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 found the courage I needed to return to the Grand Hall. I did not really have a choice. We are an hour by carriage from home and it is already past midnight. I stand on the edge of the room, and Papa and Mama catch my eye, dancing the minuet. It’s all very old-fashioned. They should be waltzing. But the choice of music and the out-dated dance that complements it pales when I look at their faces. Delighted faces. They were born to be in this world. They have found their place, and despite Mother’s concerns for me, I can’t deny she is glowing. In her element, along with Father. They deserve the recognition being bestowed upon them. Me, however? I resent having to join them, but do not appear to have a choice. I simply cannot ruin this for them.
I swallow, despondent, as Clara finds me. ‘Eliza, you fell.’
‘How very observant of you, Clara.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘No, I am in agony,’ I reply quietly, sighing loudly but smiling when she grows concerned. ‘I am fine,’ I assure her. ‘Just promise you will not grow another year older.’ Poor Clara has all of this to come, and I know she is wholly unprepared for it.
She laughs, the sound young and sweet, despite her being only three years younger than I. ‘That is quite impossible.’
‘Sadly, you are right, sister,’ I muse, rubbing her gloved arm. ‘You look very pretty this evening.’ Her blonde hair is coiled into perfect ringlets and her blue eyes are sparkling. I bet she is already capturing the attention of many.
‘I thought so too.’ She smiles cheekily. ‘Do you like Frederick?’
‘Do you think I should?’
‘He’s a bit…’ her lips purse ‘… bland, isn’t he?’
I laugh. Yes, bland. That is the perfect word to describe Frederick. A gormless fool.
I overhear a conversation from some ladies not too far away and instinctively move one step towards them, tugging Clara along with me.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks. I hush her, listening carefully.
‘It should have been demolished,’ one lady says. Naturally, my ears prick up, and I discreetly take one more step closer, again pulling Clara along with me.
‘Eliza, what on earth?’ she hisses.
‘It spoils the symmetry on Belmore Square,’ the lady continues.
‘Who do you imagine would ever want to live there after the Duke’s son burned them all alive.’
‘The Winters’ residence?’ I say without thought, pulling the attention of all three women my way. The shock on their faces. Oh, the shock. ‘You are speaking of the Winters’ residence, are you not?’
One of the other ladies’ lips pucker unattractively, her eyes taking me in, up and down, like I’m a street urchin polluting her posh space. Her face is thick with powder, her eyebrows shaved off and replaced with what looks like the fur of a dead animal. ‘And you are?’
‘The Melrose girls,’ another says, casting her eyes from me to Clara.
‘Oh,’ she croons, like our identity means something to her. Of course, it does. ‘New money.’ She looks to her snooty friends and grins, revealing teeth that have been indulged with too much sugar. ‘Did you see that one tumble?’ She laughs, the sound cutting, and her friends join her while I stand before them at the mercy of their judgements and the subject of their amusement. ‘God help His Grace and Frederick.’
My inhale is sharp and unstoppable, my hurt great. How is it that these wenches know of my fate before I do? God help me.
‘If you should like to know who has rebuilt number one Belmore Square, I suggest you read tomorrow’s edition of The London Times,’ I retort, making them all snap their mouths closed. Good. I bow my head and wander away, dragging a bemused Clara along with me.
‘Who has rebuilt one Belmore Square?’ she questions as we move towards mother.
‘Read the newspaper tomorrow.’
‘I don’t read Father’s newspaper. Since you don’t write for it any more, it’s become utterly boring.’
‘Hmmm,’ I hum, trying not to look as guilty as I am. I must not reveal to anyone that I am responsible for tomorrow’s story. Never. That luxury will be whipped away faster than Papa could even think to defend me.
Chapter 3
WINTER RETURNS TO BELMORE SQUARE
Imagine if the new resident of the old Winters’ house on the corner of Belmore Square, was, in fact, a Winters…
The next day, Father’s newspaper sold fifty per cent more than the average day, which, these days, was a handsome amount anyway. Naturally, the speculation of which long-lost member of the Winters family would be moving into Belmore Square reignited the rumours as to what exactly happened to the Duke, his wife and their children. Now, a week has passed since my story was printed, and while the buzz on the square has increased greatly and remains, my knowledge of the Winters has not, therefore eliminating the possibility of writing anything of any gravity. I have learned that the Duke of Chester, Joe Winters, was a renowned inventor, though I couldn’t find anything about what he invented and not one person I have encountered this past week appeared to know either when I subtly pried. His wife, Wisteria, was the daughter of a dead viscount who was on the verge of ruin, and their children, Johnny, Sampson, and Taya were supposedly as beautiful as their mother was famed to be. The eldest, Johnny, the Duke’s heir, was rather wild, by all accounts. Wild and rebellious. Hot-headed and partial to a few too many Scotches. And a rake, to boot. A famed lover.