Page 25 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Eighteen

Each person who had received an invitation to take part in Ruth and Oliver’s battledore and shuttlecock event accepted, save for Samuel. He had traveled to Marguerite’s shop earlier than she needed to leave to avoid being detected.

“I’ve left my horse at the inn,” Samuel said as Marguerite stepped back to admit him, then closed the door. “It was slow today. I didn’t see any strangers.”

Marguerite nodded, showing him to the parlor. She glanced around, wondering how this space would appear to anyone else. “Do you intend to sit in here?”

Samuel followed her, his gaze on Claude curled up on a sofa cushion. “That would suit. I hoped to leave the door open so I can hear if anyone comes through the front. Do you think they will see me from the windows?”

“Not if you sit on that far end.” Marguerite motioned toward Claude. “You shall have to move her, though.”

His eyes glimmered with amusement, making her breath catch. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, even in darker, less ostentatious clothing. “Will she allow that?”

Marguerite gave an airy laugh to cover the way he affected her and leaned over to pet her cat and wake her up. “Come, Claude. You need to move.”

“Are you nervous, Marguerite?”

“Yes.” She straightened. Claude yawned, stretching. “I regret dragging any of you into this mess.”

Samuel cupped her shoulder until she gave in and looked in his deep blue eyes. He squeezed lightly before releasing her. “We are all glad you did. I wish you would have spoken to us sooner. This is what friends are for.”

She could not rest easy, not until this whole matter was dealt with. “Do you have a plan if he does arrive?”

“I will detain him. I have surprise on my side, so I shall knock him unconscious and tie him up until we can alert the constable. It will not be a terribly dangerous affair, I promise you that. No one shall enter the shop without alerting me by the bell. I will know he is coming.” Samuel dropped onto the sofa where Claude had vacated.

“You must keep a close eye on Leclair. Notice if he leaves for any length of time. Pull any information from him you can.”

Marguerite nodded. “I will do my best.”

Samuel tugged his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. “You’d best be on your way.”

She moved to the parlor door, then paused, her hand resting on the knob, and looked back at him. “Thank you, Samuel.”

He smiled, giving her the guileless, open expression she had come to adore.

Her heart tripped, and she found she could not remain long enough for him to reply.

Instead, she fled, hurrying outside and locking the door behind her, her heart in her throat.

The man was soon to be engaged if he had not already committed himself to Miss Farrow.

Marguerite had ended their correspondence.

She pressed her fingers to her heart as she hurried toward Eliza’s home, as if the pressure would ease the discomfort building there. Somehow, she needed to squash all feelings she had for him.

By the time Marguerite arrived at Boone Park with Eliza and Jacob Ridley, the games had already begun.

Due to the recent rain, they had planned for all events to take place inside.

The food was kept separate in a parlor and nothing in the ballroom could be injured by a stray shuttlecock, so it was no matter.

Marguerite followed Eliza into the large ballroom, noting Armand’s location immediately.

His presence granted her equal parts relief and disappointment.

If he had not been at the Roses’ house, she would know he was the culprit—but his attendance also meant Samuel could possibly avoid an altercation that afternoon.

“Shall we begin?” Ruth called, clapping her hands together to garner attention. She paired everyone into teams and distributed the battledores she had on hand. Armand had snaked his way through the group and thus stood near enough to become Marguerite’s partner, a fortuitous circumstance.

“I warn you, monsieur, I am not much for sporting events.”

He smiled kindly. “Then it is a good thing I am not an unhappy loser.”

She returned the smile, reminding herself of the possibility that he could have nothing to do with the notes. For, when she imagined him sneaking into her home and laying her doll upon her bed, she began to shake, which caused her to miss her turn and lose the round.

“It is no matter,” Armand said. “We now have the chance to sit in the parlor and drink exquisite lemonade. Or I am told it is such. I would be much more satisfied with wine, you know. Is it common to drink lemonade in this country?”

“Yes. I think you will find it refreshing after exerting yourself, monsieur.”

“We shall see,” he said dubiously.

They passed their battledores to Eliza and Jacob, then left the ballroom to seek refreshment. The parlor was near, and a table was set out with cups of cold lemonade and a large bowl. Plates of biscuits and small cakes sat beside it, with baked cinnamon apples and tarts rounding out the offerings.

Marguerite picked up a plate and filled it with enough delicacies to give them reason to remain in the parlor for a long while. She hoped Armand would see it as his duty to sit with her until her plate was empty. He carried their glasses to a set of chairs near the wall, and they sat together.

Taking a small sip of lemonade, Armand smacked his lips gently. “It is good. I will admit so.”

Marguerite took a bite of the apple tart and sighed. “These are wonderful. I lived near an apple orchard in my youth. We used to have barrels of them in our stores, and I would sneak out and eat until I was ill.”

“I recall,” Armand said.

Marguerite took another bite of the tart to keep her mouth full. Had he realized what he had admitted to? She swallowed. “You ate many apples as well?”

“We used to play in the trees. Do you remember?”

She laughed. “You are mistaking me for someone else, monsieur.”

“I do not think I am.”

Marguerite’s heart throbbed. The footman standing near the door was not looking their way, and no one else was in the room to overhear. If she admitted it now, would he speak openly with her? Accept the truth that the diamonds were gone?

“You have an unusual shade of blonde hair,” he continued, his eyes raking over her coiffure before landing again on her face. “Has anyone told you so? You are beautiful, though I do not recall your name being Marguerite.”

“Madame Perreau,” she said. “That is not a falsehood.”

“I suppose not.” He shrugged. “When did your husband die? ”

“Three years ago. He had the pox. I was fortunate enough to escape illness, but I did not escape widowhood.”

“A tragedy.”

“Indeed.” She picked up a ginger biscuit and took a bite, the snap echoing around them. She hated lying, but it was a necessary safety precaution.

“You do not wish for others to know your heritage?” he asked.

Would everything crumble around her now? Was Armand going to dismantle the protection she had worked hard to create for herself? “It is none of their concern. I enjoy my life the way it is.”

He nodded, rubbing his chin. “I had wondered what you were trying to hide, but I suppose I can understand.”

“It is not safe to be French in England, Armand.” Marguerite set down her plate and faced him better.

“There will always be those who lost loved ones fighting the French these last three decades, perhaps longer. Those who are sending loved ones to fight the French now. Those who support the loyalists; those who do not. I cannot know who will accept my father and who would cease to patronize my shop were they to learn the circumstances of my birth.”

His brown eyes were fastened on her. “You wear it as a mask, this name.”

“I do. It has protected me, and I hope it will continue to do so.”

Voices filtered down the corridor, warning them of more people coming to the parlor.

Armand lifted his glass of lemonade and took a sip. “Never fear, Marie-Louise.”

She cringed, but quickly tried to hide it.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

The afternoon had bled into evening, and despite their candid conversation in the parlor, Armand had not jeopardized Marguerite’s identity for the rest of the evening.

He had also remained stoutly at her side for the whole of it.

The fresh honesty between them created a newfound kinship that seemed to provide him with a renewed interest in her attention.

They had enjoyed refreshments and played multiple rounds of battledore and shuttlecock, always on a team together.

Everyone gathered in the ballroom for the final match to discover the winner of the evening. Ruth and Oliver were on one team, playing against Miss Harrelson and Mr. Delacour.

Lord Ryland and his wife, Lady Ryland—whom everyone still called Aurelia in the company of friends, as it was more comfortable for her—had arrived late and were speaking quietly with Eliza.

Marguerite sat on a cushioned chair against the wall watching the shuttlecock fly across the ballroom in a generous arc, anxious to return to her shop.

Her ears perked up to the conversation taking place just behind her.

“Did you receive a visit from Samuel last night?” Eliza asked.

“We did.” Aurelia yawned, resting a hand over her rounded belly. “He came to share his news.”

News? Marguerite’s stomach clenched. He had done it then. He was going to marry Miss Farrow.

“I’m pleased for him,” Aurelia said.

Eliza sighed. “He has long since wanted to be married. It was sweet how eager he was to share the engagement with his friends.”

Not all his friends. Marguerite had not received a visit. Neither had she heard the news in a letter from the kissing gate. He could even have told her this afternoon when he had come to the shop, but he refrained then, as well.

Her feelings smarted at the slight, but she supposed it was a blessed thing she had learned of the engagement in this manner, so she was prepared to congratulate him. If Samuel had been the one to mention it, her face could have betrayed her true feelings.

“The visitors are victorious!” Ruth lifted her battledore in the air and curtsied. “Well done, everyone. Shall we retire to the parlor for more refreshments?”

The group muttered general agreement and moved in that direction. Marguerite found herself in the corner of the parlor, alone with Armand again, while the majority of the group filled plates and drank glasses of lemonade.

“You are not hungry?” he asked.

“Not anymore. I have eaten more apples and tarts today than I have for the entirety of the year.” She smiled to soften her statement.

If Eliza was ready to leave, Marguerite would happily agree.

Instead, she realized she had an opportunity to extract information from Armand, and she needed to take advantage of it.

Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to him. “May I ask a few delicate questions?”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “ Oui .”

“How long did you remain near our home? Have you been there all these years?”

“Non. We stayed for eight more years, but we all had to fight. My brothers all died.” He swallowed hard, looking away. “My parents are gone. My sister is married—she lives in Bordeaux.”

A bittersweet disclosure, but she was glad to hear about his sister. “That is wonderful news.”

“She will be glad to hear I have seen you.”

Marguerite’s heart thudded. “I had hoped this would stay between us.”

Armand’s deep brown eyes peered deeply into hers. “Perhaps I can convince you to change your mind.”

She laughed lightly in an effort to dispel the heaviness their conversation.

She glanced around the room, hoping no one else noticed the nature of their tete-a-tete, and found Miss Delacour watching them curiously.

She snapped her eyes back to Armand. “A man as handsome as you surely has a woman waiting for him.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “There was one, but these things change. You cannot control love, Marie?—”

“Madame Perreau,” she said sharply.

He shook his head. “Very well. Though I do not like the reminder that you were married.”

And he would never learn the truth—she hadn’t been. It was a lie.

Eliza joined them, her smile soft. “Jacob called for our carriage, Marguerite. Are you prepared to leave soon? We must be returning to Peter and Lydia.”

“Of course.” She curtsied to Armand, glad she would soon be seeing the back of him for the evening. “Thank you for being my partner tonight.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine,” he said, rising and bowing low. His eyes held hers until she broke the contact and turned away.

Eliza took her by the elbow. Together they bade their farewells and walked arm-in-arm toward the front door.

“Did you learn anything of note?” Eliza asked quietly once they reached the corridor.

Marguerite glanced at her sharply.

She grimaced. “Ruth told us everything. I hope you are not angry, for we would like to be of help.”

“Not angry, no.” She was worried, however.

The more people who knew details of her background, the more likely it was they would uncover her secrets.

She let out an anxious breath and nodded.

“I did gather interesting information tonight. Mr. Leclair certainly knows who I am, and he would like to pursue a relationship of some sort. I am not certain if it is a courtship he is after, or something different. He also told me his family has all died, except one sister who is married and still lives in France. ”

“So he does not have many people left in his life. How awful.”

“I had the same thought. He does not have much left to lose.”

Eliza looked at her when they reached the door. “That makes for a dangerous man.”