listened to the men around him discussing the balls and winter festivities to be held over the next few weeks leading up to the holiday. He unfolded his copy of the Morning Post, trying to focus on the articles and block out the stories of the men around him as they shared memories of snow forts, figgy puddings, and quests for a Yule log.
Nonsense. Foolish, sentimental nonsense.
At the age of twenty-eight, he was past his reckless youth but not old enough to look back fondly upon it either. Men his age were celebrating the holiday with new brides or new children. But not Martin. He had taken careful steps to avoid marriage, which had been easy in his early twenties. Af
