Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
The poor old dear, she is terrified of being a laughing stock, of the ton knowing she lost a large amount of money because she gave it away to a handsome crook. ‘He’s an eyewitness, my lady, and a reliable one at that.’ I stand. ‘Anything further to add?’ I cannot express my enjoyment in this moment. Perhaps Lady Rose might think twice about looking down her nose at my family in future. As it turns out, money doesn’t always make you the most powerful, or, at least, before half of it was stolen, but owning a newspaper does.
‘I will have the Prince hang you!’
‘I cannot be hanged for telling the truth, my lady.’ Which is my only saving grace, since the Prince will very likely want to string me up too once the story of his debts breaks. ‘Good evening.’ I smile and leave, pulling in my jacket and breathing in the night-time air. It has been a most productive day and it is about to get even more productive. My hand is itching to write. How amusing, I think, as I am taking the steps up to my house, that a night of writing fills me with excitement, where spending a night with a female once did.
I reach for the doorknob, and Mama bursts out in an emerald green gown and nearly knocks me back down the steps.
‘Frank!’ she shrieks, making my ears bleed. ‘There you are! And where is your father, for the love of God? We will be late.’
‘Late for what?’ I ask, searching my mind.
She baulks at me, like I am stupid. ‘The Prince’s party.’
I groan under my breath. How could I have forgotten? ‘Oh, yes, of course. Well, I suppose I ought to make an effort, since I expect I will be banished come the morrow.’ Mama’s face is a mass of confusion as I pass her. ‘I shall ready myself now.’
‘And your father?’ she asks my back as I take the stairs, my face screwing up, pained.
‘I expect he––’
‘I am here, Flo, worry not.’ Papa’s voice lifts the weight from my shoulders.
‘Ah, Burt! There you are.’
I turn and see Mama fussing over his grey jacket, and I smile at the sight of my parents together, Papa regarding his wife fondly as she pokes and prods at him. Tonight, I shall speak with Papa and talk some sense into him, I swear it, if it is the last thing I do.
‘You are changing, yes?’ Mama says, as Papa takes her fussing hands and returns them to her dress.
‘Yes, dear, I am changing. What would you have me wear?’
‘I thought your brown velvet jacket would complement my dress perfectly.’
He looks down at her green frock. ‘Yes, and if I put you on my shoulders, we shall look like a tree.’
‘Oh, do stop.’
He comes up the stairs, giving me a tired expression that I know he won’t dare share with Mama. ‘And how was your meeting, son?’
‘As we both expected.’
‘Meeting?’ Mama says. ‘What meeting , and with whom?’
‘Frank’s meeting with Lady Rose about her being half rescued by Father but then ambushed by the highwaymen,’ Clara says all too casually from the entrance to the drawing room while she fastens the tie on her bonnet. Her face looks like a slapped backside.
‘How do you know about that?’ I ask.
‘Ah!’ Mama sings. ‘Another journalist in the making. Aren’t we lucky, Burt, to have such studious children?’
‘Quite blessed,’ Papa laughs, while I keep my questioning eyes on the youngest of my sisters.
‘And what were you doing rescuing that old wench?’ Mama asks. ‘You should have left her for the wild boars to snack on.’
‘You are truly awful sometimes, Florence Melrose.’
‘Shhhh,’ she whispers, giggling before flouncing into the drawing room. ‘Some wine, please, Dalton,’ she says. ‘Now will everyone please get ready, or we will be late, and a respected lady of the ton, that is I, by the way, cannot be late for such an event.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ I sigh.
‘Yes, dear,’ Papa breathes, smiling at me fondly for a few moments.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘What is it?’
‘I am proud of you, son.’ He reaches for my face and gives it a light, loving tap. ‘I just wanted you to know that.’
I smile, but it’s hesitant. ‘This is all rather out of the blue, Papa. Is something the matter?’
‘No, nothing is the matter. You have stepped up and proven I can depend on you. I see great things for us ahead, my boy. Great things.’ And with that, he turns and climbs the rest of the stairs.
‘Great things,’ I say, following. ‘I agree, Papa.’
Admittedly, the Prince’s parties are always events one does look forward to. The glamour, the drink, the food and the music, but in the name of public favour, I shall happily forego my place amid the masses of riches. Besides, I cannot abide how flaming long it takes merely to get inside, the line of carriages stretching from the palace back to Belmore Square, I’m sure of it, and crawling along at an inconceivably slow pace. ‘It shall be time to leave the moment we arrive,’ I grumble. ‘I could walk faster, I swear.’