Page 35 of A Secret Correspondence
The cottage was small, and Eliza stepped into view. “We are in the kitchen having tea. Will you join us?”
Marguerite’s cheeks flamed. Anne stepped back to let her in, so she walked inside and let Anne close the door behind her. “I will not intrude on your visit. If you do not mind, may I ask Ruth for a favor?”
“Of course. Come in.”
Marguerite was comfortable with Eliza. She had first developed a friendship with Jacob Ridley when he brought Peter to be his apprentice and needed clothing for the boy. When Jacob married Eliza, Marguerite had spent time nurturing a relationship with her. She could come into this home and not feel unwelcome or strange. It had taken a few years to reach this point, but she was glad to have made it.
Ruth, however, had only recently expressed her desire to become friends. It was a leap of faith that drew Marguerite to this house upon seeing the Rose carriage waiting in front of it, and she hoped she had not guessed at Ruth’s character wrongly.
Ruth sat at the kitchen table stirring her tea, and at once, Marguerite’s fears were put at ease. Any great lady who could have tea in a small cottage kitchen while her friend was busy shelling peas was someone Marguerite could admire.
“How are you today?” Ruth asked.
“I am well, thank you.” She clasped her hands before her and drew in a steadying breath. “I’ve been invited to attend the Faversham ball. You mentioned the French connection last week, and it would seem some members of the party feel the same way.”
“I am happy for you,” Ruth said, then her eyebrows knit together. “Though you do not seem pleased.”
Marguerite needed to be honest. She had come here with the intent to find people who she could trust, and she believed these women were those two people. Speaking with Armand set off a warning within her she could no longer ignore. “One of the members of the party is a man I knew in France.”
“Oh, Marguerite, that is wonderful,” Eliza said.
“Is it?” Ruth asked.
“I am not certain yet. I believed so, but he has…” She swallowed. The way he had declared his desire to hold her in his arms had been forward in an unpleasant way, leaving her with a foul feeling. Was it a product of his culture, perhaps? She thought not, but it could not be ruled out. “I do not know if I can trust him.”
“He is the person who invited you tonight?” Ruth asked.
“Yes.” Marguerite turned to face Ruth more fully. “I hoped I could ride in your carriage, if there is enough room…”
“Of course,” Ruth said at once. “We are more than happy to convey you to the ball. It will be no hardship at all.”
“Thank you.” A weight lifted from her chest, and she smiled at them both. “I worried my concerns would seem ridiculous.”
Eliza took her hand and squeezed softly. “You may trust us.”
It was not an empty promise, and Marguerite knew it was true. Shecouldtrust these women. Drawing strength from them, she chose to do so.
“I did not leave France on the best of terms.” Marguerite considered what more to say—what could explain her uneasiness with Armand. There was nothing else from her past thatwas relevant to the current situation. Her parents’ deaths, her narrow escape, the way they had sacrificed so much to hide a priest and help him find freedom in England—all of those were amid the revolution twenty years ago. While Marguerite knew people still fled for various reasons, she did not need anyone to know why she was in England, how long she had been here, or who her family was.
It was her past. She gave her head a tiny shake. “I would appreciate it if you did not repeat these things. They do not bring welcome memories. It would have been better if Mr. Leclair had not invited me, but I accepted. Soon, he will leave, and I will not need to face him any longer.”
“Oliver will be there, so you’ll not be without protection,” Ruth said.
Eliza nodded. “And Samuel.”
Hearing his name sent a bolt through her chest, desire and hope mingling together. It was unfair how deeply she wanted to be near the man, knowing she could not be part of his life.
Marguerite attempted a careless expression. “I was told he is in love. Perhaps he shall not notice anyone else in attendance.”
“He certainly seems so,” Ruth said. “I am happy for him. He deserves it.”
On that score, they were in agreement. Marguerite foolishly wished it wasshehe had fallen in love with. Yet there was no sense in pining after that which she could not have.
“I must return to my shop.” Marguerite stepped toward the door, but paused. “Thank you both. I appreciate your kindness.”
“We are friends,” Eliza said. “This is what we do.”
Ruth smiled. “Precisely.”
