Page 8 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Five

Something was wrong. It had been weeks since Samuel last left a note for his friend, and he had not received a single letter since. He had begun to check it every day—sometimes twice—and asking generally about any women who might be ill or off visiting family.

His curiosity would soon draw notice if he wasn’t careful. He was certainly becoming obsessed.

“I’ve drawn up a list,” Mother said, setting a sheet of paper on the breakfast table beside him before taking her seat.

Samuel dipped toast in his egg and took a bite. Perhaps if he did not look at the paper, he would not be forced to endure the rest of the conversation. He chewed slowly, swallowing as the silence stretched on.

Finally, his good breeding rose to the surface. “A list for what, Mother?”

“Eligible young women who might be invited to Lady Faversham’s events this week.

We have the dinner on Saturday, cards on Tuesday, and a ball Friday next.

Three opportunities to secure a possible match.

” She poured her tea, then directed her gaze at the paper sitting on the table between them.

“If any of those ladies are in attendance, they bring with them enough fortune to settle your father’s debts and restore our security. ”

Samuel wanted to do anything but look at the list. He wanted another letter, was desperate for one. Now that he had gone without for a length of time—tasting the lack of correspondence and how it felt to live without that connection—he utterly hated it.

The door to the breakfast room opened again and Father entered, grumbling a greeting before taking a seat on the far side of the table.

It did not take a long study to note the pallor of his skin and dark circles beneath his eyes.

Were they a result of late nights wrestling with concern for the situation he had put his family in, or from additional card games and digging their hole deeper into the ground?

Samuel dropped his toast on his plate with a ping. His appetite had fled, chased by his father’s shifty gaze.

“Tea, darling?” Mother asked.

“Yes,” Father said.

Mother poured. “I’ve just given Samuel the list. We’re discussing the options now. I think Penelope Dillbright is an excellent option. A little older than your tastes run, Samuel, but quite refined.”

Samuel needed a drink. He glanced at his tea and debated adding something stronger to fortify him for this conversation, but it was early enough that the birds were singing their morning songs. He had some standards.

“The James chit is young and pretty,” Father said around a bite of toast.

“She’s not on the list,” Mother said. “I’m uncertain about the state of their finances, but I heard they reduced their joints of beef purchases. If they are economizing, we ought not to consider her.”

Gads. Mother had taken to market gossip now? She was truly becoming desperate .

Samuel felt torn between the duty he had as a son and what he owed himself. Where did his wishes fall?

“Isabella Farrow is on the list?” Father verified.

“Of course. She recently came into a tidy sum. In fact,” Mother paused, reaching for a slice of ham and placing it on her plate, “I think she has been with her mother this last fortnight seeing to the business in Bath.”

Samuel straightened in his seat. He shifted the paper, reading over the names. “Do I know Miss Farrow?”

“Cousin to the Kimballs. She lives in Locksley, but she’s often with Miss Kimball. You met her at Miss Kimball’s ball last year, did you not?”

“I hardly recall,” Samuel muttered. All he could think was that she was often in Harewood and had been out of the county for the last fortnight.

Could his correspondent be someone who wasn’t local?

He had not considered that possibility, but he supposed it wasn’t entirely impossible.

Miss Kimball would take the path through his kissing gate to visit the High Street if she was to walk into town. Most people would.

Had his friend been so close all this time, right beneath his nose, and he’d had no notion of it?

The idea of attending Lady Faversham’s ridiculously opulent events suddenly seemed less burdensome.

“Or Miss Snubbs?—”

“I will take the list, Mother.” He picked it up and folded until it fit in his coat pocket. “But that is where your assistance ends. While I appreciate the efforts you have taken to help me become a fortune seeker, I can manage the rest on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Mother hissed. “You are nothing of the sort. Ensuring a woman has a steady financial situation is in no way unacceptable. You may still develop feelings and that sort of thing.”

“Exactly.” He rose, pushing his chair in. He did his best to speak without gritting his teeth. “I would like to make an attempt at feelings and that sort of thing . If you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait.”

Samuel gripped the back of the chair, inhaling patience. “Yes?”

“I need you to take something to Lady Faversham. She asked me for a syllabub recipe earlier this summer, and I think she might like to use it during one of her events. Will you deliver it directly into her hands for me?”

There was something afoot. Samuel could not tell exactly what, but his mother was too intelligent for this to be meaningless.

“Syllabub?”

“Yes. She asked for it after Oliver’s wedding breakfast.” Mother blinked, holding his expression. Whether or not she was telling the truth, he could see he was not going to be allowed out of this errand.

“I would be happy to complete this task for you. What else would you like me to accomplish while I am on her property?”

Mother’s cheeks pinked. She looked at Father, scoffing. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not.”

“Cook has prepared the recipe.”

Samuel left the room to call for his horse to be saddled.

He debated leaving without the recipe. Lady Faversham did not truly want it, and Mother only wanted information…

or something. But after a few minutes of debate, he decided he could not do that to her.

Father had done enough already, ruining their finances, threatening their home, straining the relationship between Mother and her siblings.

Samuel could be the one consistent thing in her life, the one man who did not let her down. He could not promise to marry a rich woman and dig his parents out of debt, but he would do his best to give his mother what he was able .

He pulled out the list and scanned the names until he landed on the one he was looking for: Miss Isabella Farrow.

Especially if one of them happened to be the woman he had been passing letters with these last several months.

The Faversham estate was grander than Ryland’s home, and he was an earl.

Some people poured money into displaying their importance, others humbly did their duty and lived a quietly important life.

Samuel respected the latter and tolerated the former.

As he stood in the vast entryway of the Faversham estate, long columns lining the space and drawing the eye up toward a grand chandelier, he imagined how very little it would take from this house to correct the debts accrued by his father’s foolishness.

But no, he couldn’t think that way.

The butler had answered the door and asked him to wait while he inquired with the lady. It was an odd request and suspicious timing, and it had taken everything within Samuel not to blush to the roots of his golden hair when he explained that he would like an audience with Lady Faversham.

It was a lie. He would not like an audience with her. He was here under duress. Forced into it by a sense of?—

The door opened, cooling his ire at once.

The butler had returned. “She will see you, Mr. Harding.”

Samuel dipped his head and pulled the recipe card from his jacket, smoothing his lapels and tugging down his green and purple waistcoat. His shirt points were high and stiff, and his fobs were excessive today, but he thought the lady would appreciate them.

He was led into a large parlor. Lady Faversham sat in the center of the sofa, holding a walking stick, while the room around her was utter chaos.

Long boxes littered the floor, open with thin tissue paper strewn about.

Lush gowns spilled from them, spread out as though each had been thoroughly admired.

Even from this distance, Samuel could see they were no ordinary gowns.

Madame Perreau, who was bent over a box near the window, carefully folding the fabric back into place, had fully outdone herself.

“Shall I return another time, my lady?”

Madame Perreau looked up sharply, her pale blue eyes catching his in surprise before they dropped to their task again.

“No. Come in and be done with it now. My party is arriving this afternoon, and then I won’t have any time for you at all.”

“So soon?”

“They were meant to arrive this morning, but there was a bit of trouble on the road.”

This morning. Did Mother know that? Samuel suspected she might have, and perhaps his errand was an effort to gain first sight of the incoming party they had heard so much talk of. Mother would be disappointed to hear their journey was a little delayed.

Samuel did his best to look appropriately sympathetic. “They will be overjoyed to reach this haven, I am sure.”

“Hmm.” Lady Faversham narrowed her eyes. “You were invited to the dinner, so you shall meet them. Why did you come?”

“An errand for my mother.” He stepped forward, proffering the ridiculous recipe. He did not love having an audience for this moment and hoped Madame Perreau was focused on her task. “She believes you requested this during Oliver and Ruth’s wedding breakfast.”

“So I did,” she said, taking the card and putting it on the sofa beside her without glancing at it. She looked at her cane, her wrinkly skin sagging around her eyes, then up at Samuel. “You aren’t married yet. Be sure to make my guests feel welcome. ”

“Of course, my lady.” Though what his marital status had to do with it was anyone’s guess.

“We want them to enjoy their time in Harewood,” she pressed.

Gads, but were all the matrons trying to marry him off now? Were his mother and Lady Faversham in league? What was her motivation? She didn’t need him to gain a fortune, and he didn’t have a title to offer anyone.

Samuel smiled warmly despite the way he felt insects crawling up his spine. “How could they not when they have you as a hostess, my lady?”

She tittered, but her gaze was unwavering. “Men in Harewood are thin on the ground. The eligible bachelors are quickly finding wives, and I fear there won’t be many left dancing soon. I would consider it an honor, Mr. Harding, if you would pay our young ladies special attention when they arrive.”

They had conspired. Somehow, between Mother and Lady Faversham, a plan had been hatched.

He suddenly wondered how many of the names on the list his mother wrote would be women in the group that had yet to arrive, the women coming to stay in Lady Faversham’s house.

Samuel felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to flee, to turn and run as far and as fast as his legs would carry him.

Instead, he took the hand Lady Faversham held forth and kissed her knuckles in an antiquated gesture. “The honor would be mine.” When he turned to take his leave, he found Madame Perreau had already made her escape.

Disappointment prodded him upon finding her missing. He enjoyed his chats with the woman, and he could have used a distraction at present.

Samuel could not rid himself of the estate fast enough.

He slipped from the front door and onto his horse, thanking the groom who had held Valentine’s head.

When he faced the long drive to the road, he noticed a graceful walk and bobbing bonnet and set his horse in motion, a smile curling over his mouth.

He wanted to know if Madame Perreau had found Claude, for he’d been keeping his eye out for any gray cats when he was near the High Street. He was also eager to inform her about his new cat and how well things had progressed in that quarter.

Her rust-colored hem swished over the gravel drive, and he could see her golden hair peeking out from beneath the matching poke bonnet with silk roses.

She wore a deep brown spencer jacket that fit her perfectly and was likely of the military design, though he could not see the front yet to determine as much.

The shoulders appeared as though they would lean that direction.

“Madame Perreau!” he called when he grew close.

She appeared not to have heard him. In fact, she seemed only to walk faster. The horse’s hooves could be loud. He slid from Valentine’s back and took the reins to pull him along behind. “Madame Perreau,” he repeated loudly.

She glanced over her shoulder, seemingly surprised to find him there. “Good day, Mr. Harding.”

“The same to you.” He hurried to catch up, so he might walk beside her. “Forgive my impertinence, but I was hoping to walk with you back to the village.”

Madame Perreau’s steps slowed to a stop, and she turned to face him, her pale blue eyes blinking against the sunlight. “Whatever for?”

She had the most arresting eyes he had ever seen, and they momentarily caught him off guard. But she had asked him a question, hadn’t she? Samuel swallowed, trying to remember exactly why he had requested her company in the first place.

She likely thought him incredibly forward, and here he was, only interested in hearing about her cat. He took a step back, hoping to convey a proper distance. “Claude, Madame Perreau. I was hoping to hear whether you had located your cat.”