Page 32 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Samuel thought he would sleep well after remaining awake for most of the night plotting the jewel thief’s downfall, but when he arrived home, he found sleep would not come.

He’d lain in bed, awake and unable to settle his mind.

It did not matter how he turned the situation about, there was no moral way to extricate himself from the engagement without harming Miss Farrow, and that simply was not an option.

As much as he wanted to save his mother from a financially poor future, he did not want to subject himself to a loveless marriage. His heart was Marguerite’s. It had slowly and surely fallen for her over the course of raw, honest letters, and her friendship had only set it in permanence.

Samuel knew with certainty that he loved Marguerite.

As he stood before his mirror the following morning and tied his cravat, he considered simply telling Miss Farrow the truth. Would it be enough to sway her?

Was it worth trying?

Marcel was sitting on top of his wardrobe, watching him with little interest, her tail swishing back and forth .

He looked at the cat through his mirror. “What do you think? Shall I be honest, or shall I scheme?”

“Sir?” Hokey asked, patiently holding Samuel’s jacket beside the window.

Samuel startled. “Sorry, Hokey. Forgot you were there.”

A pounding on the bedroom door made both Samuel and his valet turn sharply in unison.

“I am nearly ready,” he called.

“This cannot wait,” Mother hissed.

Oh, dear. She did not sound happy. Samuel returned his focus to the mirror. “You may enter.”

The door swung open, and she stormed into the room. Her eyes shot darts at Samuel through the mirror, paying no heed to his valet. “What have you done?”

His fingers froze on his cravat. “I haven’t the least notion what you are referring to, Mother.”

She crossed the room and lowered her voice. “The Farrows are here, and they are livid. There is talk of—no, I cannot say it. You are needed downstairs at once.”

Hope rose in his chest. “Say it, Mother. Talk of what? Is Miss Farrow displeased?”

She scoffed. “Humiliated would be a better term. You had no thought for anyone else, did you? I warned that modiste,” she snapped. “I told her to stay away, that you were engaging yourself?—”

“Wait.” Samuel dropped his hands, his cravat forgotten. A sick feeling roiled in his stomach. “What did you say to Marguerite?”

“Christian names?” Mother gave a humorless laugh. “You are using her Christian name ? I had supposed we were to be saved from the debtors’ prison, but you have truly gone and spoiled it now.”

Shock swam through his body. “Surely Father has not put us in so terrible a fix as that . ”

Mother’s mouth pressed into a firm line. She looked at Hokey, where he stood holding Samuel’s jacket, then fixed her gaze upon her son again. “It is far worse than you could imagine. Now Miss Farrow is distraught. You must fix this, Samuel.”

He stood at his mirror, his cravat half-tied and hanging limply from his neck. Mother stormed from the room. Well, what the devil was he meant to do now? Choose love and send his father to debtors’ prison, or marry a woman he did not care for beyond friendship to save his mother from ruin?

Samuel reached up and yanked the knot loose, tossing the limp fabric aside. He pulled a new cravat from his bureau and set about tying it, the motions so familiar he did not need to set his focus to the task. Duty to his mother battled with what he owed to himself.

Though, if Miss Farrow had discovered somehow that Samuel loved Marguerite, surely she would not want to marry him any longer.

“Your jacket, sir?” Hokey asked, stepping forward.

“Thank you.” He put his arms through the sleeves.

Hokey stepped back to glance over Samuel in his entirety. “You look complete, sir.”

“Thank you, Hokey. That will be all.”

The valet left. Samuel checked the time on his pocket watch, then tucked it away. He only had a half-hour before he needed to be on his way to Boone Park, where he intended to leave his horse for the day and ride in Oliver’s carriage to Locksley.

Best to get this business taken care of quickly.

Samuel followed the voices and found his mother with the Farrow women in the morning room.

None of them were seated, causing him no small amount of distress.

It did not bode well, and the pinched, angry expression on Mrs. Farrow’s face sent an unpleasant swirl through his stomach.

Miss Farrow’s eyes were cast down, her mouth turned in a frown.

He approached the group, bowing .

“Should we allow the young people to speak?” Mother asked. “Hopefully they can come to an understand?—”

“I would like to hear this explanation myself,” Mrs. Farrow said, keeping her daughter protectively at her side.

Miss Farrow raised her gaze, but her expression was unreadable.

Samuel waited, but no one enlightened him. “Forgive me, but I do not know what you refer to. An explanation for what, exactly?”

Mrs. Farrow’s mouth trembled as she spoke, her anger sparking in her eyes. “For why you were seen leaving the modiste’s lodgings at the break of dawn this morning, Mr. Harding.”

Ice traveled down his spine, shocking him instantly. How had he been seen? He could admit it would have looked suspicious, but nothing untoward had occurred. Both Samuel and Marguerite were entirely innocent.

“Furthermore,” Mrs. Farrow continued, faintly shaking. “Explain why your curricle was tied to the post in front of her shop for the duration of the evening.”

Samuel closed his eyes. He had no reply. He could not absolve Marguerite without revealing the course of torture she had been subjected to of late, and even then, would these women believe him? It hardly mattered, for it was not his business to share.

“There is a perfectly valid and moral reason for my presence in Madame Perreau’s shop ,” he said, emphasizing the room where he spent the duration of the night. “But it is not my business to share.”

Mrs. Farrow scoffed, and Miss Farrow burst into tears, dropping her face in her hands.

“You will, of course, release us from our contract at once,” the older woman said.

“Surely we can find a way to overcome this,” Mother hedged .

Miss Farrow’s crying grew louder.

Samuel cringed. “I vow there has not been anything untoward occurring within that shop. Upon my honor?—”

“What honor?” Mrs. Farrow spat. “You are ruined. Both of you. Mark me, boy, I shall see to it Madame Perreau shall never sew another gown again.”

He curled his hands into fists where they remained at his sides. To think he had been contemplating ways to smooth these ladies’ ruffled feelings. Now he wanted to shake some sense into them. “You would not ruin a woman on so flimsy a rumor. She has done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing? The women of Harewood deserve to know their modiste is a person of such loose moral character. Surely they would not wish to patronize her business when she is busy destroying families.”

Good grief. This woman could not have been further from the mark. “Will you see reason? Madame Perreau is innocent.”

“How can we believe you, sir? You would do your best to protect your mistress.”

Samuel rubbed a frustrated hand over his face.

“Mama,” Miss Farrow said, her red-rimmed eyes pleading. “If Mr. Harding is speaking the truth?—”

“Of course he is not,” she snapped. “Men will say anything to get their way. Look at his father.” She glanced over the room, her eyes lingering on the fraying carpet.

“I thought it was suspicious that he sought you out directly after you came into that inheritance. He merely wants your money to put this house to rights.”

Heat stole up Samuel’s neck, but it was nothing compared to the scarlet of his mother’s face.

There were things he could possibly say to smooth the situation.

He could drag them to Oliver’s house and allow Ruth to give her testimony of his innocence.

But again, that would reveal more about Marguerite’s situation than he had a right to share.

Besides, Mrs. Farrow had now insulted Samuel’s family, and he was through putting up with her.

It hardly mattered that she was wrong about Samuel’s intentions.

His mother had initially selected this woman because of her purse.

He cleared his throat and stepped back to make a space toward the door, gesturing with a sweep of his arm.

“I think you have insulted us enough, Mrs. Farrow.”

Her mouth dropped open, an angry sound emitting from it. “The very gall of the man. You shall regret this!”

Samuel already did. He watched Mrs. Farrow storm from the room, dragging her daughter away. Miss Farrow glanced back at him, her gaze distraught, and his heart reached out to her. But he could do nothing to put her mind at ease, not with her mother in this state.

Mother followed them from the room, ostensibly to be assured they found their way outside. When she returned, her face was made of angry stone. “You have ruined our chance at security.”

“That was unfair.” Samuel inhaled, searching for patience. “Mrs. Farrow would not see reason, Mother. I did not speak falsehoods. Marguerite and I have not been carrying on an illicit relationship. She has—” He paused, shaking his head. What could he say? It was not his secret to tell.

Mother waited.

“It is not my place to say.” He could tell her broadly, he reasoned. “Marguerite has been in danger, and I have not been her only friend who has been helping her these last few weeks. Oliver and Jacob Ridley have done so as well, and neither of them are being threatened by their wives.”

A look of disbelief passed over Mother’s face.

Samuel continued. “In fact, Ruth was with us for a good portion of the evening last night.”

She let out an empty laugh. “If that is the truth, why did you not say so to Mrs. Farrow?”

“Do you believe she would have listened?” Samuel refrained from adding that after being shouted at, he had lost all desire to have Mrs. Farrow for a mother-in-law—debtor’s prison or no. He had been granted the gift of a release from his engagement, and he had taken it.

“Perhaps not.” Mother moved to the low-backed chair and sat. “Now, what shall we do? Your modiste does not have a splendid dowry, does she?”

“I’m afraid not.” He moved toward his mother and took to his knees slowly until he had the entirety of her attention.

His voice was calm, his words sure. Taking one of his mother’s hands in both of his, he looked her in the eye.

“I love her, Mother, but I have not so much as kissed her. She will hardly look at me since I have become engaged. She is too honorable to disrespect Miss Farrow. But I love her, fully and deeply.”

The fire crackled behind them in the hearth as Samuel waited for a response.

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. “I love you, Samuel. I do not wish for you to be tied to a joyless marriage.”

He smiled softly.

Her hand squeezed his. “But there is no happiness found in an insecure marriage, either. Of that, you can trust me. How am I meant to rejoice in this when the woman you love will not bring you anything but ruination and financial instability?”

Samuel’s heart thudded to the floor. He rose to his feet, releasing her hand. “You need not rejoice, Mother. I only ask for your blessing to be happy. I am certain I will land on my feet.”

“You might. But what of your father and I?”

Samuel drew in a heavy breath. “I do not know. Perhaps it is time we cease trying to save Father from his own poor choices.”

“We would lose this house,” Mother said through her teeth. “Your inheritance.”

Pain cut through Samuel’s chest. He rubbed at the spot absently.

Was there anything left to inherit? He was tired of feeling the weight of burden they were forcing upon him.

He could no longer accept responsibility for his father’s choices—choices he did not agree with.

“If we dig Father from this hole, what will stop him from digging another one? I cannot be responsible for his poor management.” He glanced over the room, the house he had lived his entire life.

“We have family. People love and support us. We will not go without, Mother. We would have support?—”

“I will not become a beggar.”

“You will never need to. I shall find a way to support us. There must be a way.” He glanced at the long-case clock, noting how late it had become. “But presently I have a commitment, so I must leave for Boone Park.”

He said no more as he walked from the house, but he felt simultaneously a concern for the evening ahead and a lightness to his step for unburdening his thoughts. He had been honest, and his mother had accepted it.

There was a liberation to speaking the truth: he loved Marguerite.

Now to tell the woman herself.