Page 15 of A Secret Correspondence
“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 tospeak without gritting his teeth. “I would like to make an attempt atfeelings 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 estatewas grander than Ryland’s home, andhewas 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 wouldnotlike 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, openwith 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?”
