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)
‘Because I am not.’
I glance up and notice a copy of Father’s newspaper tucked under his arm, and he pulls it out. It’s then I notice it is not the most recent edition, but an older one. He opens it, browses casually, hums, and quite curious, which I’m certain is his plan, I crane my neck to see what he’s making an elaborate point of reading. It’s my story. My story detailing the Duke’s grand arrival back in London. ‘You read the news, did you?’ he asks.
‘I did not need to because, most unfortunately, I was there on that day.’
‘Unfortunately,’ he murmurs softly, and then, in stark contrast, he snaps the paper shut and tucks it back under his arm. I swallow, and his eyes narrow accusingly. Damn me, I look away, feeling my cheeks heat. ‘Was it unfortunate, Miss Melrose?’ he whispers, dipping, coming closer again, forcing me to peek up at him. He scans my face, every little bit of it.
‘Most unfortunate,’ I say quietly, and he smiles a little.
‘How so?’
‘You are quite rude.’
‘And you are quite bold. I don’t think London quite suits you.’
I laugh a little, and it is unstoppable. ‘I think you are perhaps correct.’
His smile is almost cheeky, and in this moment, I consider the fact that I am seeing a very different man to the rest of the world. A murderer? It’s obscene. I cannot believe it. My eyes drop to his lips again. Full, lush lips. Lips that were so close to mine just a moment ago.
Eliza!
I shake myself away from those forbidden thoughts and straighten. ‘You are still crowding me.’ And I like it.
‘So I am,’ he whispers, moving back and pushing something into my chest. The book he pulled down.
‘Good day to you, Miss Melrose.’ He turns and meanders slowly away, and, God save my treacherous soul, I admire the sway of his walk and the fine form of his long, sturdy legs. He is perfect. Perfect but tarnished. And suddenly, being in London doesn’t feel at all like a hardship.
He looks back but not enough to give me his full face, just his profile, and what a fine profile it is. I could puddle to the floor, for I certainly need to get off my feet for a moment to gather myself. I raise a hand to the bookcase and cling on, my heart honestly feeling like it could burst right out of my chest. Goodness. And once again I am asking myself how he knows my name. Perhaps one day I will remember to ask when I’m in his company, if I can locate my composure in the moment.
I hear Mother calling me, forcing me to try harder to find my poise. ‘I’m here, Mama,’ I call, my voice shaky. I breathe in and out a few long times, checking myself over and patting at my burning cheeks.
‘My goodness, it is like a maze in here,’ she says, appearing round a corner. ‘What have you found?’ I look down at the book in my hand, but before I can tell her what it is, because I do not yet know, she takes it and reads the cover. I am unsure what to think when I see her body shrink a little. ‘Oh Eliza,’ she sighs, shaking her head. Oh, Eliza, what? I dare not ask. She places the book back in my hand, strokes my cheek, looking at me with a heavy sorrow. ‘Cook will have lunch ready.’ Mother leaves, calling for Clara, and I look down at the book.
‘Gulliver’s Travels,’ I murmur, biting down on my lip, contemplating. I know it well, I have a copy in my nightstand. A coincidence?
As we arrive back in Belmore Square, I see Frank and Papa boarding the family coach. Mother breezes up the steps to our house, turning at the top and gazing around the square. I expect she is looking for Lady Tillsbury or Lady Blythe so she can continue with her incessant attempts to get into Almack’s.
Deciding I am not ready to return to my gilded cage, I hurry across the cobbles and enter the square at the bottom right-hand corner. I follow the path to the middle, and the fountain that marks the centre appears. I pass it, treading carefully over some lavender bushes, arriving in one of the few nooks where cast-iron benches are nestled amid the foliage. I take a pew, resting my tired feet for a few minutes, and pick up the book that the Duke gave me, starting to flick through the pages. I browse tales of travels, of lands far and wide, of places only reachable after months on board a vessel enduring the unpredictable high seas. Only the bravest would attempt such a journey. An excited thrill courses through me, and, just as quickly as it appeared, it disappears, starkly reminding me that I have no place onboard a ship upon the high seas. Perhaps I should run away. I would not get very far as a lady, even a fake one, perhaps to the port. Then I would be laughed back to Belmore Square. I wilt and snap the book closed. Why would he tease me with such luxuries I may never have? Has he visited these places?