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)
‘Our future is secure,’ I point out. ‘You’ve made sure of that with your hard work, Papa. We do not need suitable husbands and wives to help us along the way to security.’ I give him my beseeching eyes. ‘Or happiness. I am happy as I am. I am happy with my family. I do not wish to be sent to Cornwall where I shall be eternally miserable.’
He sighs, backing away. ‘When you have your own children, you will be far from miserable.’
‘If I should like children, and I know not if I do, I should like a man whom I actually like to sire them!’
‘Please, Frank,’ Papa groans, ‘I beg you, talk some sense into that girl.’
‘I need no sense. It is you, Papa, who needs sense, as I cannot marry Frederick, and you should not make me.’
‘It’s too late, Eliza.’ His shoulders drop, so heavy is the weight of his woes. I have a fun fact for my father. My woes are far heavier!
‘What are these terms you speak of?’ I ask.
‘You will surrender all land and wealth upon your husband’s death.’
‘No jointure?’ I laugh and I cannot stop it, although, it should be noted, my amusement is not in humour. ‘So I don’t even get paid for sustaining a marriage to a man whom I don’t love?’
‘You will, however, keep your title. You will remain in Cornwall.’
‘I’ll be hidden in Cornwall,’ I blurt. ‘I am being used to bear an heir, that is all. They are ashamed of me and should wish to keep me locked up miles away from my home and family.’ This is worse than I ever imagined! ‘Frederick cannot secure a wife.’ I am more certain by the day that it is not actually Frederick’s fault, despite him being quite bland and boring. I expect the reason he lacks a wife is because no one wants to be associated with his tyrant of a father. ‘I am a last resort for Lymington to secure the future of his dukedom!’ I look at Frank, praying for some backup. He must know this will kill my spirit and destroy my contentment. Please, Frank, please, I pray, over and over. Alas, my brother stares down at his breeches, unable to face me. The coward!
‘You shall be happy raising children,’ Father murmurs quietly. ‘You shall be happy taking our family into a status we are worthy of but lack due to that thing they call bloodlines.’
My throat seems to clog up, my eyes stinging terribly. I know not what to say. How could he do this to me? To be married off without one say is terrible enough, but with so many unreasonable conditions attached too? This is madness!
‘Now go ready yourself for this flaming Almack’s ball before your mother bursts two blood vessels, and I will politely request, if I may, as your father, that you make an effort with your fiancé on this evening to ease the worry of Lymington.’
Fiancé? ‘So he has officially asked for my hand?’ I ask. ‘He came here and spoke to you?’
‘He did, and he spoke rather fondly of you.’
I tilt my head, watching my father carefully. ‘And is Frederick the only caller I have had?’ Will he admit to Johnny Winters calling for me too?
He sighs. ‘You are the prettiest young woman this season, Eliza.’ But that is all he says. Nothing more. No firm confirmation of other callers, and yet it was a confirmation. I care not for any of them, except one. ‘Please, my darling girl, trust me.’
‘How can I trust you, Papa? You’re condemning me to a life of misery, and for what?’
‘The carriage will be here to collect you and your mother at eight.’ He looks away, and I wonder, for a fleeting moment, because that is how long it takes me to assume I am right, whether Lymington played a part in securing me a voucher to Almack’s, just to be seen with Frederick in public, for it has been a while. To assure the ton we are happy and in love and all is well, when it absolutely is not.
I storm out, rushing up the stairs, and burst into my bedroom, falling onto the mattress. I cry. I cry so hard, the hardest I ever have.
I cannot match my mother’s enthusiasm as much as I try to smile and praise her impeccably dressed form as she twirls around the drawing room and Emma follows, trying in vain to smooth down the endless frills on her new frock. I fear she could be trying forever and never succeed, for the dress is what one might describe as untameable. It is busy and bright and will certainly not be missed. Intentional, I expect, on Mother’s part. ‘You look wonderful,’ I say, but my announcement is half-hearted and quiet, not that she notices, being so distracted by the task of containing endless flicks and frills.