Page 67 of A Secret Correspondence
“I do.” She left to procure the items. Ruth set about obtaining a second candlestick from the parlor and lighting it.
When they had all gathered around the counter, bending over the paper, the charcoal pencil in Oliver’s hand, he cleared his throat. “Allow me to explain.”
By the timethe plan had been gone over from every direction, each angle discussed and worked through, and every person was fully aware of their role, it had grown beyond late and delved into the early hours of the morning. Ridley had rubbed his tired eyes and left to walk home while Oliver went to fetch his carriage from the stables at the inn.
Ruth embraced Marguerite at the shop’s door, then stepped back to yawn. “I should wait outside so you can get some rest. Good night. Tomorrow—no, today, I suppose—it shall all be over, and that nasty Mr. Leclair will be put where he deserves.”
Marguerite nodded. “Thank you for all you have done. I do not know how I can ever repay you.”
“There is no repayment necessary.” Ruth smiled softly. “This is what friends do for one another. I am certain you would assist me should the need arise.”
“Of course I would.”
“Good night.” Ruth stifled a yawn and left, disappearing across the road toward the inn.
Marguerite waited beside the open door for Samuel to leave, but did not lift her head to look in his direction. Everyone else had gone, but Samuel remained where he stood. He leaned against the counter, watching Marguerite. She was so beautiful, even with the stubborn, determined set to her chin. Her dark blue gown was elegant but simple, her blonde hair very much the same. When she finally glanced his way, he was struck by the way her eyes fastened on him, locking him in place.
It was plainly apparent Samuel had noticed her beauty many times before, but always as an impartial observer. Now that he recognized how deeply he knew this woman, he could not but combine the two and feel her even from this distance. She was not just a source of comfort on the page—she was a tangible person, a being he could reach out and touch. He wanted to reach for her but knew he could not.
Couldnever.
That option had been stolen from him when he had engaged himself to another woman. Anger sliced through his body anew. He crossed the room with measured calm and gently took the door handle from her, pushing it closed. Silence was heavy in the sleeping room. Even Claude had not bothered to make an appearance this evening.
“Why did you not tell me?” His voice was quiet, but he could hear the pain lacing his own words.
Marguerite leaned back as though she had been struck. “It was not my place.”
“I am engaged to another woman, Marguerite.”
“And I am happy for your joy.”
Samuel scoffed. “It could have been avoided if you had been honest with me.”
She straightened, her head tilting to the side. “Avoided? For what purpose? You love Miss Farrow, and you cannot marry me.I bring with me no fortune, no dowry. I am not of your station, Samuel. It is not done.”
He took a step closer. Though he wanted to reach for her, his hands did not touch her. “Love? I believed her to be you.”
Marguerite’s eyes widened in shock.
“Yes,” he said with measured calm. “Surprising, is it not? I thought I’d found my correspondent. She had given me plenty of reason to suspect it was the truth, as well.”
“She claimed to write to you?”
“No. But in my questioning, I believed I had surmised as much. It was carefully done, and she had every correct answer. All the circumstances were right.”
“You did not ask her directly?”
He scowled. “I had not thought it necessary.”
Marguerite’s eyebrows lifted. “Then perhaps I do not carry the entirety of the blame for something you deem to be a mistake. Regardless, I am aware that you need a fortune, Samuel, and that is something I cannot provide.”
Father could rot in his own bloody debt. Samuel would happily live out his days in the charming room above this shop. His eyelids fell closed. But Mother? She deserved better.
Not that any of it mattered when he was already an engaged man. There was no honorable way to break the engagement. Especially not when his mother had already told half of Hampshire. He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed fiercely, regretting it the moment he scrubbed over the bruise.
Hissing through his teeth, he threw his head back and groaned. “What a mess I’ve made of my life.”
Silence was thick, blanketing them while Harewood slept. The street was quiet, the shops dark. Samuel opened his eyes, raking them over her worried expression.
