Page 34 of A Story of Love

“Not equipped? Do you mean mentally?”

Lori snorted. “Very droll.”

David grinned. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I assume you mean clothing?”

The question surprised her. Was he considering defraying her expenses? “That is exactly what I mean.”

He waved one hand. “Pfft! You’re so lovely you could wear sack cloth and ashes and be admitted anywhere you wished.”

Lori’s face heated; she was a fool for believing he might cover some of her expenses. “Clothing matters to these people, David. And my gowns set me apart. They are hardly likely to confide in me when they view me as an interloper.”

As usual, David ignored anything he didn’t want to hear. He closed the cashbox and held out her money. When Lori reached for it, he pulled his hand back. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” she said, forcing the word through gritted teeth.

“I want proof of progress on both the Severn stories, Lori and I’m tired of waiting.”

“The Vixen is supposed to return to London in a few weeks and—”

“Two weeks, then.”

“David! That is hardly—”

“Three weeks, and that’s final. No more excuses. In three weeks you will have answers for me or you can find somebody else to work for. Understood?” His unblinking stare required an answer.

“Understood,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

“Good.” He tossed the coins at her, catching her by surprise. Lori scrambled to catch them, but one fell to the floor. “Oh dear,” he said, cutting her a smarmy, challenging look. “How clumsy of me.”

Lori considered strangling him. It would almost be worth transportation. Only the fear of being hanged stopped her.

Don’t let him taunt you into rash behavior.

The thought served to stiffen her resolve and she dropped to her haunches, picked up the coin, and stood before dropping it into her reticule.

David did not look at her. Instead, he pretended to be engrossed by one of the many documents that cluttered his desk.

Lori collected her cloak, satchel, and umbrella and said, “Goodbye, David.”

He gave a dismissive wave and did not look up.

Just like she knew he would, he waited until her hand was on the door handle before saying, “One more thing, Lori.”

“Yes, David?” she asked, not bothering to turn around.

“I’ve given your manuscript to Gordon Wright at G.B. Wright and Sons.”

Joy exploded inside her like the pyrotechnic displays so popular at Vauxhall Gardens.

Lori bit her lip and hastily shoved her excitement aside, and said in an admirably cool tone, “I look forward to his assessment.”

He grunted. “Yes, yes. Run along now.”

Lori left before she could say something that would jeopardize his goodwill.

Once on the street, she hailed a hackney and gave the driver the address to a modiste’s shop where she would immediately hand over her hard-earned wages and collect the ball gown she had purchased. It was an unwanted expense, but she hoped it would please Freddie to see her in something new for a change.

Her thoughts quickly slid back to David’s last words as she stared unseeingly out the hackney window. As thrilling as it was to hear her manuscript was in the hands of one of the finest publishing houses in Britain, she couldn’t help thinking about what she had to do to pay for that privilege.