Instead of Harmony

INSTEAD OF HARMONY A JEWISH REGENCY ROMANCE SARA ADRIEN Copyright © 2023 by Sara Adrien All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Cover Art by Forever After Romance Designs (ebook front) and Deborah Bradseth (paperback) 1st edition 2023 For Mami Thank you CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Epilogue Note to Readers Acknowledgments About the Author CHAPTER 1 December 5, 1813 Laila took a breath for courage and pulled her hood over her head. The coach ride from Exeter to London had been a long journey. And she was out of coin. Out of food. Her stomach rumbled and the cool air hurt her fingers. Her knuckles had turned red. She could barely feel her fingertips. She’d had to leave. Her marriage with Joseph had been … well, it had been comradeship. They’d had a lifelong friendship to build on. Trust even. He cared for her, if not more. And she’d nursed him to the end. But after he passed, when her mother called for the cousin to take her place, Laila had panicked. She wasn’t an item to inherit. The antiquated Jewish customs weren’t persuasive enough for her this time. She wasn’t going to obey her mother again. Not this time. The first time around, she hadn’t been scared of the groom. Joseph was her friend, sickly as he was, and he had a good heart. He’d never hurt her. Never. But surely cousin Gershom would demand his rights as a husband, and it was against the law for a woman to refuse her husband. But it wasn’t against the law to run away… Piccadilly was busy, even at night. Not that Laila feared anyone would recognize her, but it was difficult to break into a house unseen. She’d grown up here, so she knew the street. Even though the location was named after a tailor who once sold piccadilles, lace collars, it connected Regent Street, Shaftesbury Avenue, the Haymarket, Coventry, and Glasshouse Street. Streetlights abounded, and even at this hour, men in thick winter boots strolled along the pavement, and more carriages than she could count bustled past. The sculpture of Anteros was still there, although most people mistook him for his brother, Eros. Sons of Ares and Aphrodite, they were Erotes, winged gods of love from Mount Olympus with ever-lasting youth, but Anteros had a special role—the avenger of unrequited love, an archer tasked to punish those who scorn love. How odd that he was used as a symbol for selfless philanthropy to perpetuate images of vanity. True love wasn’t vain. Nor could it prosper alone on the pedestal of a fountain. Anteros was the playmate of his brother Eros so the god of love could prosper. And yet, didn’t they need each other to grow? Didn’t they complement one another like she and Raphi had years ago? Everything seemed different now even though Laila still knew the streets she’d grown up on. Yet, after the Great Fire in 1666, many of the medieval streets of London had been laid out differently. New buildings popped up and old ones disappeared. If the City had been in a fairytale, it would have been a shapeshifter, for it had become difficult to keep track of what was new and under construction. In only four years, even the street she’d grown up on had changed its face. A thoroughfare and shopping spot, Piccadilly was no longer the quiet neighborhood she’d known. Or was that also a figment of her imagination? Sometimes, she tended to idealize the past and rationalize what happened to ensure she tucked away only pleasant memories. Clinging on to the bad of the past had a tendency to poison the future. And holding grudges wasted valuable space one needed for love and forgiveness in the heart. Laila shivered at the thought because that was what Joseph had told her when they had speculated why the third of their trio, Raphi, had fallen out of touch. She looked up at the buildings, lights flickering inside and silhouettes of people moving in the warm rooms. Was Raphi one of them? Did he know about Joseph’s demise? Would he remember her and still be her friend? She did remember, however, when her parents had received the notice bearing John Nash’s signature, Prinny’s advisor. He and the developer, James Burton, had decided to ban butchers and greengrocers on Regent Street to allow the high-quality shops to flourish. Of course, that never affected the Klonimuses, for jewelers were welcome among the elite, but bit by bit, her parents’ bakery lost money, and eventually, her father could no longer afford the help. “He worked himself to death,” her mother had said over and over during the shivah, the ritual week of mourning immediately after her father’s funeral. His death led to the end of their shop, for Brayna Mantel couldn’t maintain the level of quality and quantity her father had produced. They went under. So the betrothal, which had been nothing but a joke between hers and Joseph’s mothers all those