Page 26 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Nineteen

Samuel’s legs were growing restless. He had not heard a sound from the front of the shop all afternoon.

Once it grew dark, he crept up the stairs and watched the street from Marguerite’s window for a while, but the general Harewood traffic was typically slow, and nothing looked particularly French or out of the ordinary.

Though, what would stand out as French to him, he did not know.

He was not entirely certain the blackguard was French, or what he was looking for at all. Would a tormentor wear all black and tie a scarf about their face to avoid detection? Would they wait for the sun to go down and sneak in the shadows, or had the previous successful encounters made them bold?

Two of the letters had been left during daylight hours while Marguerite was in the shop.

Samuel sat hard on the chair at her writing table and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

He had made a concentrated effort not to pin the entire ordeal on Leclair in his mind so he would keep an eye out for anyone who looked suspicious, but the facts were all there.

Who else would have the knowledge and access to achieve something of this magnitude?

He looked down at his hands and realized they were balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms, leaving half-moons behind. Marguerite did not deserve this. No one did. To be wounded in such a way, using the belongings of her mother, her youth, her memories against her? It was unspeakable.

Samuel wished he could remove the burden at once, eliminate the trouble, and allow her to return to her simple, contented life. He felt powerless, waiting here, doing nothing ? —

A sound downstairs sent a cold flush through his body. Someone was moving in the shop below. Had the bell rung, or were they using another means of entrance? He had not heard the bell.

Samuel rose. He crept along the floor, avoiding the floorboard which had creaked earlier.

The sounds below were soft but unmistakably inside.

Things were being moved about. He needed to be quick, or he would lose his opportunity.

Blast his need to watch through the window.

If he had been in the parlor, he could be upon the vagrant now!

The stairwell was utterly dark. He skipped the top step and moved slowly over the next two, moving to the other side for the following three.

He had tried to find the ones which would make no noise in case this very situation occurred, and now he was exceedingly grateful he’d had the foresight to do so.

His foot pressed down on a creaky stair, a groan screeching out through the dark. Thunder and turf, he hadn’t done well enough.

Holding still, he cocked his ear toward the shop, but it was difficult to hear from this enclosed space.

He didn’t want to lose his opportunity to apprehend the man.

Samuel took the final three stairs swiftly and stepped into the parlor, then peeked around the open doorway.

A dark shadow swung toward his head, blasting him in the temple.

Stars erupted behind his eyes as his body flew to the floor.

Samuel saw all black as he faded from consciousness.

The shrill gasp woke him, but he did not open his eyes.

An orange glow lit the darkness behind his eyelids.

The edges of a gown pressed against his waist as someone dropped to their knees on the floor beside him.

Two hands gently traced the sides of his face before a head dropped on his chest, moving his cravat aside.

“Thank the heavens you are alive,” she breathed.

Marguerite. He knew who it was instinctively, and her voice confirmed it. That gentle French accent which seemed to lessen when they were alone together, the sweet lilt of her words.

“He is in the parlor,” Marguerite called louder, raising her head from his chest. He wanted the pressure of her to remain. “Come, I need help to lift him on the sofa.”

Samuel groaned. A headache made itself known in full force now that his consciousness was returning to him. He tried to push up on his elbow, but Marguerite’s hand firmly held him in place.

“Do not try to move. Jacob is here, and he will assist you.”

“Oh, Sam!” That was certainly Eliza. “Your eye.”

A grunt sounded, likely Ridley, who seemed to agree with her.

Samuel tried to open his eyes. It was a struggle.

One was swollen and tender, but the other took in his surroundings, and the women leaning directly over him, shrouded in concern.

Marguerite’s pale blue eyes were wild in the light from her candle, wide as they raked over his face, searching for something—whether for more injuries or proof of his wellness, he did not know .

“We must send for Dr. Burnside,” Eliza said.

Ridley stepped forward. “After Samuel is off the floor.” He leaned down, sliding his hand beneath Samuel’s back and raising him to a seated position. “Tell me when you are ready.”

Marguerite stood, moving the candle out of their path.

Samuel watched her, waiting for the room to cease its unnatural tilting. He had a feeling it might not, so he grit his teeth. “Ready.”

Ridley supported him but let him stand on his own. They walked toward the sofa, and he helped Samuel to sit upon it.

“Should you not lay down, Sam?” Eliza asked. “You’ve suffered a head wound.”

“He gave me a milling,” Samuel said, stretching his jaw. He could feel the soreness radiating the side of his face where he had collided with the floor. “That is all. I do not need the doctor or a bed or any invalid treatment, though I appreciate your concern.”

Eliza frowned. “I do not like it.”

“Did you see him?” Ridley asked.

Samuel shook his head, then closed his eyes as pain shot down his temple.

“No. Dashed shame, that. I was watching through the upstairs window when I heard the noise. He must have heard me on the stairs, because he was waiting when I snuck down.” He gave a humorless laugh.

“The wretch used my very plan against me.”

“Can I make you some tea?” Marguerite asked.

Samuel lifted his gaze. “That would be nice.”

She left immediately through the door beside the stairs to heat water and returned a minute later.

“Did he leave a note?” Samuel asked.

Ridley and Eliza shared a glance.

“No,” Marguerite said. “You must have frightened him.”

Eliza chewed on her lip. “He was searching. Part of the shop is a disaster. Perhaps he didn’t intend to leave a note this time—just to take what he wanted.”

“Only part of the shop?” Samuel asked.

Marguerite lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Your presence here stopped the search. If they intended to look through the entire place and leave a note at the end, they were thwarted. If they were trying to find diamonds, they would have been disappointed.”

The bell rang above the front door, and all three of them turned toward it in unison. Samuel shut his eyes against the reverberating sound.

Ruth marched directly toward them, Oliver behind her. “We came as soon as the final guest left.”

“Gads, Sam,” Oliver said. “Your eye.”

“It will heal.”

Marguerite slipped back into the kitchen while Eliza explained all that had occurred so far. When she returned, she was carrying a teacup prepared exactly how Samuel liked it. Interesting, for he did not recall sharing tea with her before.

“At least we know it could not have been Mr. Leclair,” Eliza said. “We left before he did.”

Ruth tilted her head in thought. “He rode separately from his party, though. And he requested his horse as soon as you asked for your carriage.”

“Then we cannot rule him out just yet,” Ridley said quietly.

Marguerite shook her head. “This is too dangerous. We are not continuing this plan.”

“I think it is more imperative now than ever,” Samuel said. He looked to his friends, who were all nodding their agreement.

But Marguerite’s brow furrowed, her head shaking against their unanimous agreement. “I could not live with myself if someone else is hurt.”

“Our mistake was leaving one man here alone,” Ridley said. “Next time, there will be two of us.”

Oliver nodded. “One to watch the windows, another down here.”

“Poor Ryland, missing all the fun.” Samuel smiled, then dropped the expression when it stung his eye.

“I think he would prefer to be at home with his very pregnant wife,” Ruth said, laughing. “Let us not drag him into this, please.”

“Agreed,” Eliza said.

Marguerite stood in the corner, the candlelight dancing over her face. Her thumbnail was tucked between her teeth as she chewed anxiously.

“Do not worry,” Samuel said. “No one will be hurt.”

She dropped her hand away from her mouth. “You already are.”

“This?” He gestured to his eye, then made a scoffing sound. “This will only make me look like a dashing rogue. I should be thanking you.”

Marguerite did not grant his ridiculousness with a reply, but her anxiety seemed to ease somewhat.

“We need to return to the children,” Eliza said. “But Jacob will join Oliver here during the Harding musicale.”

They finished discussing the finer points of their plan, then the Ridleys left. Marguerite took Samuel’s half-finished cup and carried it back to the kitchen.

Oliver moved toward the couch. “Shall we drive you home?”

“That would probably be wise.” Samuel pushed against the armrest of the sofa. The pounding in his head increased as he rose, and Oliver’s arm came around his back. “Valentine is in the stables at the inn, but I can return for him tomorrow.”

“Or send a groom. You need to be mindful.”

He needed sleep, that was all. Samuel let Oliver walk him toward the front door. The counter was in disarray. Gloves, shawls, and silk flowers were strewn about, as though the person had hoped to make a mess more than they believed they would find what they were searching for among these items.

“Will you be all right here tonight?” Ruth asked Marguerite.

“I shall.”

The woman was strong and brave. Samuel had consistently been impressed by her. He scowled at the mess, angry he had not removed her burden this evening. Instead, he had only added to it, heaped guilt upon it. He’d had the opportunity to end it all, but he had bungled things instead. Foolish man.

Oliver helped Samuel into his carriage, then handed Ruth inside. They closed the door and were off. His stomach grew queasy, the rocking of the ride and his headache mixing to make him feel ill and unsettled.

“I wish I had remained in the parlor,” he muttered. “Things would have turned out differently.”

“You cannot blame yourself,” Ruth said.

Samuel opened his eyes. “What if the man returns? How do we know he isn’t watching her shop? Knowing when we come and leave?”

“He did not know you were in there,” Oliver countered.

Samuel didn’t like it. He did not like leaving her alone while someone wanted something so valuable from her—something she could not give.

“As soon as we know who this person is, we can bring in the authorities,” Oliver said.

“Until then, they will do nothing.” Ruth sighed.

“They can do nothing,” Oliver agreed.

Ruth leaned against his shoulder. “Rotten business.”

Samuel looked through the window, wondering how the devil he was going to explain his eye to his mother.

Or worse, to Miss Farrow.

“Can you blacken your eye falling from a horse?” he asked.

“Not like that,” Oliver said .

Ruth hummed. “Are you worried about your mother? You could tell her you ran into a branch while riding.”

“He’s too good a rider for that,” Oliver said. “Who would believe him?”

Samuel chuckled. “I shall tell her you did it.”

“Me?” Oliver tucked his chin in surprise.

“Accidentally. It was dark, and…”

“Oh, Sam,” Ruth said, laughing. “Just tell her you weren’t watching where you were walking and ran into something.”

He considered it. “That could work.”

“You were dreaming of Miss Farrow,” Oliver added helpfully.

“Indeed.” He looked to the window, thinking of the course of the evening’s events, and realized how very little he had thought of Miss Farrow. In fact, she hadn’t crossed his mind until he realized he would need to explain his sudden bruising.

A slight frown settled on his mouth.

“Do not berate yourself over this,” Oliver said softly. “You were ambushed.”

“I am not worried any longer.” Samuel glanced at his cousin. He would not explain that he hadn’t been thinking about his failure. He drew in a breath and blinked, his bruised eye throbbing painfully. “Once we do find him, I will simply return the favor.”