Page 29 of A Secret Correspondence
“Given the shortness of the sentences, I imagine this person has not completed their purpose. Perhaps they intend to give you an offer? You may have the entire bottle of your mother’s perfume if you do something for them in return.”
“Perhaps.” Marguerite had considered the same thing. “But what would they want from me? I have nothing to give.”
Paul looked at the letter again, his bristly eyebrows pulling together. “Whoever this is, they know who your parents were, Marie-Louise. They know whoyouare.” He shook his head, leaning forward to put the paper on the table. “The only possibility I could imagine is that this person believes you have your mother’s jewelry, or perhaps your father’s rings.”
“They were all lost.” Marguerite frowned. “The second trunk never arrived.”
“We know that,” Paul said. He glanced down at the paper. “They must not.”
She shook her head. “It is mere coincidence, I am sure, but I saw Armand Leclair Saturday.”
Paul tucked his chin. “Leclair? I do not know that name.”
“They lived near our house. We were playmates.” Marguerite gave him a small smile. “I suppose you would not have known them, for you were in hiding during the majority of your stay at our house, were you not?”
“I did not visit your house until your father notified me it was time for our escape.” He rubbed two fingers along the neck of his shirt, as though feeling for the ghost of his cassock. “Then I was relegated to that room for months until the fateful night. But that is behind us.”
Marguerite had hoped for more insight, for anything that could help her put the puzzle pieces together and understand what this person might want from her. There was so little information, she wasn’t entirely sure if they were intended as a threat or something else.
“Is it possible to locate the second trunk?” she asked. “Track the person who was supposed to send it to us?”
Paul shook his head. “It has been twenty years. My belief is that it ended that night on the bottom of the ocean. Or perhaps it was packed onto the wrong boat and sailed to India.”
Her thoughts were jumbled. “That is precisely what I mean, though. We changed our names upon reaching England—or, I did, I suppose. You had no need to. What if the person who accidentally received the trunk of my parents’ belongings held onto it, hoping to find me? But they could not because I have gone by different names.”
“Then they would have given it to you upon discovery, not tormented you with perfume.”
Marguerite’s body flushed cold. “You think the person sending me these items has my mother’s trunk?”
Paul’s expression turned pitying. “I think they knew what perfume your mother wore and purchased a bottle. It is notimpossible to do,ma chére. You know this. I think you are building hope in your heart, and this person wants to frighten you.”
She picked up her teacup and took another long sip, but the drink had gone cold, tasting bitter on her tongue.
“Are you frightened?” Paul asked. “You may come here. Stay with us. Mrs. Keel would be glad for the company.”
She shook her head. “I am capable of caring for myself. This is concerning, but I am not afraid of this person.”
Paul reached across the sofa and took her hand, squeezing her fingers softly. “You have always been a strong one.”
Marguerite allowed his comfort to soothe her concerns. “Thank you. I am grateful for your support.”
He picked up the letters and folded them again before stacking them on the table. “If you receive more of these, will you write to me? We can determine what this means together. In the meantime, you will be careful around the Leclair gentleman. Surely he knew of your parents’ wealth. It does not make me feel easy.”
Marguerite nodded. “Of course.” She picked up the letters and tucked them in her reticule. She smiled, trying to alter the mood in the room to one of happiness, hoping to leave Paul with a better feeling. “Now, tell me the latest news of Southampton.”
Chapter Eleven
Samuel sat in the forge and watched Ridley bend glowing metal into submission. Ridley always said blacksmithing was less about strength and more about how one managed the hammer, but Samuel watched the sweat bead along his friend’s forehead and was glad he did not have to work in this way to make a living.
He only had to marry an heiress instead. His lips curled into a wry smile. He had just finished telling his friend he was fairly certain his hunt for a bride was over.
“You’ve found the woman you want to marry?” Ridley asked, lowering the hammer and dropping the hot metal in the fire again. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve. “How long have you known her?”
Truly, for ages, but only a few days in person. What answer did he give? “I feel like I’ve known her for years.”
“I understand.”
“How did you know when you wanted to marry Eliza?”
