Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I edge my way out onto the promenade and see two of the horsemen circling a few rather terrified-looking gentlemen, who have their coin purses held out with shaking hands. But what of the third?
I turn and find Frank, stock still and silent, nose-to-nose with a handsome white stallion, staring, as the horseman stares down at him. He looks lost in a daydream, and I wait with bated breath for either one of them to move, but it is the horse that breaks the staring stand-off, rising to its back legs on a yowl, knocking Frank to his backside.
I freeze on the spot when I hear the horseman laugh, and stare, taking in the form of the rider upon the steed as I walk forward and help my brother to his feet before facing the horse and finding the rider. ‘Good day to you, Miss…?’ My head tilts, and though I can only see her eyes, the triangle of material covering the rest of her face, her hat pulled low, I can see now with perfect clarity her lashes, which are longer than a man’s should be. And when those eyes sparkle, I know she’s smiling at me. She kicks her horse, and they gallop off, the two black stallions following.
‘In broad daylight in the middle of Park Lane!’ Frank splutters.
‘Very bold, don’t you think?’ I ask, thoughtful. A woman. A highwaywoman. What a story that would make. I glance back to see Johnny has emerged from where he dragged me and is looking quite furious. I don’t give him too much of my time. ‘Where’s Frederick?’ I ask, searching for him.
‘He ran that way,’ Clara says, pointing towards Belmore Square. ‘I expect he’s messed his breeches too.’
I should scold her, but I don’t. Frederick lacks in many areas, for me at least, but I cannot blame him for being scared out of his wits. Even Frank looked terrified. ‘I think I’ve had enough drama for one day,’ I say quietly, watching the highwaymen disappear into the distance.
‘Indeed,’ Frank muses, he, too, watching, his look thoughtful. ‘Did you notice something funny about that horseman?’
‘You mean that he was, in fact, a she?’
He gasps and turns to me. ‘My God, you are right!’ he says, almost delighted. ‘A horsewoman, not a man?’ He winces at the sound level of his own voice and glances around. ‘I must return home immediately and have the report written for tomorrow’s edition.’
‘No, no!’ I say, grabbing at his arm. ‘I have already written the story in my head.’ I scowl at him but soften it when I realise something. He’s excited. I cannot take that away from him. ‘I cannot wait to read it.’
He grins and cups my head roughly, planting a hard, loud kiss on my forehead. ‘Come along, sister, we have work to do.’
I look at Clara as Frank strides off, and she rolls her eyes. ‘You two have fun.’ And she’s gone like a shot, making the most of Frank’s distraction.
‘Clara, come back!’ I call, in complete vain. She is like a greyhound, and I fear I know exactly where she is going. ‘Oh dear,’ I say on a sigh, looking back, seeing the Duke has now gone.
Chapter 18
Frank spent the rest of that day writing the report, checking it over, assessing it, asking me to check it too. I have never seen him so invested in a story. Or enthusiastic. Or… enthralled. I am uncertain in this moment whether it is a good thing, or a terribly bad thing. Time, I’m sure, will tell. One thing I know is that while he is distracted by a compelling story that’s got his creativity flowing, he is not thinking about Lizzy Fallow or Lady Dare.
On the morning of my wedding, I wake with a deep ache in my stomach and a head that feels heavy upon my shoulders. It is the weight of my thoughts, I’m certain. For a fleeting moment, I wonder – and perhaps hope – if Frederick will have the front to show up at our wedding after leaving me at the mercy of the highwaymen, but I know Frederick, and, unfortunately, the man has as much to lose as I and he would never defy his father. I would like to think that is purely a result of respect. Alas, it is not. No. It is fear. God, how I wish he would listen to my reckless suggestion and run away to Scotland to marry Colleen after he has found her. Save us both from this life sentence.
I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are empty. My lips straining to curve as Emma fixes the flowers in my hair and Mother fusses around me, distracting herself from having to look me in the eye. I have never seen her look so tentative. I have never seen my father look so tired. And I have never felt so hopeless. Clara is twirling and singing across the room, oblivious, and it makes me want to poke her in the eye. I expect wherever she disappeared to the other day in the royal park is the reason for her wistful obliviousness. How I wish she would open her eyes and see the impossibilities that face her, as they do me.