Page 28 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Twenty-One

“Paste diamonds!” Ruth said, looking between Oliver, Samuel, and Marguerite.

The four of them were speaking in the corner of Samuel’s drawing room on the evening of the musicale.

Ruth had dragged them aside, practically brimming with eager anticipation to share the idea which had dawned upon her in the middle of the night.

“Why have we not already hired someone to make paste diamonds for us?”

Samuel looked at her skeptically, wishing it was as easy as that. “Do you know someone with this skill?”

“No.” Her eyes flicked between him and Oliver. “I assumed one of you did.”

They shared a look.

“I’m afraid we have never before dealt in fraudulent activity, darling,” Oliver said.

She scowled at him. “Of course not. But that doesn’t preclude you from knowing someone with the skill.”

Marguerite had been looking pale since she stepped through the door, but at this, she seemed to lose all remaining color. She shook her head. “Unfortunately, there is no time for such a thing. It is a good idea, Ruth. It’s a shame it did not come to you earlier. We could have made use of it.”

“Not unless you know someone who deals with such things,” Samuel quipped.

Marguerite glanced at him briefly before looking away. “I’m certain it would not be difficult to find. Surely we could locate a jeweler who knows a man who could help us.”

Samuel frowned. She had been doing that all evening.

It almost felt as though Marguerite would not look him in the eye, and when she would, it was not for long.

Had he done something to offend her? Perhaps she could not bear to see his bruises.

He believed the dark circle rimming his eye and climbing his cheekbone were roguish.

The gash along his cheekbone was small and added to his swagger.

He did not find the look appealing, of course, but he did not believe it was so ghastly that it needed to be avoided.

Marguerite, evidently, did not agree.

“You believe paste diamonds cannot be made swiftly, then?” Ruth asked, wrinkling her nose.

Marguerite smiled kindly. “I do not think a shape like this with such particular detail can be recreated easily. I am not familiar with the process, of course, but I imagine a mould would need to be made, and it is likely a lengthy process.”

“I would have to agree,” Oliver said. He took his wife’s hand. “I like your idea, darling, but not your insinuation that Samuel and I run with rougher crowds. When do you propose we rub shoulders with men of that ilk?”

“Particularly when you hardly leave one another’s sides,” Samuel said, swirling his finger toward Ruth and Oliver in a gesture that linked them together.

“I am not privy to the larks you got up to before we wed,” Ruth said innocently.

Oliver chuckled, drawing her closer to his side. “You mean my meetings with your father in his study or the time I spent roaming my fields, attempting to bring them back to life?”

Ruth leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Very well. I relent. It is a fruitless plan.”

Samuel glanced away. He searched the room for Miss Farrow and found her standing beside her mother, her eyes wandering. She was beautiful in her blue gown, her narrow waist accentuated by a silver ribbon.

“If Ridley and I are able to detain him this evening, none of these schemes will even matter,” Oliver muttered.

“You had better be leaving soon. Though I thank you for bringing me first.” Ruth released her husband. He gave them a bow before slipping from the room.

“I will go sit with Armand,” Marguerite said weakly.

Samuel’s body flooded with discomfort. He reached for her arm, his fingers closing around her slender wrist as she turned away. The moment she glanced back at him, he dropped her, immediately aware of how inappropriate his behavior had been.

“Forgive me.” Samuel cleared his throat, conscious of Ruth watching him closely and Marguerite now looking at his…chin? Or perhaps his lips. She surely was not meeting his gaze. “I only wanted to tell you that you need not sit with him if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“He is correct,” Ruth added softly. “You should not do so if you believe it is too much.”

Marguerite shook her head, smiling softly.

“Mr. Ridley and Mr. Rose are sacrificing their evening.” She glanced at Samuel’s eyes before her gaze dropped again.

“Mr. Harding has already sacrificed much more. The least I can do is feign being unbothered by his overbearing attention and pretend not to suspect him.”

“If you are sure,” Ruth said.

“I am.”

Samuel stood beside Ruth and watched Marguerite walk away, the deliberate manner of her words and her straight back making her seem stronger than ever.

“I do not envy her,” Ruth whispered.

“What is she to do if we cannot detain the man and he does not receive his diamonds?” Samuel scrubbed a hand over his face. “We are surely in need of more help.”

Ruth sighed. “I had a similar thought. The trouble with your situation is that you were alone. Tonight, Jacob and Oliver will be together. Two men will not be overpowered.”

“If he returns to her shop again.”

Ruth chewed on her lip. “How can we ensure he does?”

Samuel looked to the rows of seats, where Armand was gesturing to Marguerite as though he wanted her to sit with him. “We can make it plain that Marguerite will not be returning home right away. Perhaps she will tarry with you for some time.”

“I will think on it, but that is a good idea.”

Samuel let out a long breath and began to walk away. He needed to see to Miss Farrow before she felt abandoned.

“Sam?”

“Yes, Ruth?”

“You are a good friend. I appreciate you, and I am certain Marguerite does as well, even if she is having trouble saying so at present.”

So he had not been the only one to notice her strange behavior this evening. He smiled. “Thank you. I do not feel snubbed.”

“Of course not.” She rubbed her brown eyes. “Can any of us blame her for feeling the strain of the situation? I wish she would come stay with us at Boone.”

“As do I, but she is an adult who will manage her own choices.”

Ruth sighed. “I know you are glad I do not hold the puppet strings to everyone’s lives, but it would make things much easier.”

Samuel laughed. “That is a terrifying thought.”

“You would have been married long ago,” she mused. Her eyes shot to Miss Farrow and her mouth snapped closed.

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh? To whom?”

“That is of no matter.” She gently shoved him away. “Be off with you. Miss Farrow is wondering why I am taking up so much of your time.”

“I am certain she is thinking no such thing,” he countered.

“Then you know nothing of women,” Ruth said, and promptly walked away.

Samuel chuckled, making his way around the edge of the room.

His mother had put together a party much larger than that of the battledore and shuttlecock event, and she was happily leading the evening.

It was with great joy that she boasted of the impending nuptials and how thrilled she was to welcome Miss Farrow into her home.

Samuel’s engagement had given his mother a renewed surge of energy and vitality.

It was in the middle of one such speech that Samuel approached Miss Farrow, Mrs. Farrow, and his mother, speaking to the vicar and his wife. Samuel slipped in beside Miss Farrow and nodded subtly to her.

“Mr. Rose left his wife behind?” Miss Farrow whispered. “I noticed he left.”

Perhaps Ruth had not been so far off the mark, after all. “Oliver had things to see to, but Ruth has never been afraid of managing on her own.”

“No.” Miss Farrow’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “I imagine not.”

Her tone did not bode well. Samuel gestured toward the seating area and bent his elbow toward her. “Shall we find a comfortable settee?”

“Yes, I thank you.” Miss Farrow placed her gloved hand around his arm and followed him away from the group.

They wound their way through the room toward the seating area.

The pianoforte and harp were set in front of the bay windows in preparation for that evening’s entertainment, and chairs and sofas had been brought in to create rows of seating.

“Do you intend to play this evening?” he asked.

“Yes. I shall sing as well, if you will turn the pages for me.”

“I would be honored to.” Samuel hoped he could do a decent job of it.

He waited for Miss Farrow to take her seat and lowered himself beside her.

Not many others were in the seating area except for a few of the French party and Marguerite, but Samuel wanted some time to speak to Miss Farrow privately.

“My aunt would like to host a dinner to celebrate our engagement,” Miss Farrow said.

“That would be kind of her.” Samuel sat back, surprised. He had not believed Mrs. Kimball to be so thoughtful. In his experience, she had been quite self-serving. “Your cousin is supportive of our union?”

“Indeed. She expects to make her own announcement soon, and I believe that has made her joy for us authentic. She is deep in the throes of love with her new Mr. Goldberg.”

Samuel hadn’t heard the rumors yet, but he was glad Miss Kimball had found someone. He located her in the room and wished he would have known sooner so he could have included Mr. Goldberg in the invitation.

“A dinner would be nice,” he said. “It is a fitting location when your relation to the Kimballs was what kindled our initial relationship.”

Miss Farrow tilted her head to the side, her dark eyebrows drawing together slightly. “What do you mean? Would that honor not be due to Lady Faversham for inviting both of us to her dinner?”

“I am not referring to the last few weeks.” He smiled, his heart beating frantically.

In all the time they had been exchanging letters, he had never once spoken of them aloud to another soul.

To speak candidly of them now was an enticing prospect.

“But the kissing gate between my house and the Kimballs.”

“The gate?”

“Well, between the Kimballs’ and Harewood, if you would like to be more exact. You did not even know of my house on that fateful day, did you?”

Miss Farrow leaned back slightly, looking upon Samuel as though he was speaking a foreign language. “I am sorry, but I do not know what you mean. Are you speaking of the kissing gate in Harewood? I believe I have seen it once. I walked the path with Phillipa when we were girls.”

Once? A niggle of unease worked its way into Samuel’s chest, but he tamped it down. “Yes, that one. I am speaking of the letters, Miss Farrow. The ones from the gate.”

She stared at him blankly, her eyes blinking in confusion. “I have no notion what you mean.”

The world seemed to turn upside down. “None? You have not passed any letters through means of the kissing gate?”

In truth, he did not know why he was pressing the matter. If Miss Farrow had done so even once, she would know. An entire relationship was not the sort of thing she would hazily forget, then suddenly recall. Samuel’s mouth went dry. He blinked away her confusion.

Miss Farrow’s brow wrinkled. “I am not entirely certain how one would go about passing a letter through a gate. Have you mixed me up with another person?”

“Yes,” he said, a stone rolling into his stomach and anchoring him in place. “I have.”

She gave an uncomfortable laugh.

Samuel couldn’t breathe. He had proposed too swiftly, with far too much assurance.

But had he not confirmed her identity first?

She had lost her father, had lived in London for a short time in her youth, roses were her favorite flowers, and she had learned to ride a horse so young, it was practically before she learned to walk.

Were these things all so common that two women in Harewood could share the same traits?

It was a terrifying failure. So monumental, in fact, Samuel was now engaged to a woman he did not know. He looked at her again, but only saw the face of a stranger, not a familiar soul. He did not know this woman the way he thought. Yet, they were engaged to be married .

Oh, gads. What had he done?