Page 84 of A Secret Correspondence
Paul’s carriagehad been left at the inn. After a quiet conversation with Mrs. Leeks, Marguerite was given access to it and permission to drive it away from the yard. Samuel took to the driver’s bench while Marguerite sat inside and went through Paul’s valise. He pulled into his stable yard and hopped down from the driver’s bench.
Marguerite opened the door and climbed out, grinning. She opened her palm to reveal a large silver key. “I found the house key.”
“Wonderful. Now, what do you prefer? An open curricle or my family’s traveling carriage?”
“Thecurricle, I think,” she said.
That had been his hope. The world would soon begin waking, and he was eager to be on their way. One of his father’s grooms heard them drive into the yard and came down from the sleeping quarters above the stables, yawning.
“I need my curricle,” Samuel explained. “With Valentine and Lightning.”
“Valentine is still at Boone Park, I believe, sir,” the groom said.
Blast. He had forgotten that. “Thunder should do nicely, then,” Samuel said.
His groom agreed and set to work preparing the carriage.
Samuel returned to Marguerite. “If you will wait here, I will return shortly.”
She nodded, and he hurried inside to scavenge through the kitchen for a few items that would be easy to eat on the road. By the time he made it outside again, the curricle was ready and Marguerite looked alert. Her hair was disheveled, her clothing rumpled, but her eyes were bright.
“Shall we?” he asked, offering his hand.
She took it firmly. “Yes.”
They climbed onto the bench. Samuel tucked the rug about their knees and gave Marguerite the bundle of cheese and ham. Then they were off.
Chapter Thirty
Paul’s small house was cold and dark. Dust had gathered on so many of the surfaces, it appeared that he had not been living there in the last fortnight—perhaps even the last month. Marguerite crossed to the window and pushed the drapes open, unsettling the dust and causing her to cough.
“He must have been staying in Locksley,” Samuel guessed.
“Do you think he borrowed the carriage?” Marguerite asked, walking the perimeter of the room and noting the neglect. She had noticed it when she had been here last time, but what she had imagined was Mrs. Keel’s advancing years had been the absence of the woman altogether. “I do not think he could afford one.”
“He must have. I will return to the Locksley Inn and question the innkeeper tomorrow.”
She nodded, continuing around the room. “He mentioned stopping in to see an old student—Mr. Frederick Peele.”
“Perhaps that was who he stayed with. If the carriage belongs to him, then we shall return it.”
Sighing, Marguerite looked to the stairs. “I suppose we should go up.”
“Would you like me to go first?”
Marguerite shot him a grateful look. “Thank you, but I can manage.”
She hesitated, fearing the trunk would not be here. If Paul had been in Locksley all this time, surely he had taken the trunk with him. If they could not locate his lodgings, would Mother’s gowns be lost forever?
Marguerite climbed the stairs, Samuel just behind her. She felt his strength and support in waves. When they had been passing anonymous letters, he had been her companion and friend, someone she had felt consistently at her side. She would find herself dealing with a matter in the shop, curious how he would handle the situation, or if he would find a joke humorous. Now, he was again her companion and friend, but this time, his familiar, comforting presence was rich and tangible.
This time, she could hold his hand or lean in for a kiss.
This was happiness.
The landing was lit by a window at the end of the corridor. Marguerite methodically looked in the school room and study. When she came upon the third and final one, the room she knew to be Paul’s bedchamber, she pushed the door open and relief flooded her body.
“That is the trunk,” Samuel said. “It matches the one in your parlor.”
