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)
‘Well, my sister will be a duchess, my lady. And she is marrying a duke.’
‘Scandalous! He should be locked up for his crimes.’
‘And what crimes might those be?’ I ask, rolling my eyes. ‘I believe it was your friend Lymington who was proven to be the criminal. Haven’t you been reading The London Times, my lady? It’s very informative.’
She snarls and marches away, and I laugh to myself as I amble on, casual and without rush, mulling over the first part of my story once again. It’s informative. Explosive. Intriguing. I’ve never felt so impatient about anything in my life. It has been mere weeks since my encounter with the highwayman, who I believe to be a woman, but it feels like I’ve been waiting centuries for Eliza and Johnny’s wedding so that I may claim the front page when she leaves London for her travels.
I look down at my pocket watch. The hour draws closer. I cross the road as a carriage rumbles up to number eight Belmore, where that crook Lymington used to live. His son, Frederick, the man who my sister was once promised to, before the Duke returned to Belmore Square, shockingly very alive, has absconded to Cornwall to be with his one true love, which means the house has stood empty for weeks.
‘So what snooty lord or lady will be gracing the cobbles of Belmore Square next?’ I ask myself, taking the steps back to our house and entering, hearing the chaos of the women in our family getting ready upstairs.
I decide father’s study is the safest place and enter, pouring myself a Scotch and taking a precious moment of quiet. I sit down and sip, seeing an ornate silver-plated mirror on Papa’s desk – definitely not his. I pick it up and spin it before looking at my reflection. My blonde hair is pleasingly tidy, my blue eyes bright after a good night’s sleep on a belly of water instead of gin. My new rich blue velvet coat complements my gaze perfectly, my fair hair too. I lean closer into the mirror and tweak my hair as the door flies open and Mama bursts in, scanning me up and down for a brief moment, smiling her approval at her boy, before she clocks the mirror in my hand and runs at me, snatching it and running back out.
‘I’ve found it,’ she yells, slamming the door behind her, making me jump at the loud bang. Mama. Dear, dear Mama. She will be in her element today. Loud and proud. There is no question, Eliza’s marriage to the Duke of Chester will put the Melrose family firmly on the ton’s map.
The door opens again, and Papa enters, fixing his cravat. It prompts me to check mine. ‘Are you ready, son?’ he asks, tweaking his blonde hair too.
He has been a different man these past few weeks, since being freed from the financial chains and blackmail of his investor. That crook Lymington had Papa fooled, had us all fooled, until his crimes were exposed. Now, the newspaper is ours again, and Papa is lighter, happier. ‘I am,’ I say, getting up and pouring him a Scotch. ‘We need to replace Porter, Father,’ I say, handing him the tumbler and going back to the chair behind the desk.
‘Indeed we do. We shall advertise for a new journalist very soon. I wouldn’t want Eliza to feel like we’re replacing her.’
I bite at my bottom lip. ‘I’ll write for the newspaper again,’ I say, bracing myself for his reaction.
‘You?’ he blurts. ‘You’ve always hated writing, Frank. What’s changed?’
A mysterious highwayman that I think could be a woman! ‘Just considering our options.’
Looking somewhat taken aback, Father pulls on his jacket. ‘I must say, I’m surprised, son. I know you’ve struggled to adapt to business in London since we arrived.’ He cocks his head, and I smile mildly over the rim of my glass. It is true. I have struggled, my heart definitely not in it, but I have not, however, struggled to fit into the social scene. Or the women’s affections.
‘Let us discuss it another time. It is your sister’s wedding day, a joyous day!’ He collects me and leads us out of his study.
‘Indeed,’ I say, as Mama flies past us, Emma still in pursuit, looking worn out. We stop and collectively turn our heads to follow her path. ‘Where’s Clara?’ I call, receiving a waft of her hand through the air, dismissive. Everyone is quite distracted today, understandably, and my little sister needs a watchful eye on her. The stable boy may be terrified of me, but my wily baby sister is not.
‘I am here, brother,’ Clara says, appearing at the top of the stairs. I restrain my smile, for I’m certain I will receive a whack if I show my amusement. She looks sickly in lavender and peach frills.