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)
‘With a bit of meat on her bones?’
‘Back to normal, I see,’ she remarks. ‘It’s a pity your raging fever did not burn away your insolence, as well as the meat on your bones.’ She tugs at the fastener with a heavy hand, jolting me in warning.
My smile is unstoppable. ‘How is Frank?’ He has not checked in on me since being taken to my bed, but Clara has, and she has kept me abreast of all things. Poor Lizzy Fallow has been sentenced to life and the wedding will go ahead.
‘He is fine,’ Mother replies, clipped. ‘Now, what should we do with your hair?’ she asks, turning me to face her and inspecting the mass of messy waves, her lips twisting in contemplation. ‘For this I shall need the assistance of Emma. Emma!’ she hollers, and I wince.
‘Mama, please.’ I feel like every sense is delicate, and why was she so dismissive of my enquiry into my brother?
Emma arrives, and the next hour is spent making me look presentable so I may be reintroduced to society – proof of life – and as I’m tugged and pulled around by Emma under Mama’s instruction, I look out of the window, but my position only permits me to see the sky. Today, it is the most vivid of blues and the sun is shining. It would seem in this past week the weather has improved.
But what of the Duke’s mood?
Not that I care, of course.
As I step out of our house, I feel a distinct change in the temperature. What a difference a week makes. I can’t speak for the evening, but the daytime is rather pleasant, the need for a coat dress no more. So, in my dress, which is appropriately long-sleeved, and a bonnet, which is unfortunately decorated in the most lavish, colourful flowers Mother could find, a tactic, I’m sure, adopted solely to ensure I am seen, in order to put people’s minds at rest that I am, in fact, alive and kicking, we walk down the street with the sun shining upon us. I cannot deny it, I am uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of all. They are probably keeping a close eye on me to see if I keel over, and I notice also that no one approaches to greet me. They probably consider me contagious. Good. This bout of sickness really could be a blessing.
When we arrive at the promenade, the traffic is heavy, horses at every turn, and I conclude that, it would seem, the fair weather has brought out London’s finest in droves.
I’m confused when Mother marches off in the opposite direction to the royal park. ‘Mother?’ I call. ‘Has the park been relocated in the time I have been sweating like a pig in my bed?’
‘Oh,’ Mother laughs in that sarcastic way in which she does, not appreciating my dry wit. ‘I have a new hat to collect.’ She does not let my question stop her in her mission.
I sigh, trudging after her. ‘And for what occasion would this one be for?’
‘Lady Blythe is hosting quite a spectacle of a party on Wednesday evening of next week. I am for certain pleased you are now well enough to attend.’
‘Why? It is not like you need the occasion to marry me off,’ I say grimly. ‘Or has Lymington given up on trying to tame the shrew and started his search over?’ Good luck to him. I cannot imagine there is a female in England who should be willing, not that she needs to be willing. After all, I was not, and that small matter keeps appearing in my mind. The deal that was made between Papa and Lymington. I should like to know for what my father sold me.
‘Hold your tongue in public, Eliza.’ Mother grumbles, coming to a stop outside the milliner’s shop. ‘It would be fair to say,’ she says quietly, her head tilted, ‘that there may be a considerable amount of sucking up to do in light of your recent absence.’
‘Why? I was ill.’
‘As was your father,’ she says under her breath, pushing her way into the shop. Her displeasure is soon exchanged for delight; however, my scowl remains. Papa was ill? Why did no one share this news with me? One would like to think that one’s loved ones were worried about them. Perhaps they deemed the news too distressful, therefore could possibly hamper my recovery, therefore my reintroduction into London society. But, I digress, I am, as troublesome as it is, already promised to someone, so my reappearance on the social scene is of little importance. What the devil is going on?
I go after my mother, ready to interrogate her for the information to which I am certain I am entitled, since this is my life and happiness being used as compensation for whatever it is Father has received from Lymington, but she has taken on quite some speed, and doesn’t that make me more suspicious. ‘Mother,’ I say, following her into the shop.