Page 12 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Nine

Lady Faversham was clearly making an attempt at proving her French knowledge and prowess, because the meal had been extensive and foreign thus far.

Samuel was perfectly aware that a good portion of what was typically served on an English table was French.

What decent hostess didn’t use a good French recipe in her meal?

But this was too much—it was decadent. The food was too rich, his stomach too full.

At least he was sitting beside Aurelia and Ryland. If he could not have a seat near Miss Farrow, then he could pass the meal beside his friends.

Though, Aurelia looked excessively pregnant and uncomfortable. When she shifted for the third time in her seat in under a minute, it was clear she needed to move.

Samuel leaned close to her. “You should have made your excuses after the first course. No one would blame Ryland for taking you home in your condition.”

“And miss all these delicacies?” She didn’t roll her eyes, but Samuel gathered that she would have liked to. “Ruth would not hear of us turning the invitation down.”

“Ruth would also prefer you were not miserable. ”

Aurelia nodded. “That is probably true.”

Samuel looked over the table, noting very few people still holding their forks and knives. “I think dinner is nearly over. Shall I escort you elsewhere? Or may I fetch you a cushion?”

Aurelia smiled, her soft blonde hair gleaming in the candlelight. “Thank you, Samuel. I will be well enough. You may distract me instead. I am afraid my husband’s attention is being stolen by a very persistent neighbor.”

“Would you care to know whose attention I hope to be stealing later this evening?”

“Yes, do tell.”

“Miss Isabella Farrow. Are you familiar with her?”

“I’m afraid not. Which lady is she?”

Samuel located her across the table and six seats down.

She had dark hair pulled to the crown of her head, a narrow nose and gently rounded features.

He looked at her a moment longer, imagining her sitting at a desk, writing him letters directly from her heart.

Her dark lashes fanned over her cheeks in his mind, her pink lips curving into a smile.

“I can clearly see which direction I’m meant to look,” Aurelia said drily.

“Dark hair, green gown. Purple ribbon in her hair.”

“Samuel, she’s lovely.” Aurelia glanced at him. “Quite your opposite, in fact. You’ll make a handsome pair.”

“Ruth said the very same thing.”

When the women were released to the grand drawing room, the men rearranged around the table.

Port glasses were brought out and filled with sweet wine while some men lit their pipes.

Samuel remained on the far side of the table with Oliver and Ryland, hoping to avoid the greater stench of smoke clinging to his clothes.

“I wish we could join the women straight away,” Ryland said, shifting uncomfortably. “This practice is old-fashioned. ”

“It won’t be long until we can leave this lot.” Oliver leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

“The modiste,” a man said behind Samuel. His ears perked up, and he turned his head to listen to the conversation taking place behind him.

“I do not know the woman,” someone else replied. “She moved here a few years ago. Arrived dressed in black, but she did not wear mourning for long.”

“She came from France?” came the heavily accented reply. It was one of Lady Faversham’s French guests. “I know her from somewhere. Probably from home. But I cannot place where I have seen her face before.”

“Did you ask her?”

“She was not interested in a conversation. The woman…how do you say…she refused me.”

Samuel smiled. He could easily imagine Marguerite telling this charmer how uninterested she was in his advances. Just as quickly as it came, his smile dropped. This couldn’t be the man who was sneaking around her property late at night, could it?

“What do you think, Sam?” Oliver asked, snapping his attention back.

“Hmm?”

“He’s not paying us any mind,” Ryland said. “Lost in his head again.”

“I wondered if we ought to sneak from the room or if we would be noticed.”

“You would be noticed, you blackguard,” Samuel said drily, looking at Ryland. “You’re an earl.”

Oliver chuckled. “True. Samuel and I could probably escape unnoticed.”

“Not Samuel,” Ryland argued. “Unmarried bachelors are more sought after than married earls. Mark my words.”

“Especially those with estates,” Oliver agreed.

“I don’t have an estate,” Samuel argued .

“Not yet, perhaps.”

He might never at the rate his father was gambling it away. If his mother was correct about Miss Farrow’s recent inheritance, and if he was correct about her possibly being his kissing gate correspondent, then that would soon be a trouble of the past.

Samuel tried to sound interested in his friends’ conversation, but he was listening for more of the Frenchman’s words, which had now moved on from Marguerite. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, long nose, thin build.

If he posed a threat, Samuel would watch for it.

The man looked up and caught Samuel staring. He smiled, dipping his head, before turning his attention back to his conversation.

Samuel was being ridiculous. One mention of Marguerite and a shared language did not mean anything nefarious was afoot. For all he knew, the person peering through her windows was only trying to see if she had new fabrics ordered. Or perhaps the latest Ackermann’s Repository on her shelf.

It was unlikely, but not altogether impossible.

“It is time, gentlemen,” Ryland said, rising when the doors were opened and the men were invited to join the ladies in the drawing room. Samuel’s heart beat wildly. He was possibly about to meet his secret correspondent, and she had no notion it was him.

The drawing room had been lit with an excess of candles, as Lady Faversham had spared no expense. This was only the first of her events. Each one was sure to grow in size, opulence, and grandeur.

Samuel searched the room until he found the object of his attention. Miss Farrow stood near the windows with Miss Kimball, providing him with a perfect entrance to an introduction. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he mumbled, leaving his friends without further explanation .

They would only tease him, and he needed to discover for himself if Miss Farrow was his dear friend or not. But he had a plan. There were a series of questions he could ask her, and if she answered all of them a certain way…then he would know for certain.

He approached the women without hesitation, hoping to convey a measured level of confidence and intention. It was a calculated risk, as others in the room were sure to take notice as well. Samuel would not escape this evening without being the center of some gossip.

“Good evening, Miss Kimball.” He bowed low. “You look especially lovely this evening. That color is most becoming on you.”

“Thank you, sir.” She blushed prettily, bringing her fan up to flutter over her cheeks.

Samuel turned toward her cousin and waited expectantly. The silent pause lasted the breadth of four heart beats.

“Oh, forgive me! You must not be acquainted. Mr. Harding, allow me to introduce my cousin, Miss Farrow.”

The lady dipped in a shallow curtsy and lifted her gaze to meet Samuel’s with curiosity. He could see at once she possessed more intellect than her cousin, for he never would have connected Miss Kimball and wit.

“It is a pleasure,” Samuel said. “Are you visiting?”

“I live in Locksley,” she said. “And I am often with my cousin.”

Samuel wore a dashing smile. “That certainly explains why I believed I had seen you before. Now tell me, have either of you had the pleasure of traveling to France before this evening, or was this your first venture?”

They both laughed softly.

“No, we have not.”

Miss Farrow shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve hardly left the county, let alone the country. ”

“Never left the county?”

“We’ve been to London,” Miss Kimball said, “but only for the Season.”

Hmm. Samuel needed a better answer than that. His writing friend had lived in London during her youth for a time. “So you have lived in Hampshire all your lives?”

“Yes,” Miss Kimball said.

“Well, there was a short period of time where I went to live with my aunt in London, but I was very young. My mother was ill, and my parents feared I too would fall ill if I remained at home.”

“How terrible,” he said.

“She recovered,” Miss Kimball said quickly. “Everyone is well now.”

Samuel splayed a hand over his heart and found it beating rapidly. “What a relief.”

“I quite enjoyed living with my cousins,” Miss Farrow said. “Though I missed my family.”

“Understandable.” Samuel smiled. His friend had spent some of her childhood in London, but the large majority of it here in Hampshire. One question down, two more to ask. This one he did not need to be subtle about. Women loved to talk about their favorite things. “The flowers?—”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Kimball said, worrying her lip. “My mother is gesturing for me.”

“I will meet you shortly,” Miss Farrow said, giving Miss Kimball a look Samuel could not identify. Though, if he had to guess, he imagined it was something that fared well for him. Miss Farrow wanted to remain by his side.

“Of course.” Miss Kimball looked from her cousin to Samuel, then regretfully walked away.

“You were about to say something about flowers?” Miss Farrow prompted. She certainly was not the shy or retiring sort, was she ?

He felt a fire take hold in his belly, igniting an eagerness that took great effort to control. “Lady Faversham has overdone herself in here.”

“And in the dining room,” Miss Farrow agreed. “The bouquets were so expansive one could hardly see across the table.”

“They were beautiful, though.”

“Some of my favorites.”

“Oh?” His heart thudded madly in his chest. “I’m wondering how she was able to have roses so late in the year.”

“The greenhouse, undoubtedly.”

Roses were her favorite flowers. Two correct answers. Final question. “Tell me, Miss Farrow, when did you learn to ride a horse?”

She blinked up at him, surprised. “When I was quite young. Perhaps before I could walk.”

Samuel could hardly breathe. “In earnest?”

“No.” She grinned. “Though it was likely soon after.”

That was it. This had to be his friend.

“Do you enjoy riding, Mr. Harding?” she asked.

“I do, very much. So long as it is not terribly early. I value my sleep nearly as much.”

Miss Farrow gave a gentle, feminine laugh that swept through him, giving him a warm glow. Her eyes were a soft green, and beneath her dark lashes, they remained on him.

“Samuel, darling,” Mother said, breaking through the haze of their conversation. The din of the room came back to him in a sudden rush, and he recalled how many people surrounded them. “Father would like to introduce you to a friend of his.”

“I’ve just had the pleasure of making Miss Farrow’s acquaintance,” he said.

Mother smiled kindly, but the flash of glee in her eyes revealed she hadn’t known the identity of the woman he had been speaking to. “How lovely. I have not seen your mother in an age. I was very sorry to hear about the passing of your father last year.”

“Thank you.”

“Is your mother present? I should like to greet her.”

“Not tonight, no. I’ve come with my aunt, Mrs. Kimball.”

“Of course.” Mother looked back over her shoulder.

“I look forward to speaking with you again,” Samuel said.

Miss Farrow dipped in a curtsy, holding his gaze. “As do I.”

Samuel dutifully followed his mother away so he could meet a handful of other wealthy women, but all the while, his mind was back with Miss Farrow and the many letters they had passed over the previous year.

She knew him better than anyone else in the room, and he believed he could say the same about how well he knew her.

Each new lady was polite, pretty, had a ready list of accomplishments, and conversed well. But all the while, Samuel knew with a finality that he would not be pursuing any of them. There was no purpose.

His heart was with Miss Farrow.

He’d found his secret correspondent.