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)
I hear a sound outside and hurry to my window, looking down onto the square. My heart sinks when I see her perched on the bottom step, her head in her hands. She is upset? Not … regretful? Perhaps that is why she is upset, because she is regretful. ‘Oh, Taya Winters,’ I whisper, making the glass fog before me. ‘You beautiful, confusing creature.’ I leave my bedroom and walk with purpose and grit back down to the front door and swing it open, ready to … do what? Kiss her again? Embrace her? Talk to her? Explain why I left so abruptly after such a beautiful, consuming kiss? Tell her I think her drawing is wonderful?
It matters not.
She is gone.
Chapter 14
A fortnight later, I am feeling the pressure more acutely, for my words have run dry, being stretched to their limit, and I am without anything to continue feeding the insatiable thirst of the ton with news of robberies or encounters involving the highwaywoman. It is as I thought. She has disappeared to avoid being caught. Damn it. I have scared her away!
Sales have dropped and I am far off the twenty thousand required for Fleming to entertain any business deal. I am also far off delivering him, or the curious members of the ton, for that matter, the identity of the highwaywoman. Frankly, I’m in a bit of a tricky situation, for the business now has more overheads; we could not possibly withdraw the promised pay rises, as it would certainly cause anarchy, and Grant has warned me we are on the cusp of reporting losses. I’m hiding all of this from Papa, I do not wish to trouble him, and neither do I wish to see everything he has built destroyed.
What a mess. And damn that highwaywoman for teasing me and then disappearing! Hasn’t she got purses to steal? People to scare?
As I wander into the dining room, I find Clara, as I have each morning, looking as forlorn as ever, chewing her way through a bread roll. She peeks up, blessing me with a look that could turn me to stone, and returns to her breakfast. I sigh, accepting of her silent treatment, and pull out a chair next to her, but the moment my backside meets the seat, she gets up and rounds the table, taking a chair on the other side, far away from me.
I help myself to coffee, watching her, thinking she is looking a little skinny, her rounded jaw sharper, and her eyes, no doubt, have lost a little of the fire that once burned in their depths. To think this girl was bursting with joy at the news we were moving to London from the countryside. ‘Clara, I––’
‘Do not talk to me, Frank.’ She slams her bread roll down on the table.
‘It was an impossible situation,’ I go on, trying to appeal to her reasonable side, if at all she has one, which I’m wondering more often these days if she does. Then again, I think, what woman has? The stable boy, for Christ’s sake. ‘You are sixteen, Cla––’
‘Nearly seventeen! It is not fair, Frank. God knows what nitwit I’ll be paired with when the time comes.’
‘I’m sure Mama will make sure he’s a very nice nitwit. A suitable nitwit.’
‘But a nitwit nevertheless. Did you know Mama is rumoured to be favoured by all to become a patron of that Almack place? She’ll have me in there every week! I’ll run away, Frank, I swear it.’
I roll my eyes and get a sugar lump thrown at me for my trouble. I remember Eliza promising to do just the same when Papa was trying to marry her off to Frederick Lymington. Now, he most definitely was a nitwit, but, I admit, a rather endearing one who was at the mercy of his father’s control. Poor chap. I do hope he’s found happiness with his first love in Cornwall. He acted out of honour for his father. He can be forgiven that.
I drink my coffee and stand, rounding the table and taking Clara’s shoulders, dipping and kissing her cheek. ‘You are loved, Clara. We only want what is best for you. A man who will look after you and provide for you.’ I squeeze her shoulders. ‘I will see to it that Mama allows me to take charge of the situation when the time comes, so you need not worry about being paired with any nitwits.’ Like our Eliza, Clara needs a man with a bit of oomph. A man who can handle her fire. What is it with all these women full of fire that I am surrounded by? Surely I am set to be burned. ‘I must go, I have business to deal with.’ And a highwaywoman to coax out of hiding.