Page 62 of A Secret Correspondence
Samuel chuckled, making his way around the edge of the room. His mother had put together a party much larger than that of the battledore and shuttlecock event, and she was happily leading the evening. It was with great joy that she boasted of the impending nuptials and how thrilled she was to welcome Miss Farrow into her home. Samuel’s engagement had given his mother a renewed surge of energy and vitality.
It was in the middle of one such speech that Samuel approached Miss Farrow, Mrs. Farrow, and his mother, speaking to the vicar and his wife. Samuel slipped in beside Miss Farrow and nodded subtly to her.
“Mr. Rose left his wife behind?” Miss Farrow whispered. “I noticed he left.”
Perhaps Ruth had not been so far off the mark, after all. “Oliver had things to see to, but Ruth has never been afraid of managing on her own.”
“No.” Miss Farrow’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “I imagine not.”
Her tone did not bode well. Samuel gestured toward the seating area and bent his elbow toward her. “Shall we find a comfortable settee?”
“Yes, I thank you.” Miss Farrow placed her gloved handaround his arm and followed him away from the group. They wound their way through the room toward the seating area. The pianoforte and harp were set in front of the bay windows in preparation for that evening’s entertainment, and chairs and sofas had been brought in to create rows of seating.
“Do you intend to play this evening?” he asked.
“Yes. I shall sing as well, if you will turn the pages for me.”
“I would be honored to.” Samuel hoped he could do a decent job of it. He waited for Miss Farrow to take her seat and lowered himself beside her. Not many others were in the seating area except for a few of the French party and Marguerite, but Samuel wanted some time to speak to Miss Farrow privately.
“My aunt would like to host a dinner to celebrate our engagement,” Miss Farrow said.
“That would be kind of her.” Samuel sat back, surprised. He had not believed Mrs. Kimball to be so thoughtful. In his experience, she had been quite self-serving. “Your cousin is supportive of our union?”
“Indeed. She expects to make her own announcement soon, and I believe that has made her joy for us authentic. She is deep in the throes of love with her new Mr. Goldberg.”
Samuel hadn’t heard the rumors yet, but he was glad Miss Kimball had found someone. He located her in the room and wished he would have known sooner so he could have included Mr. Goldberg in the invitation.
“A dinner would be nice,” he said. “It is a fitting location when your relation to the Kimballs was what kindled our initial relationship.”
Miss Farrow tilted her head to the side, her dark eyebrows drawing together slightly. “What do you mean? Would that honor not be due to Lady Faversham for inviting both of us to her dinner?”
“I am not referring to the last few weeks.” He smiled, his heart beating frantically. In all the time they had been exchanging letters, he had never once spoken of them aloud toanother soul. To speak candidly of them now was an enticing prospect. “But the kissing gate between my house and the Kimballs.”
“The gate?”
“Well, between the Kimballs’ and Harewood, if you would like to be more exact. You did not even know of my house on that fateful day, did you?”
Miss Farrow leaned back slightly, looking upon Samuel as though he was speaking a foreign language. “I am sorry, but I do not know what you mean. Are you speaking of the kissing gate in Harewood? I believe I have seen it once. I walked the path with Phillipa when we were girls.”
Once? A niggle of unease worked its way into Samuel’s chest, but he tamped it down. “Yes, that one. I am speaking of the letters, Miss Farrow. The ones from the gate.”
She stared at him blankly, her eyes blinking in confusion. “I have no notion what you mean.”
The world seemed to turn upside down. “None? You have not passed any letters through means of the kissing gate?”
In truth, he did not know why he was pressing the matter. If Miss Farrow had done so even once, she would know. An entire relationship was not the sort of thing she would hazily forget, then suddenly recall. Samuel’s mouth went dry. He blinked away her confusion.
Miss Farrow’s brow wrinkled. “I am not entirely certain how one would go about passing a letter through a gate. Have you mixed me up with another person?”
“Yes,” he said, a stone rolling into his stomach and anchoring him in place. “I have.”
She gave an uncomfortable laugh.
Samuel couldn’t breathe. He had proposed too swiftly, with far too much assurance. But had he not confirmed her identity first? She had lost her father, had lived in London for a short time in her youth, roses were her favorite flowers, and she hadlearned to ride a horse so young, it was practically before she learned to walk. Were these things all so common thattwowomen in Harewood could share the same traits?
It was a terrifying failure. So monumental, in fact, Samuel was now engaged to a woman he did not know. He looked at her again, but only saw the face of a stranger, not a familiar soul. He did not know this woman the way he thought. Yet, they were engaged to bemarried.
Oh, gads. What had he done?
