Page 11 of A Secret Correspondence
Paxton laughed.
Samuel scooped the cat up, and she allowed him to carry her across the back garden and into the house. She’d been reticent with every other member of the family and the servants but had taken to Samuel immediately. Something about the trust she had offered him made him want to step up, to not let her down.
“Marcel,” he said, testing a theory. “Perhaps there is something to Madame Perreau’s madness.”
The cat glanced up at him, blinking her oddly shaped eyes before nuzzling against him. It was decided. Gray cats in Harewood could be ladies, but they had male names.
“What is that doing in my house?” Mother asked, seated on the long sofa in the parlor when Samuel let himself in.
“I’ve found a cat. Paxton marked her clean of disease, so you needn’t fear.” He sat as far from his mother as he could, though, to put her at ease. “We could always use another mouser, I think.”
Mother’s face twisted in distaste. “So long as I do not have to look at it.”
“Unkind, Mother. She is rather sweet.”
“You are being ridiculous, Samuel.”
“When am I not?”
Mother released a long, weary sigh that managed to reach across the room and crawl into Samuel’s bones. He did not find himself particularly wishing to please his parents. They had different motivations than he did—money, prestige, status—and they argued far too much for the feeling in their house to remainin good standing for long. But, in rare moments like this, he felt the pull to reach out and help his mother.
“You could find a wife, Samuel. Someone with enough income to save us from your father’s terrible choices.”
His stomach twisted into a knot. Again, Father’s debts and Samuel’s duty. “There are no heiresses in Harewood. I’m not certain how you feel I shall obtain this woman.”
“Miss Kimball is going to receive a tidy sum.”
“Mother,please. I could not endure conversations with her for the rest of my life.”
“You would rather we were all sent to the workhouse?”
“It would not come to that.”
“You are overly confident,” she muttered.
“Father has stopped gambling.” Even as the words left Samuel’s lips, he wondered if they were true. Mother would not meet his eye. “Has he not?”
“So he says.”
“Then we need not fear. We will correct this. Oliver has been managing his loss of fortune. Surely he can help me?—”
“Do not bring this to his attention,” Mother said fiercely. “The last thing we need is for the family to know of your father’s poor choices.”
Samuel wasn’t convinced they had kept it a secret, but he didn’t say so.
“There is a rumor that Lady Faversham will soon be hosting some guests.”
“A house party?” Samuel inwardly recoiled. He had recently attended one, and it had turned out poorly. He’d found the woman he’d loved kissing his cousin. Yes, Oliver and Ruth were married now, and Samuel was happy for them, but he was not interested in subjecting himself to that again so soon. It wasn’t easy to make himself vulnerable, to allow himself to develop feelings for a woman, only to watch her fall desperately in love with someone else.
He did not know if he could handle that again. Especially not this soon.
“No, just some visitors. But if she and Lord Faversham are to have people come to stay, then she will throw balls and dinners and parties. It is the way Lady Faversham operates, which means she will be inviting everyone in the county. You will have opportunities beyond the local assemblies to find a wife.”
“And you have already compiled a list of wealthy options for me, Mother?”
“I am not so callous.” She looked as though she had not considered the idea. “If they are to be invited by Lady Faversham, then surely they will already be acceptable.”
“One can be genteel and poor.” Samuel lifted a hand, demonstrating that he was an example of that very thing.
