Page 31 of A Secret Correspondence
Ridley nodded.
“Her nephew must have been rather old,” Samuel said. “It wasn’t a new garment.”
Shaking his head, Ridley merely shrugged. “It does not matter to me. She was kind in my moment of need, and we became friends. I like her very much.”
“She has a good soul,” Eliza agreed. “I deeply enjoy our conversations. But we are not able to have them frequently enough for my taste. She keeps herself rather busy.”
“Her talent does that for her,” Samuel muttered, recalling how stunning her last ensemble looked. He thought of her standing in front of the Locksley Inn that morning, waiting for the post chaise. Whatever her business had been, she had looked worried, her fair eyebrows drawn together, concentration pulling her pink lips into a gentle frown. Samuel was used to seeing Marguerite stoic and strong, not so clearly troubled. Her expression hadn’t left him all day.
The setting sun beyond the trees darkened the Ridleys’ windows. It was late. Had she returned home by now? In fact, in what manner had she traveled to Locksley so early that morning? He hadn’t recalled seeing anyone else from Harewood. If she’d had a horse or carriage of her own, she would not have needed the post.
Tipping back the rest of his cup, Samuel drained it in two swallows. “Thank you for the tea and the company. You both would make the Faversham events vastly more entertaining with your presence. I do not know why that woman cannot see sense.”
“Fustian,” Eliza said. “You are being ridiculous.”
“I speak the truth.” Samuel laid a hand over his heart. “If Idid not think I was spending time with my future wife, I would not be attending her events either.”
“Miss Farrow.” Eliza gave him a knowing smile. “Ruth told me. She is beautiful.”
“And of good character?” Samuel asked, though he knew from her letters that she was.
“As far as I know.”
Ridley put his cup down and leaned back on the settee, putting his arm around his wife. “I know nothing of the woman, but if you love her, I support your choice.”
“Thank you.”
“She is Miss Kimball’s cousin,” Eliza said—a fact which did not endear her to many. Miss Kimball had given Eliza the cut for years. She still did not treat her as an equal. “I would probably not be welcome at Miss Farrow’s table.”
Samuel felt a strange twist in his gut. He looked Eliza in the eye. “If her table is my table, you will be welcome at it.”
Eliza leaned into her husband. “It matters not what others think. We are loved, and we are happy here.”
“I know.” Samuel rose. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll bid a good evening to you both.” He dipped a low bow to Lydia, who was blowing raspberries in her cradle. “And to you, little one.”
As soon as Samuel reached his curricle, he directed it onto the High Street, which was not far from Ridley’s forge. His stomach dropped when he noticed that Marguerite’s shop and the room above it were both dark, no candlelight flickering in the windows. The sun was fading, the sky darkening steadily. He slowed his horses, understanding that he was being especially worried over matters that had absolutely nothing to do with him. After seeing the shadowed man peering through Marguerite’s windows, though, he couldn’t stomach the idea of her walking home from Locksley alone in the dark.
Unless she wasn’t coming home tonight at all.
Samuel had not asked about her plans. He scrubbed a handover his face and debated his options for only a few more seconds before deciding. He turned his curricle in the wide street and directed his horse toward Locksley.
Not only didSamuel drive all the way to Locksley without seeing Marguerite, but he was able to let himself into the inn and have a drink while he asked when the post chaise was expected. As it turned out, the final post was scheduled to come through in twenty minutes.
If she was not on the carriage, he would return home and give himself a lecture about not being quite so…impertinent? Curious? Her safety was none of his business, yet still he worried.
Oh, blast. She was going to be furious when she saw him, wasn’t she?
He debated leaving, so he could accidentally come upon her on the walk home. Yes, that would be best. Samuel would find her on the road and the offer of a ride home would be natural.
But as he was asking for his curricle to be brought round, the post arrived early. Marguerite was the only passenger to step off.
“Mr. Harding,” she said with surprise. Her face was drawn, tired from her day of travel, undoubtedly.
“Have you already organized a ride home this evening, or will you allow me to drive you?”
She stared. The moon was half-showing overhead, brightly lighting the innyard. Torches glowed on the chaise and near the inn doors, making Marguerite’s face burn orange. Her delicate features were sharpened in the light, so capable and beautiful. He could see the moment she chose to give in. “I am too tired to argue, monsieur. If you are leaving now, I will accept a ride.”
“Lovely. Ah, here we are.” A groom walked his curricle out of the yard and held the horses’ heads while he crossed to the step.He offered his hand to help Marguerite climb onto the seat. She placed her gloved hand in his and squeezed his fingers, stepping up onto the high bench. Samuel waited until she was situated before circling the curricle and climbing up on the other side. He drew in a deep breath, though he didn’t quite know why he felt he needed it.
