Noah grounded himself, readying for another attack from his brother.
Long before his father's death two years ago, Noah had stepped into the role of defender. Not of his business ventures, per se, but of the weak and the right. Sometimes it had been the workers. At times, the business dealings. A few times, his own mother. But his father's forceful personality and his brother's desire to emulate him thrust the innate peacemaker within Noah onto the battlefield.
Three years ago, he would have attempted gentle responses to his brother's irrational accusations. Acquiesced to the demands of his father. Three years ago, he may have cowered a little.
But losing Elinor, their sister, and their father forced Noah to take a stand, over and over again. To raise a voice of reason and compassion.
True compassion cared with a steel spine.
His brother's tyranny had only gotten worse since his engagement to Beatrice Malone, belle of The Hollows and daughter of one of the richest men in town. More outrageous. With an apparent need to prove to the Malones and the entire town that he deserved such a social advancement.
Charlie's cry suddenly sliced into the argument. Heat fled Noah's body, and three things happened at once.
George's eyes grew wide, Mother exchanged a look with Noah, and Kizzie dashed from the hallway toward the stairs.
“Have you brought one of those vagabond children to stay in this house?” George dodged Noah's approach and started for the stairs, only to run directly into Kizzie blocking his path. She stood one step above him, placing her almost at eye level.
“There are no vagabonds here, Mr. Lewis.” She raised her chin, her eyes as cool as steel. “Only strangers who got lost in the storm last night, so if you'll kindly control yourself and stop scaring my young'un, I'll go quiet him.”
George froze, eyes growing wider as he stared.
Noah moved closer, ready to rise to Kizzie's defense, but his brother didn't move, barely seeming to breathe. Merely stood there in a stare-off with a woman half a foot shorter than him. Though, from her current stance and the fire in her eyes, Noah wondered if Kizzie would be a force to reckon with.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs… .”
“Kizzie McAdams, sir.” And with another withering look, she dashed up the stairs.
George's attention followed her until she disappeared from sight, and then he turned, blinking. “Who is she, and why is she here?”
“As she said, George,” Mother interjected before Noah could respond, her tones low. “She met Noah on the main road after his carriage overturned last night in the storm, and she helped him and Martin home. There was no making it to town once they arrived here, so I invited her and her son to stay.”
“The carriage?” George's gaze switched to Noah. “What were you doing out on the road in the middle of the storm?” His expression dawned with awareness. “You weren't taking workers home from the mill, were you? Do you realize the waste of resources you've created in damaging the carriage? Have you no care for our situation, brother?”
Noah braced himself for another assault, but Mother stepped between them again.
“That is enough.” Her whisper was harsh.
“Not nearly,” George seethed, holding Noah's attention. “But I will forgo the conversation until later for the sake of Mrs. McAdams.”
The creak of stair and shush of a gown brought their attention to the stairs, where Kizzie slowly descended, Charlie in her arms. Her gaze flipped from George to Noah and then back again as she pulled a sniffling Charlie up against her shoulder. Noah stepped forward, but George bypassed him, reaching the bottom of the stairs at the same time Kizzie did.
“I apologize, Mrs. McAdams, for my previous behavior.” He sent a glare to Noah. “I had no idea there were guests in the house.”
A curl of nausea rose in Noah's stomach at his brother's saccharine response. His charm worked on so many women, especially the young ones. How many lives had he ruined with a compliment and the promise of something he'd never give?
Kizzie's eyes narrowed for only a moment before she offered a reserved smile that was nothing like the one she'd given him before George stormed into the house. “My mama says that our true self rises to the top when we're mad or when no one's looking. I certainly hope what I just witnessed doesn't prove true in your case.”
Noah had been on the verge of coming to Kizzie's defense, but in the wake of her response to his brother, he almost grinned.
Kizzie McAdams wasn't in danger of cowering to his brother. Something twinged inside his mind, an awareness he couldn't quite place.
His brother appeared in similar shock, but instead of being affronted, a look of pure fascination brightened his expression, and the nausea in Noah's stomach took an aggravated turn. “I intend on proving that it doesn't, if for no other reason than to replace whatever unpleasant thoughts are whirring in your pretty little mind about me.”
“I hope your motivation for improvement is a whole lot deeper than my thoughts about you, Mr. Lewis.”
Noah nearly laughed. His mother met his gaze with a hint of humored surprise.
George's smile dimmed only a moment and then flickered wide again. “One motivation could certainly spur another.” He gestured toward the sitting room. “May we start over?”
