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)
‘Yes, darling?’ she replies, smiling at me, as happy as could be. Florence Melrose has many talents. Moving fast is one of those talents. She’s made it to the counter at the back of the shop already. She also has quite an impressive ability to adjust her facial expressions in the blink of an eye. Acting. That, too, she is quite a marvel at. She looks like a woman without the woes that I felt were just projected onto me. It would not be considered unusual to appear in public looking sombre if one’s husband was ill, and whilst I’m not particularly overjoyed with my father’s recent shenanigans, he is a man with a soft heart. If he has been ill, I should like to know that he has made a full recovery.
I lift my dress to take the step to join Mother and ask her, quietly, of course, what is wrong with Father, but my boot barely leaves the floor when I hear the door behind me open and the hordes of patrons fall silent. A certain nippiness sweeps through the shop as I cast a wary eye across the shoppers. Every one of them is looking past me with a look of caution.
Curious, I turn to establish what has their worried attention.
And come face to face with the Duke of Chester. We are so close, I am forced to crane my head to get his face in my sights, however sure I am that it is a terrible idea, but, and it’s frustrating, he is apparently a magnet to my eyes. His expression is taut. Angry. It is an anger I have been unfortunate enough to encounter before. I did not care for it then, especially since it was directed at me, and I care not for it now, when, again, the Duke’s foul mood appears to be directed at me. Nonetheless, my body predictably reacts, and I am quickly tingling from the tip of my boots to the top of my fancy bonnet. And I feel hot. So very, very hot.
My eyes meet his, and they swirl madly, the green the greenest I have seen, perhaps because we are in daylight hours, and his jaw appears to tick. Very angry. I know not what to say, for there is an audience, and the Duke is quite stuck for words too. A distinct shuffling of feet ensues, and one by one, every man in the store leaves, giving the Duke a wide berth, therefore me too. It’s ridiculous. He is of no danger to anyone. In fact, the only thing in danger at the moment is my heart. I hardly want to admit it, since we left on such terrible terms after our last encounter, but here I am struggling to keep my awe at his impressive presence in check.
‘Come along, Eliza,’ Mother says, taking my elbow. ‘We will return another time.’
I frown and find it in myself to tear my eyes from the Duke. Mother is looking all wide-eyed at him. Leave? I look down and discover no hat in Mother’s possession. ‘We are here to collect your new hat, are we not?’
‘We are.’
‘Then we should collect your new hat.’ I lift my chin and disregard the Duke, which is an extremely tricky challenge when my body is singing for his attention. What an inconvenience attraction is. Not normally, I expect. I expect normally it would be a blessing to have such responses to a man’s closeness, if said man was a supposed potential suitor. Unfortunately for me, the Duke is not. Damn it all, he must be the only man alive with a dukedom who is deemed unbefitting. He is not a murderer, for the love of everything. Although, he, quite obviously relishes the unsettling feelings he instigates in everyone he encounters who believe him to be so. The only crime Johnny Winters is guilty of is being a rake. And not just a rake, but a supercilious rake. ‘Come along, Mother.’ I reach the counter and smile at the daunted-looking runner. ‘When you are ready,’ I say, and he springs into action, clumsily finding Mama’s hat and presenting it to her. His eyes, however, never stray far from the Duke lingering beyond, and I look over my shoulder and discover, amusingly, that the Duke has not moved a muscle. His eyes, on the other hand, have narrowed somewhat. On me.
I huff to myself and return my attentions back to the milliner as Mother stands like a statue beside me, she, too, keeping the Duke in her firm sights. What is this madness? What do these people think will happen? Murder? Arson? I collect Mother’s hat on a smile of thanks, collect my mother also, and guide her unresponsive form from the shop. The Duke’s eyes follow my path, his lips pressed straight into a very unimpressed line. ‘Good day to you,’ I say on a scowl as I pass him.