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)
‘There is one for you too,’ she calls, sounding somewhat surprised. She is not alone.
I halt halfway up the stairs and turn. ‘What?’
‘A voucher,’ Mother says, walking forward, waving it at me. ‘She has issued one to you, too.’
‘Why?’
Mother pauses for thought, and I wait with bated breath for what those thoughts might be. There’s no explanation. Vouchers, subscriptions, tickets, blessings, whatever we are to call them, are like gold dust. They do not get handed out so frivolously. ‘I don’t know,’ Mother says. ‘But I shall ask!’ She whirls round and sings her way to the dining room, as I, confused for more than one reason now, look down at the newspaper in my hand.
‘Frank,’ I say, rushing on and bursting into his room unannounced. He growls and pulls the bed sheets up over his head. ‘There is no story about the Duke.’
‘Then you should be delighted, I’m sure. Eliza saves the world again.’
Delighted? No. I am perplexed.
‘Now bugger off,’ he grumbles. ‘It’s the crack of bloody dawn.’
I glare at his bed, indignant. ‘I’ve heard the Millingdale Bank may collapse today.’
The sheets are soon wafting through the air and Frank’s sleepy form blinking rapidly. ‘What?’
‘I cannot imagine the Fallows will be all too pleased about their daughter marrying a failed banker and a disgraced viscount.’
‘Are you serious?’
I smile, wink, making Frank frown hard, and pull the door closed. ‘You are most welcome, brother,’ I say to myself, having one last scan of the newspaper – just in case my eyes are failing me, for I am certainly lacking sleep – yet I find nothing. I frown, skimming once more. And the notice informing the whole of London that I, Eliza Catherine Melrose, will wed Frederick Lymington, is also absent. I can’t say I’m sorry, not about either of the missing pieces in today’s edition.
But I am wondering what the hell is going on.
I still haven’t the foggiest by supper time. Father has been out on business all day, Frank with him, and Mother, undoubtedly with her vouchers signed by Lady Tillsbury fixed to her forehead for all to see, has been flouncing around the royal park. I was not invited, and I did not argue. She felt at my skin and hummed, in that considering way she does, when I told her I felt so much better. She concluded, thank heavens, that she thought it best I continued resting, if only so my ticket for the Almack’s was not wasted, as she feared I may have got back on my feet somewhat too early after my week-long illness. Dalton had a very high eyebrow as he polished the silver a few feet away, and I, naturally, ignored him.
I have paced around and around all day, peeking out of the window constantly, freezing when I have heard the front door, hoping it is Father coming home so I can perhaps prod gently for an explanation for the absence of the news I had been expecting, or, more to the point, dreading.
I sigh. I cannot murmur a word without looking as guilty as I am, but… I can interrogate Frank again. And I will. He must have become alert to something today that will explain.
My heart skips a beat when I hear a carriage rumble up the cobbles, and I dash to the window to see Father and Frank. Yes! Mother is coming down the street too, Clara plodding miserably behind her, and Emma carrying what I expect is another new dress.
The moment they are in the house, Dalton hands mother something and she shrieks, ‘Bert!’ she cries, waving the paper over her head. ‘My God, the society gods do so admire us today.’
‘What is it?’ he asks, blinking rapidly.
‘It has the royal seal! Oh my, we have been invited!’ Mother looks on the verge of a heart attack. ‘The Prince’s birthday!’
‘Calm down, Florence,’ Father grunts, unimpressed. ‘You’ll burst a blood vessel.’ He turns his attention onto me and narrows an eye. A suspicious eye. I find my spine straightening as if standing taller can convince him I am unaware of… anything.
‘Good afternoon, Papa.’
He hums, regards me closely a little while longer while I shift on my feet. ‘It’s rumoured Millingdale Bank is perfectly safe.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ I grin like an idiot.
‘Quite.’ He goes to his study, calling for Frank to follow, and I relax, turning my attention onto my brother. He follows, shutting the door behind him. He looked tense too.
‘Look, Eliza!’ Mother shrieks on, making me flinch. ‘Oh, I shall have to buy another dress immediately.’ The invitation hits her chest, as if she is hugging it. ‘But first we must ready ourselves for the Almack’s ball this evening.’ She’s off, Emma in tow, singing at the top of her voice. ‘You look better, dear. I’m so glad you can come along.’