Page 29 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Marguerite had learned to play the pianoforte in her youth, but when she came to England, her lessons ceased, and with them, the majority of her knowledge.

Now she had no skill on the instrument, and the only songs she knew were hymns they sang in church.

For these reasons, she had politely refused the invitation to participate in the musicale.

But as someone who enjoyed music, she appreciated each new piece that was played.

She would have enjoyed them far more if she was not seated beside a man who was bent on torturing her, but that could not be helped.

Indeed, Marguerite had spent the better part of the evening searching her brain for a way to prove to him that she did not have the diamonds.

Short of explaining that they had been buried with her mother, she did not know how to do that—and that was something she would never do.

Her mother’s body and memory did not deserve to be disturbed.

If others knew about the diamonds’ location, that would certainly happen.

Armand leaned closer, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “That would have been a beautiful song to dance to.”

“Yes, I agree,” she said, fighting a shiver. She lifted her arms and clapped politely as Ruth stood from the pianoforte and curtsied to the room.

Without the ability to inform her friends of the most recent letter she had received, Marguerite was lost. She’d hardly slept the previous two nights, and her body was fatigued, her movements heavy and sluggish.

At this rate, if Armand arrived in her shop and attempted to overpower her, he would likely find success. She was a veritable ghost of a woman.

Marguerite drew in a deep breath and rearranged her position on the seat.

Miss Kimball took her place at the harp and waited for full silence before she began to play.

A soothing, sweet melody filled the room, the tones somehow sharp and soft in tandem.

They lulled Marguerite, making her eyelids heavy.

She drew in a yawn, covering her mouth and forcing her eyes to waken.

This was not the place to finally fall asleep.

Armand leaned close again. “You seem tired, madame.”

“I am.”

“You are not sleeping well?”

She glanced at him. That was a forward question, indeed.

He seemed to understand her expression and sat straighter in his seat, but his eyes were on her.

A wisp of unease slithered down Marguerite’s spine.

She trained her gaze on Miss Kimball, breathing through her nose and clasping her hands together tightly in her lap.

She made it through the remainder of the song, then clapped along with the group.

People began to rise, and Marguerite joined them to show her appreciation for the song they had just heard.

It had been beautiful and heartbreaking.

Miss Kimball dipped a curtsy and returned to her mother’s side, nestled between the matron and Miss Farrow.

Marguerite’s gaze skittered to the man one seat beyond, whose attention was on her.

Samuel. His blue eyes pierced her even from this distance, a question on his brow.

Could he see her struggle from so far? She was exhausted, yes, but not only in body.

In spirit as well. She was fairly tempted to do as Armand had asked and go to the Locksley churchyard on Friday and wait for him to arrive so they could speak.

She had no diamonds to leave, after all. Not even fraudulent ones made of glass.

“May I procure a drink for you, Madame Perreau?” Armand asked.

Marguerite jerked slightly, her attention snapping back to her seatmate. What had he asked? To fetch her a drink? She did not want to prolong their time together, but it was important to keep the man her friend. “Yes, thank you.”

When he walked away, Miss Delacour frowned at Marguerite, looking decidedly down her nose. She sniffed lightly and turned away to speak to Miss Harrelson, putting her back to Marguerite.

Well, that was interesting. Did the woman have an interest in Armand? She was welcome to him.

“You did not play,” Ruth said, approaching her with a friendly smile, her brown hair immaculate and her gown showing off her figure to advantage. Was the woman incapable of appearing unhappy? She seemed to radiate goodness.

“It is not a skill of mine. Were we to show our needlework, I would have many examples.” She gestured to Ruth’s gown. “Plenty in the room, in fact.”

Ruth laughed. “True. Now, tell me. Any progress?”

“None at all.” Marguerite covered another yawn. “I do believe I will have trouble remaining much longer.”

“Yet I am tasked with keeping you here as long as possible,” she muttered, before turning her smile over Marguerite’s shoulder. “Good evening, Mr. Leclair. How did you enjoy the entertainment?”

“You played beautifully. ”

“Thank you. Would you be terribly angry if I stole my friend? I was hoping for her company. We have much to speak of.” Ruth drew her arm through Marguerite’s for emphasis.

Armand held the glass forward until Marguerite took it. “I will leave you.”

She put it to her lips and took a sip. Sweet wine.

“Now,” Ruth said, tugging Marguerite’s arm until they moved toward the perimeter of the room, “we watch.”

“May we sleep as we do so?”

“That would make the watching part difficult, I think.” Ruth pulled her toward a bench set against the wall. They sat together, appearing as though they were in a comfortable conversation.

“What are we watching for?” Marguerite asked.

“For everyone to leave.”

She nodded, sipping her drink again.

“Look,” Ruth whispered. “He is leaving already.”

Armand and his party took leave of their hostess and filed from the room.

Over forty minutes passed before their departures were followed by the Chathams, Roses, Kimballs, and Farrows.

Lord and Lady Ryland had left earlier in the evening, and Eliza never came, since Jacob was in Marguerite’s shop waiting for the intruder.

When Samuel and his mother were the final two remaining, he spoke to her quietly.

She glanced back to where the women sat, frowning at Marguerite before quitting the room.

“I do not think that woman likes me much,” Ruth muttered.

Given the cold reception Marguerite had endured in her shop and its underlying messages, she believed the expression was meant for her.

“That took much longer than I anticipated,” Ruth said brightly as Samuel approached them.

He nodded but looked distracted. He was dashing in his bottle green jacket and bronze waistcoat. His golden hair gleamed in the candlelight, and his blue eyes shone despite his worried expression. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Indeed.”

“You are coming with us?” Marguerite asked.

She still had trouble looking at him, knowing she had been the cause of his attack.

More than that, it was difficult to face him knowing she had kept such a large secret from him.

Marguerite feared that if Samuel held her gaze for too long, she might break.

“I am driving you both.” Samuel’s mouth hardly formed a smile. “Oliver took their carriage.”

“Of course.” Marguerite understood.

By the time they had retrieved their cloaks and fastened them, the curricle waited in the drive. They filed outside, and Samuel held his hand forth to help them up.

“Oh, wait a moment.” Ruth raised her hands. “I’ve left my gloves in the music room.”

“I can fetch?—”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving his chivalry away. “I shall be but a moment.”

Marguerite waited beside the curricle, standing at Samuel’s side.

He looked at the house, then at her. His expression seemed lost, his gaze full of confusion.

It gave her the strongest urge to write him a letter, to beg him to reveal the reasons he was feeling tormented.

Typically, he would have done so, and she would have known his innermost feelings.

Now she was not entitled to them, and it hurt.

She dropped her gaze to the gravel at her feet, trying to see the individual pebbles in the dark, trying to give her mind something to focus on other than the feeling of her chest being torn in two.

“Are you angry with me, Marguerite?”

She glanced up swiftly. “Of course not.”

“You will not look at me,” he said softly .

She held his blue eyes. “I cannot stand to see the pain I have caused.”

He smiled then. Even his eyes crinkled slightly, the bruise shifting with the expression. “It no longer hurts. The skin is a little tender, but it will heal perfectly.”

Marguerite let out a breath, her head shaking. “I am terrified we will return to my shop and find much worse.”

Samuel’s smile dropped. He took a step closer to her, bringing his masculine scent with him. “You cannot take that upon yourself. No one is offering services they are not wholeheartedly and willingly providing. We are all eager to rid Harewood of this evil presence.”

“An evil presence I have invited here.”

His frown deepened. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ruth returned and he was forced to keep his thoughts to himself.

Marguerite took his hand to climb the step onto the curricle seat, then Ruth did the same.

The bench was too narrow for the three of them.

Samuel circled the horses and climbed up the other side, his entire leg pressing against Marguerite’s.

She could not move away or she would push Ruth from the seat.

Instead, she endured another form of torment for the short ride into Harewood.

The warmth permeating from Samuel was enough to fill her entire body and make her heart race.

Repeating his status as an engaged man was not enough to keep her pulse from thrumming.

It hardly mattered what she told herself, for she had fallen in love with this man through his letters months ago, and through his actions more recently.

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to fall apart on that very seat.

When Samuel pulled to a stop before the shop, Ruth did not wait for Samuel’s help to grip the sides and find her way down.

Marguerite attempted the same, but when her shoe reached the step, Samuel had circled the horses and he was there, his hand reaching toward her, his eyes pinned to her face.

She only hesitated briefly before putting her hand in his, and fire shot through her veins clear up into her heart.

The moment her feet hit the ground, she let go.

“Nothing?” Ruth was saying by the time Marguerite made it into the shop. “No one came by?”

“I think he must have learned from the last time,” Jacob said.

Samuel sighed, stepping into the shop and closing the door behind him. “I was afraid of this. I’ve ruined our best chance.”

“Do not speak that way. It is not helpful,” Ruth said. “What shall we do now?”

Everyone looked at each other, exchanging concerned glances.

Marguerite stood back, considering her choices.

At this point, they could all leave, return to their families and lives, and allow her to manage it on her own.

No one else would be hurt and she would find a way to speak to this person, to tell them the truth of the diamonds. It was the only way.

Samuel shrugged. “We must sleep here, I suppose.”

“I agree,” Oliver said. “Or Marguerite may come to stay with one of us. Until the man is dealt with, it is not safe here.”

“I can think of no other way,” Jacob said, looking at Marguerite.

“It is unnecessary,” she said. Four pairs of eyes blinked back at her.

Ruth took her hand, gently squeezing her fingers. “We will not abandon you.”

Marguerite glanced between each face, unsure of how she had reached this place.

Just months ago, she had felt isolated, alone in Harewood.

She had people she could pass a friendly word with, yes, but not people she could run to if she was in need.

Now she had friends putting their safety in jeopardy at her expense because…

“Why?” she asked, the word small.

“Because we care about you,” Samuel said, his voice filling the entire space .

Jacob shifted to his other leg. “You are our friend.”

It was so simple. Here she faced a blacksmith, an earl’s sister, and two genteel men.

They did not see her rank or lack thereof.

She had the impression that if she had told them of her father’s title, it would not raise her in their esteem.

They appreciated her for who she was. Emotion clouded her throat.

She knew exactly what she needed to do. “Then I suppose there is something I need to share. I received another letter this week.”

“Marguerite!” Ruth chastised.

“You will understand my reticence in telling you sooner. Allow me to fetch it.” In the parlor, she retrieved the note from the trunk where she had tucked it away.

When she returned to the front of the shop, she looked at each of them, her gaze lingering on Samuel for a moment longer.

“Forgive me. I hoped to spare you all from this.”

Marguerite unfolded the paper and stood closer to the candle on the counter. Then she read the note. When she reached the final line, she swallowed. “ If they are not there by Friday at four o’clock, the trunk will burn, and I will come for them myself.”

“Blackguard,” Oliver hissed.

“I would like to say a few more words, but there are ladies present,” Samuel muttered. “Waste of a man to threaten you in such a way.”

“Should we not take this to the Faversham estate?” Ruth asked, poking her finger at the letter. “Require them to let us search Mr. Leclair’s chamber. Surely Lord Faversham would allow it.”

“We have no proof. If he has hidden the trunk, we would have lost any small advantage we have,” Oliver said.

Ruth grumbled.

Samuel rubbed his face. “Perhaps our approach has been wrong. Do you have no other information about this trunk? No other way to trace it? We could contact the ship it was transported on and see if we can locate it that way. Once we have proof, it would be a simple thing to put Leclair behind bars.”

Marguerite put the letter on the counter.

“We came here twenty years ago. The man I traveled with was a friend of my father’s, and he did his best to find the trunk once we reached England, but it had been misplaced.

The ship claimed to never have received it, which he believed was a lie. We could never prove it.”

“Perhaps if we looked at their records now, we could glean more information,” Samuel said. “What company was the ship chartered through?”

“I was too young to be privy to that knowledge, but Paul would know.”

“Paul?”

“My father’s friend. When I first received the notes, I visited him to ask for his advice. He believed I needed to leave Harewood so the person could not find me again.”

“Paul,” Samuel said again, looking at her. The word was soft on his lips, but all at once, everything seemed to click into place.

His face went slack, his eyes boring into hers.

Oh, no. Samuel knew. He knew.