Page 23 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Seventeen

Tuesday was cold and cloudy, a terrible start to what was meant to be a beautiful day. Samuel had not made any particular plans regarding matrimony, but his father had given him a lecture at dinner last night about the best way to propose to a lady.

Swiftly, and before she was taken by someone else. That was the sum of his arguments.

For once, Samuel did not have a defense prepared.

He was in private agreement. His parents were unaware he and Miss Farrow had spent the better part of the year coming to know one another through their letters, of course.

Through writing their deepest thoughts and concerns and hopes, Samuel had fallen for her, and coming to know her in the flesh had only confirmed the feelings he believed he’d had when she was mere ink on paper.

It would not occur today, but he believed the engagement would happen soon. After all, there was no reason to wait.

Miss Farrow had no living father, so he ought to speak to her mother to ask for her hand. If there was another male figure in Miss Farrow’s life who expected Samuel to request his blessing, Mrs. Farrow could inform him then .

Samuel stood in the entryway with his mother to welcome the Farrow women to tea as the cloudy sky gave way to the patter of rain.

“Our nice garden tea has died before it was ever given a chance to thrive,” Mother said bitterly, pulling her deep maroon shawl over her shoulders. “Such a pity. The house shows much better from the outside.”

“I’m certain neither Miss Farrow or her mother will care about the state of your drawing room, Mother. It is well-appointed and the tea will be delicious.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “I ought to have asked your Aunt Rose to join us. Another lady is good for the conversation.”

Samuel was glad she had not. He didn’t want Mrs. Farrow to feel outnumbered. He eyed the shawl again. “Is that new?”

“I purchased it from Madame Perreau just Saturday.” Mother looked at him closely. “If you desire a private conversation with Miss Farrow, I can distract her mother well enough.”

“Why should I want that?” Samuel was being difficult. He knew precisely why she was nudging him.

Mother gave a huff. “You care for the girl. She is pretty, amiable, and possessed of a fortune. Why delay?”

Why, indeed? An image of Marguerite in her ballgown popped into his mind, but he chased it away forthwith. That had no business edging its way into his thoughts. She was his friend, and he was only thinking of her more often because he was worried for her safety.

Howe, their butler, noticed the Farrow carriage pull in front of the house. “They are here,” he said before opening the door. One of Samuel’s footmen had an umbrella ready and took it to hold over the women.

Miss Farrow climbed out first, walking swiftly inside. Her cheeks were pink from the chill, giving her a youthful, rosy glow .

Her mother followed, looking pale. Once she reached the house, she leaned on her daughter’s arm. “Forgive me. Carriage rides do not always suit my constitution.”

“A cup of tea will fix you right up,” Mother said, separating Mrs. Farrow deftly from her daughter and assisting her in removing her cloak and bonnet.

She handed them to Howe before leading Mrs. Farrow toward the drawing room.

Samuel assumed Mother was glad for the illness, if only for the way it would dull Mrs. Farrow’s initial judgment of their house.

“You have a lovely home,” Miss Farrow said after slipping free of her own rain-spotted cloak and bonnet. Her eyes trailed up the staircase and jumped to the windows high in the entryway.

“It needs some work,” he said honestly. “My father has not been in a position to manage it himself.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her dark lashes sweeping slowly as she blinked. “Perhaps when you are married, if you have a healthy settlement, you will be able to do the things your house needs.”

It was as blunt a conversation as they’d yet had about his situation, and he was glad she had allowed him to broach the topic. “Yes. My mother has always supported my hope to find a love match first, though.”

“She is a kind mother.”

“Indeed.” He offered his bent elbow. “Shall we?”

Miss Farrow wrapped her hand around his arm and stood close to his side as he led her into the drawing room. She sat on the open settee and he took the cushion beside her, noting how the mothers had taken the low-backed chairs and left it open for them.

His final concern had been addressing his lack of funds.

Miss Farrow had accepted the situation so easily, Samuel was certain she had already been informed.

With the ease at which gossip traveled about Harewood, and how close her cousin was to Harewood society, surely she had been forewarned about the state of Samuel’s finances.

His pride smarted at that, but he supposed it was a good thing Miss Farrow had not been surprised by the information.

Now, there was nothing left but to make the union official.

Mother poured the tea, distributing cups and conversation in equal measure. They discussed the ball and the surprising number of couples that consistently graced the floor.

“The Delacours and Harrelsons were pleasant,” Mother said. “Their gowns were so very interesting, I fear they nearly put us all to shame.”

“They would have if Madame Perreau had not been available,” Mrs. Farrow said. “I am quite tempted to bring Isabella to her instead of the woman we typically use. The gown she created for Lady Faversham was like nothing I have ever seen before.”

“It was truly a work of art,” Miss Farrow agreed. “Though it is no surprise it measured up to gowns bought in Paris, I suppose. The woman is French, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Mother said, her smile strained.

“Mrs. Farrow, I wonder if you will indulge me. I have been stitching a pieced coverlet, and I am struggling to place some of the fabric squares. Will you lend me your opinion? It is quite extraordinary for a drawing room, I know, but they are placed on the floor just over here.”

“That would be my pleasure. I designed a quilted coverlet of my own not some years ago.”

The women crossed the floor together, their voices trailing off as they quietly discussed colors and patterns.

Miss Farrow smiled, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. “I believe your mother is attempting to give us an opportunity for more private conversation.”

“She is not as subtle as she believes.” Samuel felt the room growing warm. He looked into Miss Farrow’s kind face, her dark hair framing a sweet expression, and wondered what more he was waiting for. “She would like for me to be married soon.”

“All mothers must be bred with that desire stamped into their bones.”

“Should we torment them further?” he asked, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking another sip of warm tea.

Miss Farrow blinked, her dark lashes framing expressive eyes. “I see no reason why we should.”

Samuel had been given a signal to proceed from both the mother and the woman in question. He had been granted approval despite his poor finances. He knew Miss Farrow’s heart and soul deeply from her letters and enjoyed her easy company.

So why did his heart beat so terribly fast and his hands shake uncomfortably?

His breath did not feel natural, but instead like he was chasing it.

He had not planned on becoming engaged today.

Everything had fallen in line so perfectly, he wondered if he would be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity presented to him.

When he had spoken to Ridley, the man had asked if he’d kissed Miss Farrow yet, but Samuel could not do any such thing without an engagement. Her honor was more important than his feelings. Surely if everything else fell into line, their physical connection would be suitable as well.

She watched him now, waiting expectantly.

“Miss Farrow, it is apparent that we are well-suited. I admire your wit and kindness. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

A smile spread so widely over her face, she radiated light and joy. “Yes.”

Samuel’s face mirrored hers. Relief sluiced through his body.

He took her hand in his, feeling the dainty fingers bend over his own, and rose.

She stood beside him. Were they in private, he would have given her that kiss he was so curious about.

As it stood, he merely raised her knuckles and pressed his lips to them.

“Mother,” he said, placing her hand on his arm and leading her across the room. “We have an announcement.”

That afternoon, Samuel pulled on his riding boots and had his horse saddled despite the drizzling rain.

He was going to join his friends in the marital land of bliss, and he could not wait another moment to share the news.

Soon when they stayed awake late playing cards or had dinners together, he would be able to stand within the circle of the conversation and contribute, a valid member of the club of married men.

More than that, Samuel would tie his life to another. They would finally heal their loneliness by merging their lives and souls together into one.

A smile formed on his lips as he directed Valentine on the road toward Oliver’s house. He’d received the card to play battledore and shuttlecock at their home in two days’ time, and he intended to be the man who waited behind at Marguerite’s shop for the intruder.

Blast. He’d yet to tell his mother she needed to host a musicale later in the week. Surely it would take little convincing now, for she was eager to spread his news all about Harewood. She had left for Aunt Rose’s house directly after the Farrow carriage had vacated their property.