Page 19 of A Secret Correspondence
Oliver and Ruth Rose had a way of looking very much in love without needing to say a word. They were not even seated beside each other at the table, yet the strength of their affection was horridly plain.
It was terrible.
Samuel had put up with it for an entire dinner, and he was itching to leave. He was quite happy for Oliver and Ruth individually, of course. He cared for them both, and he wanted them to be happy. But did their joy need to be so very much in his face?
“Your mind is in another place, isn’t it?” Oliver asked.
Well, he couldn’t answer with the truth, could he? Samuel cast around for a different topic of conversation. “I was thinking of our resident modiste, actually. How long has she lived in England?”
Ruth took a sip of her wine, then set down her goblet, frowning. “I’ve never asked.”
“Are you suddenly interested in France?” Oliver asked.
“Gads, no.” Samuel speared a carrot and pushed it across the gravy on his plate. “She delivered gowns to the Faversham estate when I was there on an errand for my mother the otherday, which had me thinking. You know these special guests are French, right? I fear we are going to be forced into an entirely French meal just to please her guests.”
Oliver chuckled. “I don’t mind French food.”
“Perhaps Marguerite would appreciate an invitation,” Ruth mused. “Do you think we could convince Lady Faversham to invite her to the ball, at the very least?”
“Who?” Samuel asked.
Ruth scoffed. “Marguerite Perreau.Youfirst mentioned her, Sam. If she misses her homeland, she might enjoy some of the things Lady Faversham has planned.”
Marguerite. It was a beautiful name, and he thought it fit her well.
“Have you forgotten the way our dear Eliza was cut?” Oliver asked. “Lady Faversham is unlikely to show favor to a modiste if she would not even include my cousins for so many years.”
Ruth pointed her fork at her husband. “My brother used his title and privilege to change her mind, encouraging her to include Eliza again. Perhaps he could do it once more.”
“I can see a plan already forming in your devious little mind, darling. Do not take any action until you have spoken to Madame Perreau. Perhaps she left France for a reason. She might have no interest at all in a ball celebrating the land of her birth.”
Oliver made a fair point. Samuel ate his carrot, then speared another one.
“We really ought to ask Eliza.” Ruth leaned back in her seat, fiddling with the glove in her lap. “She and Ridley are friends with Marguerite. They have her over to dine on occasion.”
“You sound envious,” Samuel said.
Ruth made an exasperated sound. “I havetriedto invite her to tea, but she never accepts. The woman seems to always be working.”
Oliver stifled a yawn. “Perhaps that’s the trouble, darling.You are attempting to take her away from her shop at a time she cannot leave it. Eliza invites her away while the shop is closed. It’s merely a matter of availability.”
“Hmm.” Ruth seemed to mull over this. “In any case, it’s too late to order gowns for these events. I suppose I could purchase new ribbons for the ball?”
“Or flowers for your hair,” Oliver offered.
“I saw a pink brocade in her shop just last week that would make your cheeks glow, Ruth,” Samuel said before lifting his goblet for another sip. Oliver looked at him quickly, but he only rolled his eyes. “I’m stating a fact. Let us not all go into a panic that I am about to make wild proclamations of love, please.”
“No one believes that, Sam,” Ruth said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I would love for you to come with me. You’ve always had a better eye for color.”
He would love to go with her, as well. He liked Madame Perreau, and her shop was a feast for the senses. But the last thing he wanted to do was make Oliver uncomfortable.
“You shouldn’t feed his ego,” Oliver said.
Samuel grinned. “Or perhaps that is precisely what I need.”
“I suppose it’s not a bad strategy if we want you to return to dine with us again.”
“You do not need to do much to convince me.” Samuel drained his goblet, and the butler filled it. “Eating here is far superior than at home. Neither of you are shoving lists of prospective women at me and asking me to marry a fortune.”
