Page 50 of A Secret Correspondence
Now, there was nothing left but to make the union official.
Mother poured the tea, distributing cups and conversation in equal measure. They discussed the ball and the surprising number of couples that consistently graced the floor.
“The Delacours and Harrelsons were pleasant,” Mother said. “Their gowns were so very interesting, I fear they nearly put us all to shame.”
“They would have if Madame Perreau had not been available,” Mrs. Farrow said. “I am quite tempted to bring Isabella to her instead of the woman we typically use. The gown she created for Lady Faversham was like nothing I have ever seen before.”
“It was truly a work of art,” Miss Farrow agreed. “Though it is no surprise it measured up to gowns bought in Paris, I suppose. The woman is French, is she not?”
“Indeed,” Mother said, her smile strained. “Mrs. Farrow, I wonder if you will indulge me. I have been stitching a pieced coverlet, and I am struggling to place some of the fabric squares. Will you lend me your opinion? It is quite extraordinary for a drawing room, I know, but they are placed on the floor just over here.”
“That would be my pleasure. I designed a quilted coverlet of my own not some years ago.”
The women crossed the floor together, their voices trailing off as they quietly discussed colors and patterns.
Miss Farrow smiled, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. “I believe your mother is attempting to give us an opportunity for more private conversation.”
“She is not as subtle as she believes.” Samuel felt the room growing warm. He looked into Miss Farrow’s kind face, her darkhair framing a sweet expression, and wondered what more he was waiting for. “She would like for me to be married soon.”
“All mothers must be bred with that desire stamped into their bones.”
“Should we torment them further?” he asked, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking another sip of warm tea.
Miss Farrow blinked, her dark lashes framing expressive eyes. “I see no reason why we should.”
Samuel had been given a signal to proceed from both the mother and the woman in question. He had been granted approval despite his poor finances. He knew Miss Farrow’s heart and soul deeply from her letters and enjoyed her easy company.
So why did his heart beat so terribly fast and his hands shake uncomfortably? His breath did not feel natural, but instead like he was chasing it. He had not planned on becoming engaged today. Everything had fallen in line so perfectly, he wondered if he would be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity presented to him.
When he had spoken to Ridley, the man had asked if he’d kissed Miss Farrow yet, but Samuel could not do any such thing without an engagement. Her honor was more important than his feelings. Surely if everything else fell into line, their physical connection would be suitable as well.
She watched him now, waiting expectantly.
“Miss Farrow, it is apparent that we are well-suited. I admire your wit and kindness. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
A smile spread so widely over her face, she radiated light and joy. “Yes.”
Samuel’s face mirrored hers. Relief sluiced through his body. He took her hand in his, feeling the dainty fingers bend over his own, and rose. She stood beside him. Were they in private, he would have given her that kiss he was so curious about. As itstood, he merely raised her knuckles and pressed his lips to them.
“Mother,” he said, placing her hand on his arm and leading her across the room. “We have an announcement.”
That afternoon,Samuel pulled on his riding boots and had his horse saddled despite the drizzling rain. He was going to join his friends in the marital land of bliss, and he could not wait another moment to share the news. Soon when they stayed awake late playing cards or had dinners together, he would be able to stand within the circle of the conversation and contribute, a valid member of the club of married men.
More than that, Samuel would tie his life to another. They would finally heal their loneliness by merging their lives and souls together into one.
A smile formed on his lips as he directed Valentine on the road toward Oliver’s house. He’d received the card to play battledore and shuttlecock at their home in two days’ time, and he intended to be the man who waited behind at Marguerite’s shop for the intruder.
Blast. He’d yet to tell his mother she needed to host a musicale later in the week. Surely it would take little convincing now, for she was eager to spread his news all about Harewood. She had left for Aunt Rose’s house directly after the Farrow carriage had vacated their property.
Valentine trotted onto Oliver’s land and across the field. Cold wind whipped over Samuel’s cheeks, biting his skin. He was certain to have a ruddy complexion when the evening was through, but he hardly cared. By the time he arrived at Boone Park, the house which had once belonged to his grandmother but now was the home of his cousin, the rain had ceased.
Samuel threw his leg over the horse and jumped to thegravel ground. A groom jogged to meet him, and he tossed the reins over. “I should not be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
The front door opened as he climbed the steps, and he walked through. “Good day Harrison,” he said to the butler. “Is Oliver in?”
“Right this way, sir.”
