Page 125 of Harpy of the Ton
She clung to him, seeking solace from his solidity. “Lawrence,” she breathed.
“That’s it, love. It’s your Lawrence.”
She caught a glint in his eyes—light reflected from the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtains.
“It was so real,” she said. “The fire—the house, destroyed. And…they died.”
“Hush.” He rocked her to and fro, stroking her hair. “It’s over now. It’s not real.”
“N-no,” she said. “Don’t you see? Itwasreal. I remember.”
He tensed. “Youremember?”
“My mother—my father. And…” She caught her breath as tears stung her eyes. “And how they died.”
“Can you remember anything else?” His voice carried a hard edge.
“No.”
For a moment he remained still. Then he exhaled, the tension leaving his body.
“Poor love,” he said. “How did they die?”
“An accident—a fire,” she said. “I was there—I heard my mother screaming, and tried to find her, but a man picked me up and wouldn’t let me go. He carried me out.” She closed her eyes, capturing the image that had eluded her for so long. “So many people…standing around the building… Their faces glowing orange in the dark.”
“And then?”
“I was sent away,” she said. “They said it wasn’t my home anymore.”
“Because it had burned down?”
“No.” She shook her head. “The building was saved. But with Papa gone, I couldn’t live there anymore. They said I didn’t belong there. So my aunt took me away.”
“Where did she take you?”
She closed her eyes again, concentrating on the memory of the sharp-nosed woman with the cold eyes and bitter expression…
Then the memory faded.
“I can’t remember,” she said. “I only remember the fire.”
“And your mother and father?”
“I remember a woman with kind blue eyes,” she said. “And a man with glasses and a smile, wearing fine clothes and smelling of brandy.” She nodded. “He was a gentleman. But they said I was alone now he was gone, and I had to leave.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but if I was a lady’s maid, then I must have been sent into service. I must…” A cry escaped her lips. “I-I must have been my father’s… I mean, my mother must have been his mistress, or a servant, if I was sent away. I m-must have been his bastard.”
He let out a low hiss and tightened his hold. “Don’t be sayin’ that, love.”
“Would you have married me, knowing I was a…bastard?”
He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I care nothing for such things, Bella. I love you no matter the circumstances of your birth—whether you’re the natural child of a gentleman, or”—he hesitated—“the legitimate daughter of a duke.”
“How did I deserve such a man as you?” She relaxed against him and sighed. “I’m thankful for one thing.”
“Which is?”
