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)
As I sit in the drawing room gazing out of the window, I listen to her wail about the disaster, Emma following her with a needle and thread trying to get hold of the dress so as to repair it.
Unfortunately for Father, he chooses this precise moment to arrive home.
‘It is broken!’ she cries, thrusting the masses of silk towards him.
‘And what do you suppose I should do about that, Florence? I have had a horrid day at work, and I should like a moment’s peace in my study, so please do not disturb me with trivial matters of faulty flounces.’ The door slams behind him, and I stand, concerned, thinking he looked rather ashen, quite anxious, in fact, his expression matching his words.
‘Well,’ Mother murmurs, sounding wholly injured, as she passes her dress to Emma. ‘That was rather uncalled for.’
What does she expect Father to do with a damaged dress? I can’t say I’m all too fond of the melancholy that has become her as she stares at Father’s office door. It has been noted, not only by Mama but by myself, too, that Father is becoming increasingly grumpy in recent weeks. I know sales have dropped a little, for I have heard Lymington moan on and on about it, but since Porter is still absent and Frank has been let go, that doesn’t look likely to change. Yes, Frank has been let go. Sadly, my story about Millingdale Bank collapsing failed to spoil the arrangement between the Viscount and Lizzy Fallow. What it did instead was get my brother in trouble for reporting false news. I saw the pain on Father’s face. And Frank would never have betrayed me, so he accepted his dismissal with a nod and nothing more. I know he’s relieved. I know Father is more anxious than ever. He knows too that Frank did not write that story, but what can he say? Do?
Mama looks down at me and smiles ever so mildly. ‘You look brighter today,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what has gone on in recent weeks, Eliza, and I do not wish to, but I have noted your spirits have dipped.’
Dipped? Or plummeted? I return her smile, wondering which statement is most untrue.
Out of sight out of mind? Or, absence makes the heart grow fonder?
He’s definitely not out of my mind. And I hate him more today than I did the eve he threw me…
I walked out.
‘I am all right, Mama,’ I assure her.
‘I do not believe you, Eliza. I may have adopted a certain––’
‘Ruthlessness?’
Her lips purse. ‘I want us to be accepted. Your father has worked so hard, he deserves the recognition and respect some seem unable to offer. It’s new versus old, and old is powerful by name, not by mind.’
‘So why the incessant need to marry me off to Frederick?’ I ask. ‘If title means nothing and mind everything, because I know I have the latter.’
‘In abundance, my dearest. In abundance. Sadly, once you make a deal with Lymington, you do not renege on it.’
The deal. ‘Why?’
‘Well––’
Frank bowls through the door, and Mother loses her sadness at the sight of her son. ‘Francis, ho–– ’
‘Not now, Mother,’ he snaps, passing her without so much as a fleeting look and, appearing as anxious as Father, disappearing into the study too. Our poor mother recoils, injured, and flinches when the door slams. I take no pleasure from the sadness that washes over her, so, as a matter of duty and compassion, and because I’m not a complete ass, I go to her, taking her arm and huddling close into her side. I need not say a thing. She looks down at me and smiles ever so mildly.
‘I suppose I ought to fix that dress,’ she says, patting the top of my hand.
‘I will help you,’ I reply, following her back into the drawing room where Emma is struggling to find the end of the length of flounce amid the masses of silk layers, but I am wondering the whole way why Frank looked so harassed and went to Papa’s study if he no longer works for the newspaper? I feel as though I am constantly asking what on earth is going on, for one reason or another.
I drop to my knees and start rummaging, and, on a laugh that truly thrills me, Mother joins me, chuckling when I disappear under the dress. ‘Oh, Eliza, I have lost you!’
‘Are you surprised?’ I ask, fighting with the endless layers. ‘Ah, I have it.’ I flap the material back over my head and present it to Emma on a smile. ‘Perhaps double stitch.’
‘I should make a complaint,’ Mama grumbles, taking my hand and gazing at me fondly. I can see it in her eyes. Regret. She is lonely here, lonely at all the busy, chaotic, gossiping parties. She wants her husband back, but she will not make that confession. No. She loves the freedom Papa’s riches has offered her, yet she quietly acknowledges that the money that’s brought a release of hardship, has taken freedom from her children. But she would never say it. Never admit. She would never betray Papa’s hard work in such a way. But I’ll wager she’ll continue to bake in the dead of night for a long time, possibly even forever. ‘What are you wearing?’ she asks instead.