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)
‘Get to it, then, Melrose,’ Lymington adds. ‘The workers can cope with the extra workload.’
‘I believe you will find,’ I say without thought, my mouth running away with me once again, ‘that slavery was abolished in 1807.’ I must learn to control myself, for I am sure I am on the verge of being sent to the Tower and whipped into line.
All the men in the room turn their attention towards the door where I stand, their mouths hanging open like fish. Poor Papa. He of all the men is the most shocked. Or could that be horror? I suspect it is a mixture of both. God, I hate the disappointment on his face.
Frederick jumps up from his chair and nods. ‘Miss Melrose.’
‘My lord,’ I murmur, hatching my plan to escape the downright dreadful silence. ‘Perhaps you should up the wages of your employees, Papa.’ God, Eliza, this is not the plan. To run is the plan. Please, I beg you, do not utter another word. ‘I expect you will evoke the greatest of morals which will, in turn, increase productivity to a very satisfactory level.’
‘I pay well,’ my father splutters.
‘Ten shillings, Papa?’ I question on a laugh, ‘It is hardly a job paid well.’ That is it. I am well and truly done for, but I have started, so I may as well get it all off my chest. ‘And whilst we are on the matter of the company, perhaps also, since you are becoming rather flush’ – I nod at the well-appointed bar, the cigars, the fine threads he’s wearing – ‘you would like to hire another journalist.’ I smile and stand taller, thinking it is high time I claimed my own words, since they are so very popular, and, frankly, I have now realised I am tired of a man, whomsoever he may be – brother or egomaniac Porter – taking the glory for my hard work. ‘I know of just the person, as it happens.’
Father laughs nervously.
‘Wouldn’t that make an exciting change?’ I simply cannot help myself. The looks on the faces of these men is maddening, and Frank is quite clearly begging me to stop.
‘You?’ Lymington splutters.
‘Don’t look so shocked, Your Grace. I have penned many interesting tales of truth. In fact, Papa used to read them with the greatest of interest, didn’t you, Papa?’
‘Eliza, please,’ he whispers, but I am just too mad at Lymington’s dismissal. I am mad that I am here. I am mad that Father expanded the business and made heaps of money. I’m mad I can no longer read all day and write all night. I’m mad that I must now marry a man I feel no love for. I’m mad.
I keep my serious eyes on a horrified Lymington, who I am sure is full of regrets in this moment. ‘I would be thrilled to accept such a position,’ I say joyfully, ‘subject to salary, of course.’ Picking up the bottom of my dress, I pivot. ‘Now, please excuse me, I have dresses to buy and a dozen invitations to social events to accept. The life of a lady is quite busy, don’t you know?’
I step outside the house and pull the door closed with a bit too much force, causing the knocker to knock. ‘Damn it to hell,’ I mutter, my angry gaze finding the Winters’ residence and focusing, not too intensely, on the window. I do not expect the Duke to be any different. Men! ‘Imagine if men were not bigoted pigs.’
‘Pigs, you say?’
My inhale is sharp at the sound of his voice, and my heartbeat speeds when I find his tall, well-built form standing on the cobbles. He’s swinging a walking stick casually, his stance relaxed, his spare hand resting in his pocket. My God, has a man ever appeared so confident and self-assured? And handsome. And mischievous. And… interested.
I work so very hard to gather myself, worried all the odd reactions happening inside are as plain as daylight for him to see. ‘Your Grace,’ I say, nodding but keeping my eyes on him. Will he question me about the letter? Does he even know it was me who returned it? Would he think I would be so rude as to read it? The questions! And, again, who is A?
‘Miss Melrose,’ he says quietly, carrying on his way. It’s only once he’s disappeared through the gates into the gardens that I breathe easily. The man is clearly bad for my health. And how in God’s name does he know my name? I don’t know, but I know, terribly, that it thrills me.
I find Mother and Clara at the bottom of the steps waiting for me, Mother following the path of the Duke, Clara pointing a curious frown my way. ‘Is everything all right, Eliza?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ Mother returns her attention my way. ‘You look rather anxious.’