Page 142 of A Story of Love

Thankfully, there was nothing at all about Miss Pascoe or Fast. Indeed, it seemed to be an especially dull week for gossip. Lori could only assume that was because the Season was winding down.

She sighed and tossed the paper aside, feeling a great deal like a soldier who had just dodged a bullet.

But that Sunday, Lori had to face not only one bullet, but a veritable barrage.

Lord Dorian, his wife, and three perfect children had recently arrived to visit Dorian’s mother and father—the Earl and Countess of Seton. Of course he wasn’t the only unwanted face from her past; there was also Daniel Fenton, who still lived with his parents.

Jeremy had insisted that Lori stand beside him while he’d greeted his flock. “They are all eager to see you,” he said, using guilt to get her to comply.

Dorian had merely nodded loftily at her while he’d ushered his family past on his way out of the church.

But Daniel had obviously relished an opportunity to talk to her. “I heard you’ve been here almost a week, Lori. Where have you been hiding?” His lips curled into an unpleasant smirk.

Before she could answer Jeremy narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “It has been a long time since my sister’s last visit, and we have been selfishly keeping her to ourselves.”

Daniel met what Lori thought of as Jeremy’s fire and brimstone gaze and his smile dimmed. “Yes, yes, of course you are,” he muttered, stepping out of the way to allow his father—who really was a dear old man—to greet her.

“What a delight to see you again, Lorelei,” Sir Matthew gushed, his bright blue eyes sparkling with good humor. “I do hope you will accompany the vicar the next time he comes to call so we can have one of those lively conversations we used to enjoy. I have missed your newfangled opinions about female suffrage, my dear.”

Lori bit her tongue rather than point out that most of the arguments she’d posed had been around for years. “I would like that, Sir Matthew,” she lied.

“I’ll send over a few newspapers this afternoon so you can enjoy a Sunday treat, what?”

“Thank you, sir. That is very kind.”

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jeremy murmured as the last of his flock wandered back to their individual pastures.

Not as bad as having sand rubbed in my eyes.

“No, not bad at all.”

“I can’t say that I liked the way Daniel Fenton was leering at you. That is one young man I cannot like. And today he was looking even slimier than usual.”

Lori laughed. “How un-vickarish of you, Jer!”

Jeremy pulled a face. “That observation should stay between the two of us,” he murmured, and then said more forcefully, “It is wonderful to have you back, Lori. I have missed you more than you can know.”

Sir Matthew continued to send over newspapers and Lori—against her better judgement—continued to read them. They were filled with stories that were almost uniformly bland and boring, except for one shocking piece of news regarding Lord Moreland’s death.

Evidently, the earl had died in a fire, but his death had gone unnoticed for some time. His lordship’s servants in London had believed he’d gone up to Yorkshire to his estate, while his Yorkshire staff believed he was in London.

It transpired that he was at neither place. Instead, his lordship had paid a rare visit to one of his minor holdings. He had been inspecting a barn of some sort and must have been overwhelmed by smoke when a fire started.

It was fortunate that his signet ring had been found in the rubble or his death might have remained a mystery.

Lori felt sorry for anyone who suffered such a miserable end, but if there was one person who deserved it, it would be Moreland, the serial rapist.

She imagined that Fast would be relieved to learn the man was dead.

As for Fast himself, she had not read a word. And not for a lack of looking, either. Indeed, she’d scoured every newspaper the squire sent over and had even purchased one of her own at exorbitant expense in the village. Nowhere did she see the announcement of his marriage to Miss Pascoe.

That was odd as the banns would have been read the requisite three weeks and Mr. Pascoe had clearly been eager to secure his quarry.

Lori was tempted to write to Freddie, not just to ask about the wedding, but because she had not heard from her friend since the first week of her stay. Freddie’s only letter had been brief in the extreme. It had also been carefully crafted, clearly composed with the intention of making no mention of the wedding. It was passing strange that that had been Freddie’s only letter as she was usually a diligent correspondent.

If Lori didn’t receive a letter in tomorrow’s post—which would mark more than three and a half weeks in the country—she’d swallow her pride and write to ask Freddie for details of Fast’s wedding.

As if thinking about the post had summoned it, her brother opened the door to the small sunroom where Lori was in the habit of writing most mornings.