Page 33 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The churchyard was cold as Friday afternoon bled into the darkness of evening, then as evening shifted into morning.

Marguerite had left the bundle of pebbles meant to look like jewels within the stone hands on the appointed grave, nestled beneath the oak tree and situated well out of sight from most vantage points.

It had taken a great deal of time to locate a place to wait and watch the grave for Leclair, but Oliver had done so.

He found a perfect shadowed sliver of alleyway that gave a direct view of the grave from across the road, beside the inn.

It was further away than he would have liked, but well-hidden.

The men took to the alley in shifts, never leaving the grave unwatched for any length of time. From the moment Marguerite had left the bundle, they had stood sentinel, waiting for the perpetrator to descend.

Now, though the clock on the Locksley Inn mantel read quarter-past three in the morning hours, Ruth and Marguerite sat together on the sofa, biting their nails and waiting in concerned silence in the rented parlor.

Samuel rested along the other sofa, his breathing heavy and slow .

“If only I could sleep anywhere,” Ruth whispered.

Marguerite shook her head. “I do not have that luxury, either.”

Jacob stoked the logs in the hearth. “I will relieve Oliver shortly. You ought to try and sleep, Ruth. You will not be much assistance to us if you cannot stay awake tomorrow.”

She scowled playfully at him.

“You both ought to sleep,” Jacob said, lifting an eyebrow.

“I could not,” Marguerite said. “You should, Ruth. We have paid for the bedchambers already.”

Ruth yawned. “I suppose. If Oliver is coming inside shortly, it would do no harm.”

“He will be with you in a quarter-hour,” Jacob promised.

She did not need further convincing, but Marguerite nodded anyway, encouraging Ruth to sleep. The woman gathered herself up and stretched her arms before walking toward the door.

Jacob rose with her. “I will see to it you make it safely upstairs. We do not know who tarries in the taproom here.”

Once they left, Samuel’s steady, even breathing was the pulse of the room, the crackling of the fireplace the off-beat rhythm. Marguerite closed her eyes and listened to both sounds.

They were keeping a watch in case Leclair came at any point, and the watch kept a whistle to alert the others.

But Oliver believed he would come in the early hours before the town awakened, long enough after Marguerite had left the bundle that he would not fear being watched any longer, but not so long that he feared the diamonds would be taken.

Thus far, it would appear Oliver had been correct. It had been a calculated risk to leave one man watching the grave all night in shifts, but they were confident in Oliver’s reasoning. Now, it was less than two hours until the man would likely be apprehended and everything would be over.

“You are deep in thought,” Samuel said from the opposite sofa, his scratchy voice thick with sleep .

Marguerite’s gaze dropped to his face. His blue eyes were clear but heavily lidded and trained on her. It sent awareness through her body and directly to her toes. “I was wondering how much longer Armand would force us to wait.”

“Indeed.” Samuel straightened on the sofa, covering his wide yawn. “It would be polite of him to arrive soon, so this matter could be dealt with.”

She smiled softly. “You speak as though we are drawing up contracts or discussing a new order for a gown.”

“It is of the same consequence to me. I will not allow him the pleasure of taking up more room in my mind than that. I would much rather fill it with more pleasant things.” Samuel ran a hand through his golden hair, patting it into place. “Like you.”

“You cannot say such things,” she hissed, ignoring the warmth flooding her body. “Jacob will return at any moment.” Marguerite shook her head to clear that thought. “And you are engaged.”

All levity fled Samuel’s countenance. “Not anymore.”

Marguerite could feel the oxygen seep from the room.

She attempted to read his eyes, to understand, but he did not even smile.

They had spent all afternoon and the entirety of the evening together, sharing dinner, a carriage ride, and hours in this parlor, and he had not spoken a word of this to anyone.

Could it be true? What did it mean? His silence and distance did not indicate feelings for her…

but even if he had , she would not permit them.

There were a multitude of reasons a union between Samuel and Marguerite was not meant to be.

“I am sorry to hear that,” she finally said.

Samuel waited, watching her closely. His mouth pressed into a line, his eyebrows lifting. “Sorry? That is all? I had hoped you would begin to waltz about the room.”

“I never learned to waltz. ”

“Of course. Forgive me. You could have done a Scotch reel.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

Samuel’s face showed his incredulity. “Me? I only just informed you I am no longer attached to another woman, and you are not overjoyed. I feel a little hurt, to be honest.”

“Samuel,” she said. “Be realistic. We are not?—”

“Do not say it, please.” He crossed the space between their sofas and sat on the cushion beside her.

Taking her hand, he brushed his thumb over her knuckles, causing her breath to catch.

“I do not wish to hear about any difference in status or financial needs at present. Do those things matter if I love you?”

Love ? Marguerite’s stomach flipped. She had long known how she felt about him, but hearing that word on Samuel’s lips made her heart cease beating.

He cupped her cheek, his eyes boring into hers.

“I believe we can overcome the hardships thrown at us. What do the difficulties of life matter when we are together? Eliza and Jacob are some of the happiest people I know, and Eliza was not raised in a small cottage, Marguerite. She grew up in a house finer than mine. I do believe love has a power greater than all the pride and difficulties in this world.”

Marguerite yearned for the relationship he described, but that did not erase all the ways she had been dishonest over her years in Harewood.

She had dug her own hole, and she feared it was one she could never come out of.

Closing her eyes, she leaned away. “I cannot, Samuel. There are things I have not told you.”

His hand dropped, but the other still brushed tenderly over her knuckles. “Surely, there is nothing we cannot overcome together.”

“I do not think it possible.”

“Shall I give my speech again? I thought it was quite moving, but if you need to hear it a second time?— ”

“Samuel,” she said, fighting a smile. “It was beautiful, but it does not erase my poor choices.”

“You know already, then? I have been searching for a way to tell you.” He ran his free hand through his hair, disheveling it once again in his agitation.

“I cannot fathom how a woman could be so cruel, but she is undeterred. Surely, if we put our minds together, we can find a way to save your reputation.”

Marguerite’s head reeled back, her stomach dropping to the floor. “What of my reputation?”

The color drained from Samuel’s face, his hand dropping from his hair. “You did not know, then.”

“Evidently not.”

He swallowed. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.” He explained everything he had experienced that day, telling of how the Farrows had descended on his house, accusing him of terrible things, breaking the engagement, and threatening to ruin Marguerite.

“They would not allow me an adequate moment of defense, and when I could slip a word in, it was refuted and dismissed.”

The longer he spoke, the more ill Marguerite felt. “It appears Mrs. Farrow was unwilling to believe our innocence. I will admit that leaving your curricle outside the shop all night and stepping from my door in the early hours was probably unwise.”

“Oliver, Ridley, and Ruth had all done so moments before I did,” he argued.

“Yes, but evidently they were not seen,” she countered. “Ill timing, I suppose?”

Samuel’s brows drew together. “You do not seem angry with me.”

She took a moment to inhale and found that the frustration edging her body was not for him.

While the situation was far from ideal, how could she hold Samuel to account for it?

He had done nothing but help her these last few weeks and support her in friendship for months before that—though, admittedly, he did not know it was her he was supporting.

Marguerite gave a soft shrug. “My reputation will be in tatters. Indeed, my very livelihood is in jeopardy. Yet there is nothing I can do about it tonight.”

He stared at her. “I will do what I can to set it to rights.”

“Samuel, I do not blame you.”

He opened his mouth to reply when the door opened, and Jacob poked his head in. “Come quick. Oliver has seen movement in the churchyard.”

Samuel was on his feet immediately. “Marguerite, you should remain?—”

“I will come,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

He nodded. Neither of the men said anything further. She followed them from the parlor and through the back door to the mews. They circled a stack of hay bales and hurried down the slender alley to where Oliver waited.

“The dark shadow is just beyond the tree now,” Oliver whispered. “I’m going to cross toward the church. Sam, you move to the south corner.”

“Yes, sir.” He slipped around Oliver and creeped into the shadows. The moon was out this evening, but clouds moved over it, providing a decent amount of light while giving them cover of darkness.

“You recall the plan?” Oliver asked.

Jacob nodded. “Go.”

Oliver turned opposite of the direction Samuel had taken and disappeared.

“What shall I do?” Marguerite asked.

Jacob spoke softly. “Remain here and watch. If you need to call for the constable, run into the taproom. Surely someone will be around who knows how to fetch him.”

She gave a dip of her head to indicate she understood, and Jacob slipped away. With each man in position, they had created a triangle, prepared to close in on Armand and trap him in place. He would not be able to escape, and they would shortly have him in hand.

The shadows of the alley hid her from view, but she crept back a step anyway to be sure no one would see her.

The streets were quiet. Marguerite’s pulse pounded in her ears, blocking her ability to listen for other sounds, but she strained to hear movement in the churchyard across the road.

She could see the shadow moving toward the gravestone and her hands came together, much like a gesture of prayer.

They were so close to putting an end to this.

Marguerite’s greatest hope was that no one would be hurt.

It should be her closing in on the man now and demanding he believe that she did not have the diamonds in her possession, but her friends wouldn’t hear of it.

In truth, she was grateful for their support.

This experience would have been far more frightening had she been forced to endure it alone.

An overwhelming wave of gratitude swept over Marguerite for these friends. Even more so, she was grateful for Samuel’s influence on her state of happiness. He had become so important to her in the last year through his letters, and that had only deepened as she had come to know him better.

Love. He loved her? Just the thought brought a warm swirl into her chest, coupled with her own feelings. She understood, for she felt the very same way.

She turned her head to look for Samuel in the darkness when a motion behind her in the alley caught her attention. Had Ruth awakened and chosen to join them?

“No, you don’t,” came a gravelly voice as a rough sack was thrown over Marguerite’s head, an arm locking around her waist. She jerked, letting out a scream before a large hand clamped over her mouth.

“Quiet, or I’ll knock you out.” The voice was in her ear, the hand pressing against her mouth and nose .

She couldn’t breathe. She stomped down hard on the attacker’s foot and he swore, but he didn’t release her, his arm growing tighter.

Marguerite bucked and kicked as the man turned in the alley. He released her mouth, and she sucked in a full, stale breath of air, screaming as loudly as she could. He leaned down, circled her legs with his arms, and threw her over his shoulder.

Then he ran.