Page 57 of A Secret Correspondence
Marguerite stood in the corner, the candlelight dancing over her face. Her thumbnail was tucked between her teeth as she chewed anxiously.
“Do not worry,” Samuel said. “No one will be hurt.”
She dropped her hand away from her mouth. “You already are.”
“This?” He gestured to his eye, then made a scoffing sound. “This will only make me look like a dashing rogue. I should be thanking you.”
Marguerite did not grant his ridiculousness with a reply, but her anxiety seemed to ease somewhat.
“We need to return to the children,” Eliza said. “But Jacob will join Oliver here during the Harding musicale.”
They finished discussing the finer points of their plan, then the Ridleys left. Marguerite took Samuel’s half-finished cup and carried it back to the kitchen.
Oliver moved toward the couch. “Shall we drive you home?”
“That would probably be wise.” Samuel pushed against the armrest of the sofa. The pounding in his head increased as he rose, and Oliver’s arm came around his back. “Valentine is in the stables at the inn, but I can return for him tomorrow.”
“Or send a groom. You need to be mindful.”
He needed sleep, that was all. Samuel let Oliver walk him toward the front door. The counter was in disarray. Gloves, shawls, and silk flowers were strewn about, as though theperson had hoped to make a mess more than they believed they would find what they were searching for among these items.
“Will you be all right here tonight?” Ruth asked Marguerite.
“I shall.”
The woman was strong and brave. Samuel had consistently been impressed by her. He scowled at the mess, angry he had not removed her burden this evening. Instead, he had only added to it, heaped guilt upon it. He’d had the opportunity to end it all, but he had bungled things instead. Foolish man.
Oliver helped Samuel into his carriage, then handed Ruth inside. They closed the door and were off. His stomach grew queasy, the rocking of the ride and his headache mixing to make him feel ill and unsettled.
“I wish I had remained in the parlor,” he muttered. “Things would have turned out differently.”
“You cannot blame yourself,” Ruth said.
Samuel opened his eyes. “What if the man returns? How do we know he isn’t watching her shop? Knowing when we come and leave?”
“He did not know you were in there,” Oliver countered.
Samuel didn’t like it. He did not like leaving her alone while someone wanted something so valuable from her—something she could not give.
“As soon as we know who this person is, we can bring in the authorities,” Oliver said.
“Until then, they will do nothing.” Ruth sighed.
“They can do nothing,” Oliver agreed.
Ruth leaned against his shoulder. “Rotten business.”
Samuel looked through the window, wondering how the devil he was going to explain his eye to his mother.
Or worse, to Miss Farrow.
“Can you blacken your eye falling from a horse?” he asked.
“Not like that,” Oliver said.
Ruth hummed. “Are you worried about your mother? You could tell her you ran into a branch while riding.”
“He’s too good a rider for that,” Oliver said. “Who would believe him?”
