Page 25 of A Secret Correspondence
“Ruth said the very same thing.”
When the women were released to the grand drawing room, the men rearranged around the table. Port glasses were brought out and filled with sweet wine while some men lit their pipes. Samuel remained on the far side of the table with Oliver and Ryland, hoping to avoid the greater stench of smoke clinging to his clothes.
“I wish we could join the women straight away,” Ryland said, shifting uncomfortably. “This practice is old-fashioned.”
“It won’t be long until we can leave this lot.” Oliver leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
“The modiste,” a man said behind Samuel. His ears perked up, and he turned his head to listen to the conversation taking place behind him.
“I do not know the woman,” someone else replied. “She moved here a few years ago. Arrived dressed in black, but she did not wear mourning for long.”
“She came from France?” came the heavily accented reply. It was one of Lady Faversham’s French guests. “I know her from somewhere. Probably from home. But I cannot place where I have seen her face before.”
“Did you ask her?”
“She was not interested in a conversation. The woman…how do you say…she refused me.”
Samuel smiled. He could easily imagine Marguerite telling this charmer how uninterested she was in his advances. Just as quickly as it came, his smile dropped. This couldn’t be the man who was sneaking around her property late at night, could it?
“What do you think, Sam?” Oliver asked, snapping his attention back.
“Hmm?”
“He’s not paying us any mind,” Ryland said. “Lost in his head again.”
“I wondered if we ought to sneak from the room or if we would be noticed.”
“You would be noticed, you blackguard,” Samuel said drily, looking at Ryland. “You’re an earl.”
Oliver chuckled. “True. Samuel and I could probably escape unnoticed.”
“Not Samuel,” Ryland argued. “Unmarried bachelors are more sought after than married earls. Mark my words.”
“Especially those with estates,” Oliver agreed.
“I don’t have an estate,” Samuel argued.
“Not yet, perhaps.”
He might never at the rate his father was gambling it away. If his mother was correct about Miss Farrow’s recent inheritance, and ifhewas correct about her possibly being his kissing gate correspondent, then that would soon be a trouble of the past.
Samuel tried to sound interested in his friends’ conversation, but he was listening for more of the Frenchman’s words, which had now moved on from Marguerite. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, long nose, thin build.
If he posed a threat, Samuel would watch for it.
The man looked up and caught Samuel staring. He smiled, dipping his head, before turning his attention back to his conversation.
Samuel was being ridiculous. One mention of Marguerite and a shared language did not mean anything nefarious was afoot. For all he knew, the person peering through her windows was only trying to see if she had new fabrics ordered. Or perhaps the latestAckermann’s Repositoryon her shelf.
It was unlikely, but not altogether impossible.
“It is time, gentlemen,” Ryland said, rising when the doors were opened and the men were invited to join the ladies in the drawing room. Samuel’s heart beat wildly. He was possibly about to meet his secret correspondent, and she had no notion it was him.
The drawing room had been lit with an excess of candles, as Lady Faversham had spared no expense. This was only the first of her events. Each one was sure to grow in size, opulence, and grandeur.
Samuel searched the room until he found the object of his attention. Miss Farrow stood near the windows with Miss Kimball, providing him with a perfect entrance to an introduction. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he mumbled, leaving his friends without further explanation.
They would only tease him, and he needed to discover for himself if Miss Farrow was his dear friend or not. But he had a plan. There were a series of questions he could ask her, and if she answered all of them a certain way…then he would know for certain.
