Page 37 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It had taken every ounce of strength Samuel had not to sweep Marguerite into his arms the moment she was freed from the chair. He was doing his best to respect her needs, and he recognized she had been put through more in the last evening than any person should have to endure in their entire life.

He leaned against the wall while they waited for Oliver to fetch his carriage. Jacob bent over Paul, rolling the man’s body to gain access to his pockets. When he pulled a small key from the jacket, he frowned. “This is all he has, and I promise it does not open a door.”

“It will open his valise, and I know where he left his carriage,” Marguerite said.

Jacob put the key in her palm, and she tucked it into her gown’s pocket.

The front door flew open and Ruth ran inside. She eyed Paul for a moment before seeing Marguerite and crossed the floor swiftly, pulling her into her arms. “Oh, you gave us such a fright! I am so glad that dreadful man has been caught.” She leaned back. “ But you’re hurt!”

“It is nothing,” Marguerite said lightly, though Samuel boldly disagreed. “I’m certain it looks far worse than it feels.

Ruth looked at Paul’s bruised face. “Who gave him such a milling? I know Samuel wanted to.”

Samuel’s body flushed warm. It was true. He had been fantasizing about that very thing for the duration of their drive to Harewood.

“Jacob did,” Oliver said, coming in behind her. “Samuel’s duty was to Marguerite.”

“As it should be,” Ruth said, squeezing Marguerite tightly. She released her and leaned back. “Now we all need to be on our way so you can get some rest.”

Oliver and Jacob heaved Paul up from the floor and carried him out to the carriage.

“I think I will go to Paul’s house, actually,” Marguerite said. “I do not think I can wait another moment to find the trunk.”

“I will take you,” Samuel offered.

She looked at him, a question in her eyes. He wanted to answer it, but he did not know what she was asking.

“We will take care of Paul.” Ruth gave Marguerite another hug. “Please inform us of what you find. Oh, I am so relieved you won’t be attacked in your sleep. I have been restless for weeks.”

“Come now, darling,” Oliver said, returning to the parlor and fighting a smile. “Let us leave them. Samuel, shall we drop you anywhere?”

“I think we will be able to use Paul’s conveyance.”

“Very good.” Oliver gave a nod, took his wife’s hand, and they left, closing the front door behind them.

When the shop was left in silence, the candles burning on the hearth glowing around them, Samuel turned to face Marguerite.

“I have never felt so terrified in my entire life, Marguerite. I wanted to…well, I will save you from the ways I had planned to make that man pay for what he has done to you. ”

She blinked at him, her hands clasped lightly in front of her as though she was merely waiting for him to finish perusing her shop, and not at all like she had just undergone a horrible abduction.

She had a bruise across her cheekbone, a narrow cut on her neck, and another along her jaw, and those were only the injuries he could see.

Her hair was in disarray, locks falling from their pins and strands loose about her face.

Still, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her grace shone brightly.

“When I stepped through that door”—he pointed at the parlor door—“and saw that knife to your throat, my entire world came to an end. Nothing else mattered—not my father’s debts or my mother’s need to be saved or the way Mrs. Farrow intends to turn everyone away from you.

All those things fell away, and I was left with one clear and uncontested truth: I love you fully, and nothing else matters. ”

A single tear gathered in Marguerite’s eye and trailed down her cheek. It caught in the flickering candlelight and glowed. It was too much for Samuel. He closed the distance between them and brushed the tear away with his thumb. She leaned into his touch, providing him with hope.

“Do you feel you could possibly forgive me for the ruination I have brought upon your name? Upon your shop?” he asked.

Marguerite’s eyes widened, surprised. “Ruination? Surely it cannot be so bad as that. I will lose patronage, yes, but not from everyone in Harewood.”

“It could be devastating.”

“But together, we could withstand it,” she said.

“Yes.” He cupped her face with both hands, hope rising like the sun.

“Together, we could withstand anything. I want to do so with you. I want to be your steady companion, to be the reason you never feel lonely again, Marguerite. I shall be your greatest friend if you will allow me to be your husband.”

Husband . Oh, how deeply he wanted that.

“Oh?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.

“Yes. What do you say? If you are curious what my opinion is, I would like for you to say yes.”

“Would you?” she asked, pretending to mull it over.

Heavens, he hoped she was only pretending.

Marguerite slipped her hands beneath his jacket, sliding them around his waist. Her hands trailed a path of heat along his back as she looked up into his eyes. “I love you. I would like to marry you, Samuel, if you will have me.”

He could not take it any longer. Joy erupted in his chest, spreading through his body and stretching the grin over his face.

He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her without restraint.

Finally, Samuel held her in his arms and lived the breadth of his joy entirely.

This was wholeness. This was what it felt like to be one with another.

Heat melded their bodies while her lips bent to his with equal fervor, giving as deeply as she received.

She gripped the back of his waistcoat in her fingers, pressing herself against him as though she could not be close enough.

He craved the same.

Samuel dropped a hand to her waist, the other tipping her chin to deepen the kiss.

He finally understood Oliver’s words. He did not want to wait another moment to call this woman his wife.

He wanted to spend every minute with her for the rest of forever.

He wanted to wake up beside her, to have their tea in the afternoons, to take walks side by side, to discuss their days over dinner.

He wanted the quiet successes and the difficult times with her.

He wanted to steal her kisses and hold her hand and raise her children and make decisions with her.

This was love.

Breaking away, he leaned his forehead against hers, their chests heaving. “You are incredible. Can we do that every day?”

“Certainly,” Marguerite agreed. “Perhaps even twice.”

Samuel barked a laugh, pulling her in for another, slower kiss.

When Marguerite leaned back to breathe again, she gave him a considering look. “Madame Harding does not sound quite as French as my last name.”

“No, but I think Harewood has learned of your skill by now, have they not? Surely you no longer need to prove you are French enough.”

Marguerite grinned. “Where would we live, Samuel? Here? Would you come into the shop and help me choose colors for all the women’s gowns?”

“Yes. I would not mind that duty. I think I am rather good at it.”

She laughed, the sound ringing out like joy throughout the room. “You are being ridiculous.”

“I think it is a fantastic notion.”

“Well, I think it would be better to keep your house,” she countered. “It is your inheritance, is it not? I assume it has been in your family for generations.”

“A few, yes,” he said mildly. He did not want to reveal how long.

She seemed to mull it over. “The country does seem a nice place to raise children.”

“Children,” he repeated. “I do like the sound of that. But I do not think we can afford to save the house.”

Marguerite’s hand slid down to his. “There is something I need to show you.”

“Can we clean the cut on your neck first?”

Her fingers fluttered up to where the knife had nicked her, then brushed her jaw. “These can wait. Come.”

Samuel followed Marguerite upstairs. She led him into her bedroom, holding a candlestick to light the way.

Pulling a knife from her writing table, she moved to kneel at the foot of the bed.

After tugging the blankets away to reveal the mattress, Marguerite made a slice through the end of it and started pulling out straw.

She found something and set it on the floor with a hard clink .

Samuel did not need to be brilliant to know it was jewelry.

This continued for several minutes until three pieces of jewelry lined the floor. Marguerite sat back on her heels and looked up at Samuel. “I think we have enough.”

He eyed them. “Is this not your inheritance?”

“It is all I found in my aunt’s clothing, but she would not have expected me to hold onto antiquated family heirlooms when they would have the power to save your estate, Samuel.”

He lowered himself and knelt beside her.

“We do not need to make any decisions at present. You were wise to keep these hidden away, or Paul could have located them when he snuck into your bedchamber.” Samuel picked up a large ruby ring and admired it in the candlelight.

He could not fathom the wealth she had left behind in France. “These are beautiful.”

“They are. Thank you. My aunt was lovely, too. She looked very much like my mother, who looked very much like me.”

“Then I am certain you had a remarkable household. Shall we go fetch your mother’s things now?”

Marguerite drew in a heavy breath. “I would like that very much.”

Paul’s carriage had been left at the inn.

After a quiet conversation with Mrs. Leeks, Marguerite was given access to it and permission to drive it away from the yard.

Samuel took to the driver’s bench while Marguerite sat inside and went through Paul’s valise.

He pulled into his stable yard and hopped down from the driver’s bench.

Marguerite opened the door and climbed out, grinning. She opened her palm to reveal a large silver key. “I found the house key.”

“Wonderful. Now, what do you prefer? An open curricle or my family’s traveling carriage?”

“The curricle, I think,” she said.

That had been his hope. The world would soon begin waking, and he was eager to be on their way. One of his father’s grooms heard them drive into the yard and came down from the sleeping quarters above the stables, yawning.

“I need my curricle,” Samuel explained. “With Valentine and Lightning.”

“Valentine is still at Boone Park, I believe, sir,” the groom said.

Blast. He had forgotten that. “Thunder should do nicely, then,” Samuel said.

His groom agreed and set to work preparing the carriage.

Samuel returned to Marguerite. “If you will wait here, I will return shortly.”

She nodded, and he hurried inside to scavenge through the kitchen for a few items that would be easy to eat on the road. By the time he made it outside again, the curricle was ready and Marguerite looked alert. Her hair was disheveled, her clothing rumpled, but her eyes were bright.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering his hand.

She took it firmly. “Yes.”

They climbed onto the bench. Samuel tucked the rug about their knees and gave Marguerite the bundle of cheese and ham. Then they were off.