Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I smile, remembering it well. ‘Then, yes, I suppose we are to call it my spark.’ And what a thrilling feeling it is, to be sparked. Except I have no outlet, and the urge to share is becoming too much.
‘So it is time to find you a wife.’
My mouth drops open. Wait. When did I mention anything about a wife? Two Scotches are placed on the table, and I look at the lady server like she might have the answer I’m looking for. Of course, she does not. ‘Pardon me?’ I say to Papa.
‘For you to settle down.’
‘What?’ Settle down? With one woman? ‘I have to be married to be taken seriously?’
‘Marriage is a sign of commitment, my boy. Maturity.’ He cocks a brow, and I move back in my chair, not liking this in the least bit. ‘Are you a devoted dandy or a devoted businessman, Frank?’
‘A––’
‘You think your mother and I are oblivious to your reckless pursuits? I cannot very well enforce marriage upon your sisters and not my son now, can I?’
‘Enforce?’ I blurt. ‘You tried and failed, Papa.’ I remind him. ‘I believe you wanted Eliza to marry that drip Frederick Lymington.’
‘Well, yes, but she married a duke instead, so all is well.’
‘A disgraced duke,’ I laugh. My God, why did I open my big mouth?
‘You have had your fun. I am not proposing an arranged marriage, Frank. You can marry whomsoever you so wish, within reason of course.’
‘Yes, within reason, I know that, Papa.’ I spent plenty of time talking Eliza round to that. Alas, she still went and fell in love with a duke who was thought to have murdered his entire family. That is, until they all showed up in Belmore Square a few weeks ago. And I am currently ensuring Clara stays away from a highly inappropriate stable boy. So, yes, I know about suitability. I just never anticipated Papa would land it at my feet, too. His daughters, yes. But his son? I should be focused on running the family business, and I will; I realise that now. Finally. With a little kick up the arse by a horsewoman and her horse. Literally.
‘So, is there anyone who springs to mind?’ he asks, taking his Scotch and relaxing back in his chair.
‘No one at all,’ I laugh, though it is not in amusement. Yes, a drink. Good idea. I reach for mine and down it in one fell swoop.
‘What about Esther Hamsley?’
‘What?’ I say, just as my empty glass hits the table. ‘Papa, she is on her fifth season and looks about as friendly as an injured cat.’
‘She is from good stock. If you want me to take you seriously, Frank, show me you can be serious.’
I cannot believe I have talked my way into this. I have to marry if I am to claim my right as Papa’s heir? It doesn’t seem fair. ‘And what about my story?’ I ask as he calls for a refill.
‘You can publish your story. We have ten pages now, Frank.’
‘Right,’ I sigh.
Papa’s shoulders drop and his hand rubs into the line on his head. ‘Eliza has earned it, Francis. I cannot recant because you, after all this time, have suddenly found your passion for what I have built.’ Because Eliza found it first. Appreciated it first. ‘You haven’t proven yourself!’
I cannot argue with that, for he is right. And if I am to be truthful with myself, I have always found Papa’s business, especially since we moved to London, to be somewhat of an unwanted pressure. I rather enjoyed the manual labour I was responsible for on the fields back home. Home. No, the countryside is not home any more. Belmore Square is home, and I’ve been quite happy being ignorant and leaving Eliza to fill the pages of The London Times while I bought new coats, pretended to work, and delighted the ladies. But now? Now I have been sparked. Now, I see there is more to life than fine threads and female flesh.
‘I’m very sorry, Frank, but you must be patient and allow Eliza the time she deserves to thrive.’
I wedge my elbow into the arm of the chair and rest my heavy head upon it. I am not disputing that she does, indeed, deserve to thrive. ‘I have ambitions too, Papa.’
‘Lying with as many women as possible does not count as ambitions, Frank,’ he snaps, and I recoil, aggrieved. Father shakes his head, finishing his Scotch and ordering yet another, while I sit and lick my wounds, injured.
‘You cannot claim to be reformed and expect to claim the front page, not to mention all the responsibility,’ he goes on, calmer. ‘As with all things in life, Frank, in order to receive respect and trust, one must prove oneself worthy.’
‘And by marrying a disgraced duke, Eliza proved herself worthy, did she?’ I grumble, seizing my Scotch and knocking it back, knowing I am being unfair. She’s worked her way to this. I have shagged my way to nothing.