Page 132 of A Story of Love

Only by clawing his face and stomping hard on his foot had she got away. As she’d fled, her eyes blurring with tears, he’d yelled obscenities after her—threating her and her family with dire repercussions.

Lori had known then that she couldn’t continue to live in her brother’s house. Although Jeremy and his wife Sarah hadn’t heard what Lori had done yet, they soon would. Dorian’s friends—like Daniel—would make sure of that. Jeremy might never hear anything directly, but there would always be rumors if she stayed there.

There was a slight chance that people might forget if she went away. That was all she could do to spare her family.

Lori’s mother and father had left her a small annuity; it would not have been enough to live off, but it was enough to afford a few years of schooling. She’d begged Jeremy to let her use that money on school, arguing that she would eventually need to find employment, likely as a governess, and that more tuition would help her in that endeavor when the time came.

She spent two happy years at Miss Lincombe’s School. During her final semester, she was fortunate to secure a position teaching literature at Ivo Stephani’s Academy for Young Ladies.

Although Lori had always loved teaching young children—she had for years volunteered at the village school in her brother’s parish—she had been delighted to discover that she had a true aptitude for teaching older students, as well.

Her few years at the Stefani Academy had been the best in her life and Lori had made a new home with the tightly knit group of teachers. A home that had been shattered when Ivo Stephani had absconded with the school’s money, leaving his wife, Portia Stefani, to pick up the pieces. Portia had eventually closed the school, and Lori had been faced with the prospect of going back to live with her brother if she couldn’t find a job.

Right as she was preparing to swallow her pride and move back to Jeremy’s house in Moorcross, she’d received an offer for a companion job. The woman, a widow named Mrs. Holmes, lived less than an hour from her brother and his family. That meant she would be close enough to visit, but far enough not to worry about encountering anyone from the village. At least she’d believed that for almost a year, until her employer’s nephew had visited with a friend of his—none other than Daniel Fenton.

Lori had packed her bags the very same evening that Daniel had arrived, telling her employer that she needed to see to a family emergency. The way Mrs. Holmes had sneered made it clear that Daniel had already filled her ears with lies. Indeed, the old woman had told Lori not to return and had paid her for the days she’d worked and not a penny more.

Lori had known then that she could never return to Moorcross to live. That had left her with only one real choice, which was to accept Freddie’s offer to share her London house. She’d encountered Parker one day when she’d been wandering the stacks at The Temple of the Muses—the magnificent bookstore that served as a sort of meeting place for authors and publishers. David had seemed so kind—so interested to hear about her book.

And so eager to hire her when he had learned that she lived with Lady Winifred Sedgewick, the well-known companion and matchmaker to the ton.

The Miss Emily articles were easy, if frivolous and boring, and Lori had been delighted to be able to pay her rent and have money to live.

But then Fast had returned to England last year and Parker had seemed almost demented with hatred for the man. Increasingly, Lori had needed to set aside her moral reservations and pursue stories that made her more than a little uncomfortable.

She was not so foolish as to think that Parker would keep her on just for her Miss Emily columns. No, her job with The Mercury was over. And good riddance.

She had a little bit of money saved up; she could last a few weeks.

You can always pawn some of the jewels Fast gave you.

Lori scowled at the thought and picked up the first paper from on top of the pile—amusingly, it was David’s paper. Fast took only The Times, World Examiner, and The Gazette. Not for him rags like The Mercury.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and settled in to read.

Half an hour later she was working her way through The Gazette when a name leapt off the page.

Is it true that the ethereal Miss D____ P____ the undisputed Diamond of the Season has fallen to the recently returned King of the Rakes? My sources at Lady M________’s country estate say the two lovebirds were spotted frequently during the weeklong escape from the London heat.

Also attending the festivity was the recently out of mourning E____ of M_____ who has been making his intentions toward Miss P___ clear all Season.

What a fascinating week that must have been, my dearest readers!

A little bird whispered in my ear that Lord M____ is out of the running. If you are unwilling to take my word, then you can ask the bride-to-be’s father. The renowned industrialist Mr. B_____ P_____, announced his daughter’s betrothal at a dinner party held at his town house immediately after the house party, at which the happy couple reportedly danced not one, but an unprecedented three sets at the impromptu ball.

The King of the Rakes has, after more than two decades, abdicated his throne for matrimonial bliss. Will he, dear Reader, become the King of the Husbands? Only time will tell…

She swallowed as she stared at the page. Gossip was one thing—as Miss Emily she knew better than anyone how to stretch the slightest rumor into a column of newsprint—but Bryok Pascoe announcing his daughter’s betrothal at a dinner—with Fast evidently in attendance—could only mean one thing.

Fast was engaged to marry Demelza Pascoe.

Lori painstakingly refolded the newspaper, as if by making it appear perfect and unopened, she could somehow unread the dreadful news.

Fast had said he loved her while he was, all along, betrothed to another woman?

Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. It could not be happening!

It was the same nightmare all over again.