Page 21 of A Secret Correspondence
She blinked at him, her round eyes wide and piercing, even in the shadows. No. How could he have even thought such a thing? She was alone in this shop. She needed to be aware.
“Mr. Harding?”
“When I was riding home just now, I thought I saw a man peering through the windows of your shop. It probably meant nothing, but I wanted to…” What? He swallowed, uncertain how he even meant to complete that sentence. Her sensibilities were important to him, but she was also a widow living alone. He was certain her sensibilities were not as weak as other females he knew.
“You wanted to be certain I am capable of defendingmyself?” she guessed. A look of uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly snuffed out. The candlelight bounced over the calm expression on her face.
“Yes.”
Madame Perreau glanced at the street behind him. “You did not see who the man was?”
“He was only a shadow.”
She nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I will sleep with my gun loaded tonight.”
Samuel’s head reared. “Gun?”
“I live alone,” she reminded him.
The woman’s capability was evident. He should not have been the least surprised by her resourcefulness. Adversely, he made an attempt to lighten the conversation. “He might have taken an interest in your pink brocade. I noticed it myself the last time I was in your shop.”
“Yes, most men immediately pay attention to my brocades.”
Samuel laughed. “You have an eye for fabrics.”
“I should hope so.” She pushed her plait over her shoulder, amusement dancing in her eyes. “They are my livelihood.”
“May I do anything for you?” he asked. “I can walk to the back of the shop?—”
“I am safe, Mr. Harding,” she said with confidence. “Thank you for notifying me, but there is nothing more you need to do.”
He wasn’t prepared to leave, not with a man lurking about. “Shall I check the shop?”
“Unless he has slipped past while we have been speaking, it is impossible for anyone to be inside. My windows are locked, something I have made sure of because of Claude, so you needn’t fear.” She seemed to read his expression. “If it will make you feel better, I will check my windows in the parlor again, then you may be on your way.”
“That would be good. I will wait here.”
Madame Perreau carried her candle into the back room. Shewas gone for only a few minutes before returning with a patient smile. “Locked. And Claude is still fast asleep. Does that satisfy you?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good night, Mr. Harding.”
“Good night, Madame Perreau.” He waited until she had locked the door behind him before returning to his horse. “Come on, Valentine. Let’s go home. We have a letter to read.”
Chapter Eight
The shop had been empty all morning. The people of Harewood and its surrounding estates were no doubt preparing for the Faversham dinner later that evening. Marguerite only knew of the event because it had been the deadline for most of the gowns and embellishments that had been hurriedly commissioned in the last few weeks.
Marguerite was still finishing the embroidery on a ball gown for a late order, but as the ball was not until next week, she still had time.
Setting down the sleeve she was working on, she leaned her head back and looked at the blue sky through her parlor window. It was deceptive, of course, for it was much cooler outside than the bright sunlight made it look.
The bell over the front door stole her attention. She set aside her project and let herself into the front of the shop. Ruth Rose stood alone, her gloved hand running over a fine blue silk. She wore a thick green spencer jacket over a cream gown, both of which Marguerite had made for her last year.
“Good day, Mrs. Rose.”
“Ruth, please,” she said, dropping her hand from the silk. “We have known one another long enough to drop the formalities, surely.”
