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)
‘Thank you, Eliza.’ She comes to me and is forced to stretch her arms to reach me, for her dress only allows her so close. ‘I’m afraid,’ she says, pulling and pushing at the square neckline of my dress, ‘that you look somewhat underdressed.’
‘Or, Mother, perhaps it is you who is overdressed?’
Her fiddling hands falter and she looks at me with eyes that are bright, but not without the pity she feels for me. ‘Always so beautiful. You get it from me, of course.’ A cheeky wink.
‘Did you speak with Lady Tillsbury?’ I ask, my curiosity on that matter still raging.
‘About what?’
‘About why she would issue one of the rare and precious vouchers in my name when there are endless willing, and available, I may add,’ – I smile sweetly – ‘young ladies itching to be swept off their feet at such a prestigious affair by any of the handsome eligible gentlemen. It was Lymington, wasn’t it?’
‘She was not at all too enthusiastic on discussing the matter, and, frankly, it matters not who recommended you. If only you could conceive the significance of being approved, Eliza.’
‘But I did not request to be approved, Mama, only you did, so, you see, this makes no sense to me at all, unless, as I have previously voiced, His Grace is acting in order to ensure everyone knows I am to wed Frederick.’ Because there is no other place more prestigious to be seen. Everyone will be talking about the event until the next one. And, as I know, the announcement he so vehemently wanted printed was, in fact, not printed.
‘You are over-thinking.’ Mother dismisses me with ease.
‘If you say so.’ I sigh, glancing across at the doorway when I see Father and Frank pass the drawing room weighed down with arms full of papers. Frank nods, but Father does not even cast a look this way, neither does he speak. I am still in his black books, but that is fine, because he remains in mine.
Mother shrieks, ‘Frank, you’re home!’ and surrenders her tugging and pulling of me. Frank, quite reluctantly, I note, slows and casts a wary look our way, and I expect it is because he was hoping to avoid me. Yes, he is in my black books too, and it seems he shall be remaining in them, for he is a stubborn ass and will not confess his true feelings on this horrid situation I have been forced into.
I lift my nose and turn away from him to be sure he knows of my continued contempt. He had better not ever expect me to go out of my way and dig him out of trouble again. Or free the woman who he’s obviously got his eye on from the horrid Viscount.
‘You look wonderful, Mother,’ he says as Emma smooths my hair over my shoulder and tweaks the ends so it rests perfectly across the top of my breasts, before she starts artfully fixing a beautiful amethyst jewelled hair comb on the side.
‘Tha––’
‘And what about me?’ I ask as I whirl round to face him, leaving poor Emma to, yet again, start over on the positioning of my jewelled hair comb. ‘Not that it matters, of course, for I am already engaged and destined for the delights of marriage and children with quite a catch.’ I tilt my head. ‘So why I’m being forced into this evening’s festivities at a marriage market is beyond the capabilities of my small mind. It is a wasted voucher from whomever requested Lady Tillsbury issue it to me. Perhaps you, brother, should go in my place.’
‘The voucher is made out to you,’ he says quietly. ‘And I have business to attend to.’
‘Oh, have you located Porter?’
‘Porter?’ Mother asks. ‘What of Porter?’
‘Nothing,’ Frank says, sighing. ‘He’s merely visiting family in York.’
‘I’m surprised,’ I muse, holding still for Emma again. ‘What with the Almack’s ball this eve and Prince Prinny’s party on the horizon, there will be many stories to be had.’
‘Eliza, give me strength,’ Frank mutters. ‘I have not got time to hang around here being subjected to your sarcasm. We have a meeting with the Prime Minister.’
‘Oh, whatever for?’ Mother says.
‘Taxes,’ Frank mutters. ‘He’s increasing the flaming taxes on newspapers.’
Oh good. I can only hope this news means the rich, who are famously tight, will refuse to pay and Father’s business will fail, meaning we can return to our home. I wince at my own spiteful thoughts, for he may be in my black books, but I do not wish failure on my father. I only wish for him to spare me this eternal misery. And, truly, if I wanted Father’s business to fail, all I’d have to do is expose myself as the author of the most popular stories, because Lymington would surely be horrified and leave Father high and dry in this deal I keep hearing of, and since I am part of the deal, I cannot in good conscience damage Father to save myself. So, sadly, no one can ever know.