Page 10 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Seven

Oliver and Ruth Rose had a way of looking very much in love without needing to say a word. They were not even seated beside each other at the table, yet the strength of their affection was horridly plain.

It was terrible.

Samuel had put up with it for an entire dinner, and he was itching to leave. He was quite happy for Oliver and Ruth individually, of course. He cared for them both, and he wanted them to be happy. But did their joy need to be so very much in his face?

“Your mind is in another place, isn’t it?” Oliver asked.

Well, he couldn’t answer with the truth, could he? Samuel cast around for a different topic of conversation. “I was thinking of our resident modiste, actually. How long has she lived in England?”

Ruth took a sip of her wine, then set down her goblet, frowning. “I’ve never asked.”

“Are you suddenly interested in France?” Oliver asked.

“Gads, no.” Samuel speared a carrot and pushed it across the gravy on his plate.

“She delivered gowns to the Faversham estate when I was there on an errand for my mother the other day, which had me thinking. You know these special guests are French, right? I fear we are going to be forced into an entirely French meal just to please her guests.”

Oliver chuckled. “I don’t mind French food.”

“Perhaps Marguerite would appreciate an invitation,” Ruth mused. “Do you think we could convince Lady Faversham to invite her to the ball, at the very least?”

“Who?” Samuel asked.

Ruth scoffed. “Marguerite Perreau. You first mentioned her, Sam. If she misses her homeland, she might enjoy some of the things Lady Faversham has planned.”

Marguerite. It was a beautiful name, and he thought it fit her well.

“Have you forgotten the way our dear Eliza was cut?” Oliver asked. “Lady Faversham is unlikely to show favor to a modiste if she would not even include my cousins for so many years.”

Ruth pointed her fork at her husband. “My brother used his title and privilege to change her mind, encouraging her to include Eliza again. Perhaps he could do it once more.”

“I can see a plan already forming in your devious little mind, darling. Do not take any action until you have spoken to Madame Perreau. Perhaps she left France for a reason. She might have no interest at all in a ball celebrating the land of her birth.”

Oliver made a fair point. Samuel ate his carrot, then speared another one.

“We really ought to ask Eliza.” Ruth leaned back in her seat, fiddling with the glove in her lap. “She and Ridley are friends with Marguerite. They have her over to dine on occasion.”

“You sound envious,” Samuel said.

Ruth made an exasperated sound. “I have tried to invite her to tea, but she never accepts. The woman seems to always be working.”

Oliver stifled a yawn. “Perhaps that’s the trouble, darling. You are attempting to take her away from her shop at a time she cannot leave it. Eliza invites her away while the shop is closed. It’s merely a matter of availability.”

“Hmm.” Ruth seemed to mull over this. “In any case, it’s too late to order gowns for these events. I suppose I could purchase new ribbons for the ball?”

“Or flowers for your hair,” Oliver offered.

“I saw a pink brocade in her shop just last week that would make your cheeks glow, Ruth,” Samuel said before lifting his goblet for another sip.

Oliver looked at him quickly, but he only rolled his eyes.

“I’m stating a fact. Let us not all go into a panic that I am about to make wild proclamations of love, please. ”

“No one believes that, Sam,” Ruth said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I would love for you to come with me. You’ve always had a better eye for color.”

He would love to go with her, as well. He liked Madame Perreau, and her shop was a feast for the senses. But the last thing he wanted to do was make Oliver uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t feed his ego,” Oliver said.

Samuel grinned. “Or perhaps that is precisely what I need.”

“I suppose it’s not a bad strategy if we want you to return to dine with us again.”

“You do not need to do much to convince me.” Samuel drained his goblet, and the butler filled it. “Eating here is far superior than at home. Neither of you are shoving lists of prospective women at me and asking me to marry a fortune.”

Ruth drew in a sharp breath. “They wouldn’t.”

“They have.”

“Shall I speak to them?” Oliver asked.

Samuel gave him a flat look. “My mother wants grandchildren, and my father wants to be rid of his debts. It’s a natural step to repair both of those things.”

Oliver ran a hand over his face, and it was clearly taking him great effort not to say more.

Samuel knew the man very well, could practically read the thoughts bouncing through his mind.

He knew Oliver wanted to fix these problems, that Oliver didn’t like to see him suffer.

But Samuel was an adult. He was a man. He could manage irritating parents, terrible debt, a meddling mother, matchmaking…

it was all part of being a bachelor, was it not?

He might as well float with the current instead of trying to fight it. “Tell me, what do either of you know about Isabella Farrow?”

“Miss Farrow?” Ruth blurted. “Miss Kimball’s cousin? She’s pretty. Lives in Locksley.”

“Quiet, I believe,” Oliver said. “The tall one?”

“Yes, tall and slender. Dark hair. You’d be a handsome couple,” Ruth mused. “Very regal.”

Samuel enjoyed hearing that. Ever since he had heard about her leaving town for the last fortnight, he hoped she might be his secret correspondent. It was a faint thread of hope, but there was a possibility.

In fact, he hadn’t checked the stone wall today, had he?

Anticipation buzzed through him, starting in his stomach and building through his body. What if there was a letter waiting for him? If she had returned and written to him, it could have been waiting all day.

Samuel lifted his goblet and took a drink. “I had better be on my way. I will see you both at the Faversham dinner tomorrow.”

“You shall.” Oliver watched him suspiciously. “Are you sure you are well, Sam? I do not like the idea of anyone pressuring you into a marriage you do not want.”

Samuel pushed his chair back and stood, considering how he felt. The hope and anticipation for the letter, the possibility of meeting his correspondent tomorrow evening…he felt as though the sun shone brightly overhead, even though it had long since passed to the other side of the world .

“I am well,” he promised. “Thank you both for dinner. It was lovely.”

And with that, he took his leave.

Valentine had not appreciated being told to wait near the fence so Samuel could dismount and walk through the kissing gate, but the horse was obedient. He nickered, tossing his head to share his irritation in spite of his obedience, but Samuel paid him no mind.

Why would he? There was a letter waiting in their hidden space in the wall.

Warmth flowed through his body when he saw the white square of folded paper, no address on the front, as had become their custom.

It was bright in the moonlight against the dark earth and stone wall.

Samuel replaced the loose rock and tucked the letter safely into his pocket before mounting Valentine again.

It took additional time to ride back to the road and make it to the High Street, but it was worth the detour to retrieve his letter.

Slowing his horse, he watched the road for sign of any cats and gripped the reins tightly.

He was not going to allow a repeat of that fateful night weeks ago when he had been thrown.

Though he imagined Madame Perreau was more vigilant about keeping Claude indoors now.

He looked at her shop, noting the flickering candlelight in the windows, and shook his head. She had accepted far too much work if it kept her up so late. A shadow moved in the darkness outside of her shop window, and Samuel startled, yanking on Valentine’s reins.

The horse jerked to the side, neighing his displeasure.

“Sorry, boy,” Samuel said. He pulled his horse around and circled back.

He hadn’t been entirely certain, but it had looked like the shape of a man peering through the window, which made the hair stand up on the back of Samuel’s neck.

Scanning the darkness, he saw nothing. Even still, that unsettling feeling wouldn’t leave.

There would be no sleeping for him tonight until he made certain Madame Perreau was safe.

Samuel dismounted, tying Valentine’s reins about a post. The shop was situated between two other buildings, the alley running on the other side of the solicitor’s office.

Samuel moved down past the solicitor’s door and peered down the alley.

Moonlight didn’t reach the space, but he watched it for movement, satisfied that it appeared empty.

Returning to the front of the shop, Samuel hesitated. If she did not answer a light knock, he would be on his way.

He heard her footsteps before she approached the glass, her blonde eyebrows drawn together. Unbolting the door, Madame Perreau swung it open, holding a candle. She wore a soft violet gown, and her hair was in a plait over her shoulder. “Is there trouble?”

“Forgive my intrusion. I only—” Samuel’s words died swiftly. Would he incite panic if he informed her of what he saw? Was it better to allow the woman to continue in ignorance?

She blinked at him, her round eyes wide and piercing, even in the shadows. No. How could he have even thought such a thing? She was alone in this shop. She needed to be aware.

“Mr. Harding?”

“When I was riding home just now, I thought I saw a man peering through the windows of your shop. It probably meant nothing, but I wanted to…” What?

He swallowed, uncertain how he even meant to complete that sentence.

Her sensibilities were important to him, but she was also a widow living alone.

He was certain her sensibilities were not as weak as other females he knew.

“You wanted to be certain I am capable of defending myself?” she guessed. A look of uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly snuffed out. The candlelight bounced over the calm expression on her face.

“Yes.”

Madame Perreau glanced at the street behind him. “You did not see who the man was?”

“He was only a shadow.”

She nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I will sleep with my gun loaded tonight.”

Samuel’s head reared. “Gun?”

“I live alone,” she reminded him.

The woman’s capability was evident. He should not have been the least surprised by her resourcefulness. Adversely, he made an attempt to lighten the conversation. “He might have taken an interest in your pink brocade. I noticed it myself the last time I was in your shop.”

“Yes, most men immediately pay attention to my brocades.”

Samuel laughed. “You have an eye for fabrics.”

“I should hope so.” She pushed her plait over her shoulder, amusement dancing in her eyes. “They are my livelihood.”

“May I do anything for you?” he asked. “I can walk to the back of the shop?—”

“I am safe, Mr. Harding,” she said with confidence. “Thank you for notifying me, but there is nothing more you need to do.”

He wasn’t prepared to leave, not with a man lurking about. “Shall I check the shop?”

“Unless he has slipped past while we have been speaking, it is impossible for anyone to be inside. My windows are locked, something I have made sure of because of Claude, so you needn’t fear.

” She seemed to read his expression. “If it will make you feel better, I will check my windows in the parlor again, then you may be on your way.”

“That would be good. I will wait here.”

Madame Perreau carried her candle into the back room. She was gone for only a few minutes before returning with a patient smile. “Locked. And Claude is still fast asleep. Does that satisfy you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good night, Mr. Harding.”

“Good night, Madame Perreau.” He waited until she had locked the door behind him before returning to his horse. “Come on, Valentine. Let’s go home. We have a letter to read.”