Page 71 of A Secret Correspondence
But the gesture warmed her heart all the same.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Samuel thought he would sleep well after remaining awake for most of the night plotting the jewel thief’s downfall, but when he arrived home, he found sleep would not come. He’d lain in bed, awake and unable to settle his mind. It did not matter how he turned the situation about, there was no moral way to extricate himself from the engagement without harming Miss Farrow, and that simply was not an option.
As much as he wanted to save his mother from a financially poor future, he did not want to subject himself to a loveless marriage. His heart was Marguerite’s. It had slowly and surely fallen for her over the course of raw, honest letters, and her friendship had only set it in permanence.
Samuel knew with certainty that he loved Marguerite.
As he stood before his mirror the following morning and tied his cravat, he considered simply telling Miss Farrow the truth. Would it be enough to sway her?
Was it worth trying?
Marcel was sitting on top of his wardrobe, watching him with little interest, her tail swishing back and forth.
He looked at the cat through his mirror. “What do you think? Shall I be honest, or shall I scheme?”
“Sir?” Hokey asked, patiently holding Samuel’s jacket beside the window.
Samuel startled. “Sorry, Hokey. Forgot you were there.”
A pounding on the bedroom door made both Samuel and his valet turn sharply in unison.
“I am nearly ready,” he called.
“This cannot wait,” Mother hissed.
Oh, dear. She did not sound happy. Samuel returned his focus to the mirror. “You may enter.”
The door swung open, and she stormed into the room. Her eyes shot darts at Samuel through the mirror, paying no heed to his valet. “What have you done?”
His fingers froze on his cravat. “I haven’t the least notion what you are referring to, Mother.”
She crossed the room and lowered her voice. “The Farrows are here, and they are livid. There is talk of—no, I cannot say it. You are needed downstairs at once.”
Hope rose in his chest. “Say it, Mother. Talk of what? Is Miss Farrow displeased?”
She scoffed. “Humiliated would be a better term. You had no thought for anyone else, did you? I warned that modiste,” she snapped. “I told her to stay away, that you were engaging yourself?—”
“Wait.” Samuel dropped his hands, his cravat forgotten. A sick feeling roiled in his stomach. “What did you say to Marguerite?”
“Christian names?” Mother gave a humorless laugh. “You are using herChristian name? I had supposed we were to be saved from the debtors’ prison, but you have truly gone and spoiled it now.”
Shock swam through his body. “Surely Father has not put us in so terrible a fix asthat.”
Mother’s mouth pressed into a firm line. She looked at Hokey, where he stood holding Samuel’s jacket, then fixed her gaze upon her son again. “It is far worse than you could imagine. Now Miss Farrow is distraught. You must fix this, Samuel.”
He stood at his mirror, his cravat half-tied and hanging limply from his neck. Mother stormed from the room. Well, what the devil was he meant to do now? Choose love and send his father to debtors’ prison, or marry a woman he did not care for beyond friendship to save his mother from ruin?
Samuel reached up and yanked the knot loose, tossing the limp fabric aside. He pulled a new cravat from his bureau and set about tying it, the motions so familiar he did not need to set his focus to the task. Duty to his mother battled with what he owed to himself.
Though, if Miss Farrow had discovered somehow that Samuel loved Marguerite, surely she would not want to marry him any longer.
“Your jacket, sir?” Hokey asked, stepping forward.
“Thank you.” He put his arms through the sleeves.
Hokey stepped back to glance over Samuel in his entirety. “You look complete, sir.”
