Page 39 of A Secret Correspondence
Marguerite smiled. “Thank you. I used to attend the assemblies when I was still apprenticed. It has been an age since I have danced. I worried I would not recall the steps.”
“You did a splendid job.”
She hoped he would not question her about her deceased husband and whether he would take her dancing as well, for she did not want to lie to Samuel.
He led her down the stone steps toward the garden. Torches lit the walkway where others milled about. The air was too cold for many people, but there were a fair number of couples and one set of three women walking nearby.
“Your Miss Farrow is lovely.”
“She is as kind as she is beautiful,” he replied.
Marguerite’s chest pulled uncomfortably. She recognized the jealousy snaking within her, how little she liked seeing Samuel admire another. But a friend would not be jealous. She needed to respond as a friend would.
“I am happy for you. You appear to be a wonderful match.” The truth of her words did not make them easier to say. It was a timely reminder, however. Marguerite, whatever her past might be, was not Samuel’s equal. Even if she revealed she was thewoman he had been writing to for the better part of a year, they could never marry.
“Tell me about this Mr. Leclair,” he asked.
Marguerite wanted to talk about anything else. She deeply regretted accepting his invitation. Seeing for herself the beautiful couple Samuel and Miss Farrow made was painful, and receiving a confirmation that Armand knew more than he was letting on only proved to make her more nervous. Overall, she would far prefer to spend the evening finishing her sewing orders with Claude at her side.
But that answer would not suffice. “What would you like to know?”
“How is he connected to the visiting party?”
“His good friends from France, Madeleine and Julien Delacour, are here visiting their English cousins, the Harrelsons. They brought Armand with them for the trip.”
“The English cousins are related to Lady Faversham,” Samuel said, nodding slowly.
“Yes. Their mother is her first cousin,” Marguerite explained. She had received the entire explanation earlier this evening. “Though they call themselves her cousins as well.”
“How long do they intend to remain in Harewood?”
“Another sennight, I believe. His party will then move on to one of their estates in Wiltshire.”
“That isn’t terribly far. It could be much worse. Like Yorkshire.”
“Or Cumberland.”
Samuel grinned. “Or Scotland.”
“What do you have against Scots?” They passed a couple, and Marguerite’s heart leaped when she saw it was Miss Snubbs on the arm of a distinguished-looking gentleman. They shared a knowing smile. The rose gown had given the woman luck after all, it would seem—or a healthy dose of confidence. Marguerite assumed it was the latter.
“Nothing,” Samuel said. “I do not care to travel long distances a great deal.”
A shiver shook Marguerite’s shoulders.
Samuel looked down at her. “We should return indoors.”
Marguerite glanced back at the house. The ballroom was glowing with the multitude of candles, highlighting the people moving within. The crush of bodies overwhelmed her, even from this distance. She had thought she only needed a moment to collect herself, but now that she was away from the abundance of noise and people, she dreaded the end of their interlude.
How long would it take to walk home? If she was not in these thin slippers, she would not hesitate to do so.
“You do not wish to go inside,” Samuel said.
She looked up at him. “It is too cold to remain outside.”
His mouth curved into a gently rebuking smile. “That is not what I said.”
Marguerite glanced back at the grand house. It was smaller than the one she was born in, yet she was an outsider here. She shook her head. “I do not feel comfortable here. I should not have accepted Mr. Leclair’s invitation.”
