Page 20 of A Secret Correspondence
Ruth drew in a sharp breath. “They wouldn’t.”
“They have.”
“Shall I speak to them?” Oliver asked.
Samuel gave him a flat look. “My mother wants grandchildren, and my father wants to be rid of his debts. It’s a natural step to repair both of those things.”
Oliver ran a hand over his face, and it was clearly taking him great effort not to say more. Samuel knew the man very well,could practically read the thoughts bouncing through his mind. He knew Oliver wanted to fix these problems, that Oliver didn’t like to see him suffer. But Samuel was an adult. He was a man. He could manage irritating parents, terrible debt, a meddling mother, matchmaking…it was all part of being a bachelor, was it not?
He might as well float with the current instead of trying to fight it. “Tell me, what do either of you know about Isabella Farrow?”
“Miss Farrow?” Ruth blurted. “Miss Kimball’s cousin? She’s pretty. Lives in Locksley.”
“Quiet, I believe,” Oliver said. “The tall one?”
“Yes, tall and slender. Dark hair. You’d be a handsome couple,” Ruth mused. “Very regal.”
Samuel enjoyed hearing that. Ever since he had heard about her leaving town for the last fortnight, he hoped she might be his secret correspondent. It was a faint thread of hope, but there was a possibility.
In fact, he hadn’t checked the stone wall today, had he?
Anticipation buzzed through him, starting in his stomach and building through his body. What if there was a letter waiting for him? If she had returned and written to him, it could have been waiting all day.
Samuel lifted his goblet and took a drink. “I had better be on my way. I will see you both at the Faversham dinner tomorrow.”
“You shall.” Oliver watched him suspiciously. “Are you sure you are well, Sam? I do not like the idea of anyone pressuring you into a marriage you do not want.”
Samuel pushed his chair back and stood, considering how he felt. The hope and anticipation for the letter, the possibility of meeting his correspondent tomorrow evening…he felt as though the sun shone brightly overhead, even though it had long since passed to the other side of the world.
“I am well,” he promised. “Thank you both for dinner. It was lovely.”
And with that, he took his leave.
Valentine had not appreciated being toldto wait near the fence so Samuel could dismount and walk through the kissing gate, but the horse was obedient. He nickered, tossing his head to share his irritation in spite of his obedience, but Samuel paid him no mind.
Why would he? There was a letter waiting in their hidden space in the wall.
Warmth flowed through his body when he saw the white square of folded paper, no address on the front, as had become their custom. It was bright in the moonlight against the dark earth and stone wall. Samuel replaced the loose rock and tucked the letter safely into his pocket before mounting Valentine again.
It took additional time to ride back to the road and make it to the High Street, but it was worth the detour to retrieve his letter. Slowing his horse, he watched the road for sign of any cats and gripped the reins tightly. He was not going to allow a repeat of that fateful night weeks ago when he had been thrown.
Though he imagined Madame Perreau was more vigilant about keeping Claude indoors now.
He looked at her shop, noting the flickering candlelight in the windows, and shook his head. She had accepted far too much work if it kept her up so late. A shadow moved in the darkness outside of her shop window, and Samuel startled, yanking on Valentine’s reins.
The horse jerked to the side, neighing his displeasure.
“Sorry, boy,” Samuel said. He pulled his horse around and circled back. He hadn’t been entirely certain, but it had lookedlike the shape of a man peering through the window, which made the hair stand up on the back of Samuel’s neck. Scanning the darkness, he saw nothing. Even still, that unsettling feeling wouldn’t leave.
There would be no sleeping for him tonight until he made certain Madame Perreau was safe.
Samuel dismounted, tying Valentine’s reins about a post. The shop was situated between two other buildings, the alley running on the other side of the solicitor’s office. Samuel moved down past the solicitor’s door and peered down the alley. Moonlight didn’t reach the space, but he watched it for movement, satisfied that it appeared empty.
Returning to the front of the shop, Samuel hesitated. If she did not answer a light knock, he would be on his way.
He heard her footsteps before she approached the glass, her blonde eyebrows drawn together. Unbolting the door, Madame Perreau swung it open, holding a candle. She wore a soft violet gown, and her hair was in a plait over her shoulder. “Is there trouble?”
“Forgive my intrusion. I only—” Samuel’s words died swiftly. Would he incite panic if he informed her of what he saw? Was it better to allow the woman to continue in ignorance?
