Page 88 of A Secret Correspondence
Epilogue
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Samuel took the note from his butler and turned it over. It was clearly from Lady Faversham, and it was addressed to his wife. He tapped it three times on his palm before he turned down the corridor and let himself into the drawing room.
Mother glanced up from her embroidery. The midday sunlight poured through the open windows, lighting her project well.
“Is Marguerite not with you?” he asked.
“She was not feeling quite the thing and went to lay down.” Mother pulled her thread all the way through and tucked the needle into the corner of the fabric, then lifted her gaze. “Did you recall that I was vastly ill when I carried you? From the moment I realized you were coming until the moment you arrived.”
Samuel’s heart began to patter like an army of hoof beats. “You have mentioned it,” he said calmly.
Mother’s face betrayed no emotion, but he couldfeelher anticipation from clear across the room.
Samuel tapped the letter on his palm again. “Lady Faversham has written to her. Again.”
Mother’s brow rose. “The woman does not relent.”
“She is quite used to having her way. I do not wish to bother Marguerite with this.”
Mother laughed lightly. “You could never bother your wife. She is besotted with you. It is one of the reasons I have grown to adore her.”
“She is easy to love,” Samuel agreed.
“Indeed.” Mother picked up her needle and resumed her embroidering. “Remind her to hold strong if she does not wish to acquiesce to Lady Faversham’s demands. As for the other matter, if she would like me to send for a doctor, I would be happy to. They can detect more than just illnesses, you know.”
Samuel could hardly dare to hope. “Thank you, Mother.”
He slipped from the room and climbed the stairs. Their house had been quiet since the wedding. Two of Marguerite’s jewels had paid off Father’s debts, and the sale of the rings Paul had left behind had refilled their coffers, making it possible to do some much-needed repairs on the house. Neither of them could understand why Paul had given her the rings at all, except as a ploy to gather more information, knowing he would likely get them back. But through that process, Marguerite had been clear she would not sacrifice any more of her mother’s jewelry for cards.
Father had been mortified. He had also ceased staying out late. Samuel did not know if it was merely because he was no longer trying to win the money to pay his debts or if he was honoring his daughter-in-law’s wishes. Either way, the color was slowly returning to Father’s face, and that was enough for Samuel.
He reached the bedchamber he shared with Marguerite andpushed the door open. She lounged atop the bedclothes, her eyes shut to the world and a crease on her brow. Her blonde hair was simply drawn back, a slight frown on her pink lips, but still she was his favorite person to look at.
Marguerite peeked one eye open as he closed the door. “I feel unsettled.”
“My mother told me.”
She closed her eye again. “If I lay very still, the queasiness ebbs slightly.”
“Shall I open your letter and read it to you, then?”
“Who is it from?”
Samuel removed his boots and lowered himself gently on the bed beside her. Marcel clearly interpreted this as an opportunity to be cherished and hopped up beside Samuel, curling next to his leg. Samuel looked for Claude and found the cat watching with displeasure from her perch on the windowsill.
“Lady Faversham,” he said, running his hand through Marcel’s soft fur. “Say the word, and I will toss it directly in the fire.”
Marguerite’s lips curled into a smile. “No. Please read it to me.”
Samuel cleared his throat dramatically as he broke the seal and unfolded the paper. “Dear Mrs. Harding. I understand the meaning of retirement, but I do not think you understand me. I will pay very handsomely for this gown. My husband’s sister is set to arrive in three weeks. She will be eating dinner with us, and I need a dinner gown that will suit the tastes of a well-bred Town lady. You have not seen the atrocities those Locksley women want to saddle me with. I beg of you, have mercy upon my poor nerves. Yours, Lady Faversham.” Samuel lowered the paper. “Goodness, but the woman is desperate.”
“I feel for her.”
“She will say anything to have another of your gowns, you know. In all likelihood, her husband probably does not even have a sister.”
Marguerite chuckled. “I am honored she believes I can supply her with Town bronze.”
