Page 30 of A Secret Correspondence
Ridley glanced over his shoulder, toward the cottage. “It was difficult for us. I knew I couldn’t marry her, so I did not allowmyself to want it.”
Samuel nodded. “I suppose I am wondering how long I ought to wait to ask her to marry me.”
“If you have kissed her?—”
“I have not.”
Ridley’s eyebrows shot up. “You are more of a gentleman than I gave you credit for.”
“I am not certain if that’s a compliment or not.”
He pulled his tongs from the fire, set his metal on the anvil, and grinned. “Not.”
The clanging rang out in the forge again, making conversation impossible as Ridley formed and shaped the object he was working on. Samuel felt a presence behind him and shifted to see Eliza, a shawl wrapped tightly over her shoulders despite the warmth in the forge. Ridley ceased the moment he noticed his wife.
“Peter would like for you to come in and say good night to him.”
Ridley looked at his project briefly. He dunked it in the water and went about putting out the forge. “I’ll be right in. Need to put everything out.”
“I’ll let him know.” Eliza put her arm around Samuel’s shoulders. “Come in for some tea. I’ll heat the water.”
He nodded.
“You cannot deny your cousin,” Ridley teased when they made their way toward the cottage. It was true, so Samuel did not argue. When they entered the home, Peter was kneeling before the cradle where Lydia cooed, his sleeping gown pulling at his knees.
“Careful, Peter,” Eliza said. “You don’t want to rip a hole in your gown.”
“I already did,” he said, leaning forward to peck a kiss on Lydia’s forehead, before jumping to his feet. The boy was all gangly knobs. He pulled at the aged fabric to show Eliza where a hole had started to unravel the fabric.
“I shall need to mend that in the morning before it grows,” she mused.
“It has been growing for weeks,” Peter said.
“You need to care for that gown.” Ridley nodded to it. “Recall the gift it was and treat it accordingly.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said, dipping his head.
“Now, come here.” Peter ran across the small room into Ridley’s arms and hugged him tightly.
Samuel’s heart panged, knowing Ridley had only brought Peter into his home a few years ago as an apprentice. The child was not even an adopted son, and still there was so much love for him in this home. Looking upon this family, one would never know Peter was not a natural child of Ridley and Eliza’s.
Samuel’s chest burned. He wanted this for himself. He wanted a family, for a son to desire his hug before it was time to retire for the evening. In Samuel’s own home growing up, he had not experienced a relationship like this with his parents, but he wanted to give it to his future children.
Samuel looked again at Peter, at the sleeping gown he wore and the aged, yellowing fabric. The style was antiquated, as though it had come from another time, as though the gown was something Samuel himself would have worn as a young boy.
“Up to bed now,” Ridley said. Peter climbed into the loft without further argument.
Their servant Anne brought the tea service in on a tray and set it on the table, and Eliza began to pour.
“Where did the gown come from?” Samuel asked. He knew Ridley and Oliver were half-brothers and wondered if it was somehow tied to the pair of them.
Ridley took his cup and swallowed the tea hot. “Marguerite Perreau. She is a friend of ours. Are you familiar?—”
“Yes, I know her.” Samuel accepted his cup and thanked Eliza.
“When Peter first came to me, he had nothing,” Ridley said. “I had hoped she would help me with his clothing, and she provided that gown for him to sleep in. She said it had belonged to someone she had loved dearly, but Peter could have it.”
“Her nephew, I believe,” Eliza said.
