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)
Frank scowls, unamused, pulling the newspaper out of my reach and standing, wandering over to the glass cabinet under the window. ‘You are caustic, Eliza,’ he breathes, unlocking the door and resting the latest edition atop the pile of newspapers, one copy of every edition since Father invested his last seven hundred pounds on a steam printing machine. The average and underwhelming two hundred copies per print are a distant memory, although, I hasten to add, Papa always sold more when I had written for his newspaper. Accepting my brother was named as the author was a small price to pay. I wanted not the accolades, only the satisfaction, fulfilment and purpose. Now The London Times is slowly building, although I cannot help wondering if it is growing fast enough for Father and Lymington’s liking. There are other newspapers biting at their heels, all trying to get their hands on one of those fancy steam press machines.
‘Papa should let me write.’ I pluck a bread roll from the basket in the middle of the table and begin tearing it apart, popping bits past my lips. ‘I don’t mind if you have to take all the credit.’
‘You know that can’t happen,’ he says, settling in his seat, his arms folding over his single-breasted frock coat. It’s a new one. Another new one. While I have struggled to learn my place in this world, Frank has fallen seamlessly into upper class living – shopping, drinking and socialising with ease. And, I know, indulging in the fresh selection of women in between writing for Papa’s newspaper. I know the latter pains him, which makes this whole situation even more ridiculous. I could free him of the burden.
‘Have you been to see your new best friend at the Burlington again?’ I ask, chewing slowly, keeping my smirk concealed.
Frank dusts down the front of his new piece. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Another twenty shillings on another coat?’ I tut and sigh, rubbing the tips of my fingers together to rid them of flour dust. ‘Why, brother, you are becoming rather frivolous in your old age.’
‘And you, dear sister, are becoming rather cynical.’
‘I’m a realist.’
‘A real pain in my backside,’ he muses, peeking up at me with a wry smile. ‘Please, can you keep your world-saving, pioneering ambitions in check tomorrow evening?’
‘What is happening tomorrow evening?’
His head cocks, his look uncertain. I know it’s because whatever it is I have neglected to remember, I should not have forgotten. ‘Only one of the biggest events of the season.’
My shoulders slump, but I soon correct them. ‘Oh yes. How could I have allowed that, of all things, to slip my mind?’
‘Easy. Because you, dear sister,’ Frank chirps, ‘do not want to go.’
‘I don’t want to be paraded around the palace like a fat, delicious pig waiting for Mama to give permission for some greedy, rich lord to sink his teeth into me. I wish to remain a spinster.’ I frown to myself. Do I? I’ve never really given much thought to it, because I never had to.
Frank baulks. ‘A spinster?’
I square my shoulders, deciding in this moment that I am wholly invested. ‘Yes. I don’t know why the word arouses such dread in women and pity in men.’
‘Over my dead body will my sister become an ape leader.’ Frank laughs, but quickly reigns himself in, clearing his throat as I smirk across at him. ‘And there will be no teeth sinking into anything.’
‘Oh damn,’ I whisper, and he shakes his head, exasperated. ‘That’s a shame, since with all this eating and nothing else to busy myself with, I am gaining some extra flesh to bite at.’
‘Your mind needs a wash.’
‘My mind is fine. My spirit, however, is slowly dying.’ I reach for Frank’s hand and squeeze, my expression turning into one of pleading. If Father listens to anyone – which isn’t many people since he became a magnate – he listens to his oldest child, his most reliable, abiding offspring. His heir. ‘I don’t want to go. Please, please, please tell Father I am unwell.’
My brother smiles fondly, turning his hand over to clasp mine and leaning towards me, pushing one of my dark curls back. ‘Not on your nelly.’
‘What a silly expression. What do you even mean?’
‘I don’t know, but I think I shall coin the phrase.’
‘You do not need to coin anything, brother. You are now the heir to a growing empire, and I shall wither and die of heartbreak for the life I have lost in the arms of my suitor, whoever he may be.’ I snatch my hand back. ‘You never know, if I’m lucky, my first season may pass without even a sniff of interest from any eligible bachelors.’ I know it not to be true; Father has been flexing his matchmaking muscles even before we arrived on Belmore Square, and I know he’s being prepping Mama for the part she will play in the Demise of Eliza Melrose too. I’m doomed, but only if I allow it, which, of course, I absolutely will not. ‘I just need to survive the season and the ton and escape back to our home in the country,’ I say quietly.