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)
‘Every need?’ What does my sixteen-year-old sister know of ladies’ needs?
‘You were not the only one to spy our brother getting up to no good in the woods, you know.’ Clara smiles wickedly as two elderly ladies look at us in nothing short of horror.
‘Clara,’ I hiss.
‘Oh, please. Are you being a prude, Eliza?’ she asks, her cheekiness making way for the true Clara buried beneath fancy hats and dresses.
‘I am not a prude.’
‘You are acting like one. Anyway, what has this got to do with the barren land before us?’
I take Clara’s elbow and encourage her onward, away from the disapproving ladies still gawking at us. ‘She discovered her lover had hand-picked flowers from her royal garden and given them to his other lover.’ I motion to the park that lacks any colour past the green of the grass and trees and the brown of the thick trunks. ‘Blinded by jealousy, she ordered every flower be dug up and her lover was imprisoned in the tower.’
‘Blimey.’
‘Blimey indeed.’
Clara shudders, pulling at her dress, and I smile. ‘What?’ she questions.
‘Nothing at all.’
Her shoulders drop. ‘Yes, I am uncomfortable. Is that what you want to hear?’ She wriggles and grimaces. ‘And if I am forced to eat one more beef sandwich, I swear it, I will scream.’
I laugh loudly.
‘Oh shut up,’ Clara snaps. ‘And what of her lover’s other lover?’
I look at my sister, my eyebrows high, and draw a line across my throat. ‘Jealousy is not an emotion one should toy with.’ Especially when a queen with all the power is involved.
‘Chr––’ Her attention is pulled across the grass. ‘Eliza, look,’ she says, pointing. ‘Over there.’
On a frown, I follow her gesture to a boy tying his horse to a tree trunk. ‘Who is that?’ I ask her, just as the boy glances over. He smiles when he finds Clara, his cheeks turning a fetching and telling shade of red.
‘I don’t know.’ Clara forces me to continue walking.
‘We must say hello,’ I insist, breaking away, resisting her attempts to stop me. She looks between Mama and me, torn. Our mother is far too engrossed trying to win the approval of Lady Tillsbury, and therefore be granted access to the world of Almack’s, to notice our absence. It’s a blessing. ‘Come now, sister, we would not want him to think us rude.’
‘But…’
‘But, what?’
‘He––’
‘Are you flustered?’ I ask, frowning at Clara’s cheeks, which are now matching in colour to the dried roses on her bonnet. I make it to the tree, Clara not far behind, and motion to the impressive horse. ‘He is a handsome beast,’ I say, causing untold shock from the boy as he glances around. ‘Don’t look so surprised.’ I stroke his horse’s nose. ‘We can just say we have been previously introduced.’
‘By whom?’ he asks. ‘I am a stable boy, my lady.’
I feared as much. ‘Anyone you wish. Is he yours?’
‘No.’ He smiles up at the thoroughbred mare. ‘I am merely taking him to my master.’
‘And who is your master?’
‘Mr Fitzgerald.’
Ah, the architect who designed the houses on Belmore Square. At least, all except number one. He lives on the square too. ‘I know of him, so we are fine. Have you met my sister?’ I ask, reaching back and pulling Clara forward.
He eyes her cautiously. ‘I have seen her on Belmore Square.’
‘Clara, say hello.’
‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ he replies, nodding. ‘I am Benjamin.’
I look over my shoulder and groan, forcing a smile when Frederick finds me, his eyes jumping between me, Clara, and the boy. I suppose I ought to get this over with. I am keen to get home and pen my latest story. ‘We must go,’ I say, backing away from Benjamin, dragging my sister with me. ‘He was a nice boy,’ I muse, looking at my sister, who is looking back at Benjamin. ‘But a stable boy,’ I add, reminding her that now, here in our new world, stable boys are not acceptable boys.
‘Yes, yes,’ Clara moans. ‘And Frederick is a bore.’
‘But acceptable,’ I mutter, seeing Mother frown at us as we wander across the grass, probably wondering where we’ve been. Clara joins her, and this time, when I find myself in Frederick’s company, I wait to be greeted, as is expected, before nodding. His father, the Duke of Cornwall, does not approve of me, that much I have established, and while I should not care, annoyingly, I do. As a matter of fact, I do not approve of him, either, so we are, as one might say, on the same page. I talk too much for the old duke, ask too many questions, and I fall over at royal balls. ‘Should we promenade, Frederick?’ I ask, and Mother laughs. It’s quite the nervous laugh. ‘I apologise,’ I all but grate. ‘Should we promenade, my lord?’ I correct myself.