Page 26 of A Story of Love

“Did you feel compelled to accept the duke as your client because we live in Honey’s house?” Lori asked.

Freddie gave her a startled look. “No, of course not; Honey would never coerce me. Indeed, she persists in trying to gift me the house.” Freddie sounded frustrated.

Personally, Lori thought Freddie should accept the gift. Saybrook was wealthy and Honey hardly needed a modest house in London whereas it would represent a lifetime of security for Freddie.

Knowing Freddie’s thoughts on the matter she wisely kept her opinion to herself.

“I am glad you are going to sponsor Lady Rebecca,” Lori said after a moment.

Freddie raised her eyebrows. “But you think launching young girls into society is barbaric.”

“That is true,” Lori conceded. She grinned and added, “But you are a woman grown and no schoolroom chit, Freddie and the delicious duke is quite obviously interested in you for more than launching his daughter.”

Freddie’s blush and stern frown told Lori that she was not mistaken in her guess. “I cannot imagine what gave you such an idea,” she said icily.

“It was Honey who told me that the duke wishes to remarry,” Lori said, unable to resist a little smirk.

“That may be so, but it does not follow that I am his intended.”

“You would make a lovely duchess, Freddie.”

Freddie’s expression became even more quelling. “In the highly unlikely event that any man asked me to marry him, I would say no.” She pursed her lips in disapproval and then added, “I must say your attitude is something of a surprise given your views on marriage in general.”

“The married state is not right for me, but that does not mean it is not a good choice for others.”

You mean for women who have not already made such a shameful mess of their lives that no decent man would ever want them?

Lori ignored the old taunt, which still caused her a sharp twist of pain even after seven long years.

Some of Freddie’s icy reserve melted. “But you adore children, Lori. Out of all of us who taught at the Stefani Academy you were the only truly natural teacher. Indeed, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is so good with young people.”

Lori forced herself to smile and give an insouciant shrug. “I do not need my own children. I have my brother’s five daughters to love and lavish with affection.”

If she kept telling herself that often enough, maybe she would one day believe it.

You’ve been saying the same thing for seven years and you don’t believe it yet…

Lori gritted her teeth and firmly shoved the subject of the children she would never have out of her mind.

She smiled at her friend. “You have deliberately led me away from the point, Freddie. We weren’t talking about me; we were talking about Plimpton and his intentions toward you.”

“Ah, you must excuse me, Lori,” Freddie said, turning toward the dance floor. “This set is finishing. I must speak to both girls.”

Lori snorted. “This discussion has only been tabled, not finished.”

Freddie pretended not to hear.

***

Even though the ballroom was packed more tightly than a crate of salted cod, Fast immediately spotted Miss Fontenot.

She was, in his opinion, one of the loveliest women at the ball. However, it had not been her beauty which had attracted his gaze, but rather her spectacularly dowdy ballgown. He recognized the dress, of course. It was the same one she’d worn last year at Avington’s betrothal ball and at every ton function since.

She must have chosen the most unattractive material in England—a brownish beige shade that put him in mind of burnt porridge—and yet she still looked stunning. He suspected Lorelei Fontenot would look appealing dipped in mud and rolled in gravel, but he could not help imagining what she would look like in a gown that truly fit and flattered her.

Fast scowled at that last thought.

“You’re a fool,” he accused under his breath. Why the hell was he picturing the pestilential shrew garbed in a ballgown? She was a plague upon his house, and he shouldn’t spare so much as a thought for her, not to mention a positive one.