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)
Now, Mother closes her eyes briefly, mortified, and the old duke shakes his head in despair, making a few specks of white powder from his wig dislodge and settle on the shoulders of his brown coat. Frederick steps forward and sweeps an arm out towards the pathway, and I go obediently, leaving Mother to build our bridges with his father and Papa’s business partner. It is not the first time, and I highly doubt it will be the last, for I am, without intention, a constant and consistent form of despair for my newly wealthy, respected parents.
Frederick and I walk in silence for an age. I swear it, he has the personality of a snail. ‘What do you like?’ I ask, keen to kill the silence. If Frederick could only learn to converse with me, then perhaps we might get along. It would be nice to have something in common with my betrothed.
‘Pardon?’ he says, looking at me like I am a halfwit.
‘Do you ride, my lord?’ I am somewhat taken aback when he laughs. Not because Frederick has shown a hint of a personality, but because, actually, and much to my pleasant surprise, his looks improve enormously.
‘I’m afraid not, Miss Melrose.’
I frown. Don’t all men ride? ‘Why not?’ I ask, and he looks at me, startled. I seem to constantly surprise this man.
‘I prefer a drawn carriage.’
‘Oh.’ I return my attention forward. ‘It is not as much fun, though, is it?’
‘You’ve ridden?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I used to ride often.’ Before I was forced into a world where riding astride one’s horse is not a dignified pursuit for the fairer sex.
‘Alone?’
‘Yes, alone.’ When we lived in the countryside, I could ride every day on our land, with no one to ridicule me for it. ‘It was quite exhilarating.’ I pout, once again mourning the loss of those carefree days, where I could be anyone, anyhow I chose. ‘What do you do to feel exhilarated?’ I look up at Frederick, silently begging him to give me a scrap of excitement, just something to build my hopes on.
‘Well, attending any one of the Prince Regent’s balls is quite exhilarating, wouldn’t you agree?’
Every muscle in my poor, squished body deflates, shrinking me. Exhilarating? My time at the royal ball was torture. I slow to a stop, and Frederick looks back, frowning. ‘Is something the matter, Miss Melrose?’ he asks, coming to a standstill.
‘Yes, Frederick, there is.’
Poor Frederick. He simply does not know what to do with me, how to handle me, how to react. He looks around, cautious, and I sigh.
‘Would you expect me to address you by your title if we were married, my lord?’
‘Well, it is how my mother addresses my father.’
‘It is?’ I ask, stupefied. That would be like Mama calling Papa Mr Melrose. What is this madness? ‘Frederick, I fear we are a complete mismatch,’ I confess, though it is hardly a confession. Anyone with adequate eyesight must see Frederick and I are incompatible. Surely he is not happy with this arrangement.
‘You do?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I do, Frederick.’ He needs a ‘yes’ lady. Actually, he just needs a lady. A true lady. A lady who is born a lady, title and all, and not a manufactured lady. And a pitiful example of one at that. And, come to think of it, why would a man of the Duke of Cornwall’s status settle for a girl like me? I have no title. Not even much decorum. ‘I––’
We are both interrupted from our debate on compatibility when a horse neighs and a few ladies scream in shock. I turn quickly and see a man on horseback galloping towards us, everyone shuffling hastily from his path. ‘Should he be riding so carelessly through the royal park?’ I ask, remaining where I am, slap-bang in the middle of the track, while Frederick flees with everyone else and makes way for the reckless horseman.
‘Miss Melrose,’ Frederick calls, trying to encourage me away with a quite deranged flailing hand. ‘Miss Melrose, please!’
The pounding of the horse’s hooves on the dirt seems to travel up my legs, my body vibrating. The ground moving. ‘He cannot canter through a public park,’ I declare, outraged. ‘Has he no regard for public safety?’
‘Miss Melrose!’ Frederick calls, and I turn to find him on the edge of the crowd lining the path. ‘You must move.’
‘I must do no such thing.’ I return my attention forward, finding the horseman is nearly upon me, and lords and ladies at every turn are yelling their orders for me to get out of his way. This is utterly preposterous. Why isn’t he slowing down?
‘Johnny Winters,’ someone gasps.
Those two words finally have me taking a cautious step back. Johnny Winters?
‘Yes,’ another exclaims. ‘It is he.’
‘What?’ I breathe. The eldest son of the Duke of Chester? But… he’s dead. Johnny Winters. The rebellious, drunk rake? The man rumoured to have set his home alight and killed the entire family, including himself? I swallow, the horse coming towards me at a rapid speed.