Page 37 of A Secret Correspondence
She looked at him sharply, surprised. “I have already promised it to Mr. Leclair.”
“The next set, then?”
She nodded, but her eyebrows drew together.
“I look forward to it.” He dipped his head and turned away from the group. If he did not return with Miss Farrow’s drink shortly, she would wonder what had become of him.
Gads,hewas currently wondering what had come over him. His mind was in a muddle. The jealousy he had felt at seeing his friends happily married lingered, only he was not thinking ofOliver and Ruth…he was picturing Leclair bringing Marguerite a drink.
Samuel wanted to be the one bringing her a drink. It was utterly ridiculous. What claim had he to any feelings of the sort? He had known the woman for a few years now, but their relationship had only shifted into friendship when her cat had thrown him from his horse a mere few weeks ago. After that, it seemedshehad been steadily thrown in his path.
Yes, they conversed easily and he enjoyed their time together, but that did not account for his current feelings.
Being awakened by his own cat nearly every morning did not help to keep her far from his thoughts.
Surely that was the explanation. Cats. Nothing else. Only cats.
Besides, friends could dance. It did not need to mean anything.
Samuel retrieved a glass of ratafia and carried it to Miss Farrow. He found her near the space he had left her, his mother already speaking to her mother.
“Your drink,” he said.
“Thank you.” Her fingers brushed his when they took the cup. Her smile was soft.
Samuel smiled in return, dropping his hands to rest behind his back.
“We have a lovely garden,” Mother said. “Small, but it is a pleasant area to take our tea, is it not, Samuel?”
“Indeed. Quite lovely.” He could not recall the last time anyone in his family had been in the garden. He did not know if there were any flowers out there at all.
“I should love to see it,” Miss Farrow said.
“Come for tea on Tuesday,” Mother offered.
Mrs. Farrow gave her daughter an unreadable expression, her feather bobbing in her eagerness. “We would like that dearly. Will you be joining us, Mr. Harding?”
“I would not miss it,” he promised. “How could I? The garden will boast the most beautiful blooms of the year that day.”
“Oh, you,” Mrs. Farrow said, giggling. “So charming.”
Samuel gave her a dashing grin. He pulled his watch from his pocket, the fobs tinkling on the chain as he flipped the lid open and checked the time. His attention was drawn toward the center of the room, where the dancers could be found, as he tucked the watch back into his pocket. Marguerite was easy to spot. Her pale blue dress was bright against the sea of dark coats, her blonde hair like a beacon.
He watched her glide gracefully across the floor. She must have attended the Locksley assemblies, or perhaps she had attended dances with her husband in the past, for she knew the steps well.
Leclair spoke quietly to her, and her expression remained neutral, her mouth unmoving. Did Samuel detect a hint of distress in her brow, or was he merely searching for it?
The moment the set came to a close, he watched Leclair lead Marguerite from the floor and excused himself from the Farrows.
But when Samuel reached the place Leclair had led her, she was nowhere to be seen.
The next set had begun.The dancers formed two lines and moved in proper order, but still, Samuel could not see Marguerite. Lord and Lady Faversham held court at the front of the room, speaking to a handful of locals. Leclair stood near a pillar, speaking to a gentleman Samuel did not know.
Marguerite had all but disappeared. Samuel backed toward the wall and looked at each face in the area, but she wasnowhere to be seen. Her blonde hair was not difficult to spot. Surely if she were in the room, he would find her.
She could not have forgotten their dance already, could she? Oh, dear. Was she avoiding him?
He leaned against the wall and surveyed the dancers. Marguerite was not the woman he had planned to propose to this evening, so it hardly mattered if she disappeared during their promised dance.
