Page 52 of A Secret Correspondence
She had not signed it. Samuel turned the sheet over, but there was nothing more. He supposed she felt it was useless to continue the charade when they would soon be husband and wife. Even so, an unsettled feeling nestled in his stomach.
If she was to marry him, what was the purpose of her final words?
Chapter Eighteen
Each person who had received an invitation to take part in Ruth and Oliver’s battledore and shuttlecock event accepted, save for Samuel. He had traveled to Marguerite’s shop earlier than she needed to leave to avoid being detected.
“I’ve left my horse at the inn,” Samuel said as Marguerite stepped back to admit him, then closed the door. “It was slow today. I didn’t see any strangers.”
Marguerite nodded, showing him to the parlor. She glanced around, wondering how this space would appear to anyone else. “Do you intend to sit in here?”
Samuel followed her, his gaze on Claude curled up on a sofa cushion. “That would suit. I hoped to leave the door open so I can hear if anyone comes through the front. Do you think they will see me from the windows?”
“Not if you sit on that far end.” Marguerite motioned toward Claude. “You shall have to move her, though.”
His eyes glimmered with amusement, making her breath catch. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, even in darker, less ostentatious clothing. “Will she allow that?”
Marguerite gave an airy laugh to cover the way he affectedher and leaned over to pet her cat and wake her up. “Come, Claude. You need to move.”
“Are you nervous, Marguerite?”
“Yes.” She straightened. Claude yawned, stretching. “I regret dragging any of you into this mess.”
Samuel cupped her shoulder until she gave in and looked in his deep blue eyes. He squeezed lightly before releasing her. “We are all glad you did. I wish you would have spoken to us sooner. This is what friends are for.”
She could not rest easy, not until this whole matter was dealt with. “Do you have a plan if he does arrive?”
“I will detain him. I have surprise on my side, so I shall knock him unconscious and tie him up until we can alert the constable. It will not be a terribly dangerous affair, I promise you that. No one shall enter the shop without alerting me by the bell. I will know he is coming.” Samuel dropped onto the sofa where Claude had vacated. “You must keep a close eye on Leclair. Notice if he leaves for any length of time. Pull any information from him you can.”
Marguerite nodded. “I will do my best.”
Samuel tugged his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. “You’d best be on your way.”
She moved to the parlor door, then paused, her hand resting on the knob, and looked back at him. “Thank you, Samuel.”
He smiled, giving her the guileless, open expression she had come to adore. Her heart tripped, and she found she could not remain long enough for him to reply. Instead, she fled, hurrying outside and locking the door behind her, her heart in her throat. The man was soon to be engaged if he had not already committed himself to Miss Farrow. Marguerite had ended their correspondence.
She pressed her fingers to her heart as she hurried toward Eliza’s home, as if the pressure would ease the discomfort building there. Somehow, she needed to squash allfeelings she had for him.
By the timeMarguerite arrived at Boone Park with Eliza and Jacob Ridley, the games had already begun. Due to the recent rain, they had planned for all events to take place inside. The food was kept separate in a parlor and nothing in the ballroom could be injured by a stray shuttlecock, so it was no matter.
Marguerite followed Eliza into the large ballroom, noting Armand’s location immediately. His presence granted her equal parts relief and disappointment. If he had not been at the Roses’ house, she would know he was the culprit—but his attendance also meant Samuel could possibly avoid an altercation that afternoon.
“Shall we begin?” Ruth called, clapping her hands together to garner attention. She paired everyone into teams and distributed the battledores she had on hand. Armand had snaked his way through the group and thus stood near enough to become Marguerite’s partner, a fortuitous circumstance.
“I warn you, monsieur, I am not much for sporting events.”
He smiled kindly. “Then it is a good thing I am not an unhappy loser.”
She returned the smile, reminding herself of the possibility that he could have nothing to do with the notes. For, when she imagined him sneaking into her home and laying her doll upon her bed, she began to shake, which caused her to miss her turn and lose the round.
“It is no matter,” Armand said. “We now have the chance to sit in the parlor and drink exquisite lemonade. Or I am told it is such. I would be much more satisfied with wine, you know. Is it common to drink lemonade in this country?”
“Yes. I think you will find it refreshing after exerting yourself, monsieur.”
“We shall see,” he said dubiously.
They passed their battledores to Eliza and Jacob, then leftthe ballroom to seek refreshment. The parlor was near, and a table was set out with cups of cold lemonade and a large bowl. Plates of biscuits and small cakes sat beside it, with baked cinnamon apples and tarts rounding out the offerings.
