Page 70 of A Secret Correspondence
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” Her hope deflated, but she tried to keep her smile in place.
Paul seemed to sense her disappointment. “If you do not have the diamonds, I suppose you must give what you can.”
Marguerite moved to bring her teacup to her lips, but she stalled, her eyes flicking up. “You think I should appease the man?”
“I do not think they will be satisfied with nothing.” He looked down at his hand, then twisted off the ruby ring on his pinky. “It is not much, but this is the only jewel I have. Perhaps it will satisfy them?”
Satisfy the man hoping for fleur-de-lis diamonds? She thought it unlikely. Marguerite set her cup on the table. “I cannot accept it, Paul.”
“You must.” He set it on the tray with a clink. Then, digging in his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and unwrapped it to reveal a small gold ring with a diamond in the center. “This was my mother’s. Together, these are all I have.”
“Paul,” she said on a breath. “Never. This man does not deserve such precious heirlooms.”
“Surely you understand you are more precious than any ring,ma chére.”
She shook her head. “It matters not. I will not accept them. If he persists in his ridiculous claims, he will learn the truth of it. My mother’s fleur-de-lis diamonds did not make it across the Channel—not to my knowledge, at least.”
Paul raked his gaze over her face. He let out a small, dissatisfied grunt and lifted his teacup.
“How long do you plan to remain in Harewood?” she asked.
Paul glanced up in thought. “Until tomorrow, perhaps.”
Marguerite suppressed her grimace. If Paul was here, how would she escape to manage the trade and the capture of Armand Leclair? “Mrs. Leeks makes a wonderful dinner.”
“Perhaps we could share it.”
“That would have been lovely if I had not already committed to having dinner with some friends. Are you familiar with the Roses of Boone Park?”
Paul’s forehead creased. “I do not know the name, no.”
“They had invited me to spend the evening with them,” she said smoothly. It was not a lie, either. Though they would not be eating dinner at their grand estate.
Paul gave her a considering look, as though weighing his choices. “Perhaps I had better be on my way, then. If I leave soon, I can be back in my own bed this evening.”
“And Mrs. Keel’s cooking.”
Paul looked confused for only a moment before his eyes cleared. “Oh, yes. Of course. Though she won’t be expecting me. It will be inn fare on the road tonight, I reckon.”
Guilt stabbed at Marguerite. Paul had only visited her shop once before. He did not travel much, and to go such a distance for so short a visit seemed a shame. “You should stay,” she offered. “I can write to my friends and schedule our dinner for another night.”
Paul reached for her hand and held it. “You enjoy your friendships, Marie-Louise. I am glad you have them. Let this old man return to his familiar home.” He releasedher hand and brought his cup to his lips to drain the rest of the tea, then rose. “You will write to me the moment you have news?”
“Of course,” she promised. “I will visit again soon, as well.”
“I would enjoy that.”
Marguerite walked Paul to the door.
He took her hand and kissed the knuckles. “I have not been a priest for a long time,ma chére, but some of those habits have not left me. It is not in my nature to pay much credence to station. But I will not easily forget the splendor you left behind in France. It was magnificent.” He looked around her shop, then into her eyes again. “It is a shame what you have been reduced to. If anyone deserved to be dressed in jewels, it is one as lovely as you.”
Marguerite didn’t know what to make of this speech. Perhaps due to her youth at the time, her memories of home were tied up in the losses she had endured, not the palatial house or the excess surrounding them. She nodded, for thanking him felt strange. It seemed to be meant as a compliment, but she could not, given the nature of what she was currently facing, accept it as one.
“I hope you travel safely.”
“Thank you,” he said, then slipped through the door.
Marguerite returned to the ribbon counter and put everything back on the dowel to finish sorting another time. When she went to the parlor to clean up the tea tray, she noticed Paul’s rings sitting there, waiting for her. A small smile curved over her lips. However misguided he seemed to be, he cared, and he was only trying to help. She would not sacrifice his family jewelry—she would return the rings the next time she visited him.
