He briefly wondered if she was referring to him and Margaret. “And what disappointments have you experienced, Miss Gibbons?”
A wisp of a smile lifted her lips. “I will not bring you down further with my own troubles. Today is about you.”
“Nonsense.” He leaned forward. “What about you seeing the coast?”
Even as he said it, Miss Gibbons straightened as the faint sound of waves welcomed them.
“My heavens,” she breathed, rising slightly from her seat. “I can hear it. I can hear the water.” Her smile broke free, stretching across her face. It was hard not to stare. It was as if her joy had become his joy as well, temporarily lifting his sullen spirit. And then Miss Gibbons closed her eyes, holding onto the edge of the barouche to keep her steady. “I had only imagined what the sight would be like. I had not considered the sound.”
“Or the feel,” Noah said, smiling.
She spun toward him, opening her eyes as an intrigued gleam lit them up. “The feel?”
“Trust me. You will understand when we get closer.”
Their conversation came to a halt as they neared the water, and Miss Gibbons watched the landscape change. Trees became sparse, and the wind grew stronger.
Then they could see it. “My heavens,” she said on a breath. “Look at it. Look how far it goes.”
The barouche came to a stop, and Noah stepped down, offering his arm to her. “Shall we?” It was a good thing he held her hand steady, for her eyes were fixated on the scene before them.
The coachman retrieved the picnic things and followed with Miss Gibbons’s maid.
“Now,” Noah said, taking her hand and putting it on his arm, “I chose the place with the best view. But if you actually want to go down to the water, the path is a bit precarious.”
She frowned. “We aren’t picnicking on the beach?”
“No. The beach is rocky, so it does not make for a comfortable seat. If you would like to walk down there when we are finished, however, I would be happy to assist.”
“I would very much like to get nearer the water.” Miss Gibbons turned to face the ocean, a few loose hairs wrapping around her cheeks from the wind. “It is just so breathtaking. I cannot believe it has taken me two weeks to get over here and see it.”
“So, will you be able to help me after all? Or will you be too preoccupied with the sights Warthford has to offer?”
“Oh,” she said, head whipping back toward him. “I’m sorry. I’m distracted, but we shall have lots of time to discuss things.”
“I am teasing, of course. I am enjoying watching your reaction to the shore.” He pointed towards the water. “As someone who has grown somewhat accustomed to it, it’s refreshing to see it through new eyes.”
“I cannot imagine this ever becoming boring.” Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm as she scanned the scene before them, her lips slightly parting. She closed her eyes, her shoulders pulling back as if on instinct. Noah remembered that feeling from long ago before the sight became commonplace to him. The instinctual need to stretch your neck out, pull your shoulders back and throw your arms out wide, feeling the billowing wind, and standing on the precipice as if you could actually take flight.
“You had better open your eyes, Miss Gibbons, or I fear I shall have to catch you.”
Her eyes flew open, and she turned toward him with a timid smile. “I am not known for my steady feet, so you are likely correct. I shall do my best to not become carried away.” She turned back toward the view of the water, her eyes staying bright and open, but raising her chin as if needing to feel the wind on her skin.
And then the image before him morphed into a familiar memory. One of Margaret with her blonde hair trailing in the light breeze as she stood just where Miss Gibbons did now. Margaret had playfully winked at him over her shoulder, then held her hand out for him to take and lead her to the shore, where they had spent the remainder of their afternoon picking their way across the beach for treasures the sea had left for them.
Noah kicked the ground as he shook his head. Here he was having a perfectly lovely day with Miss Gibbons, and yet Margaret would not leave his thoughts. Perhaps he was being too hard on himself. It seemed normal that his feelings for Margaret would linger. And two weeks hardly counted as any time at all. But still, now that Margaret had cut the rope between them, Noah had hoped he could begin to move on. Even if only a little.
“Where are your thoughts, Lord Noah?” Miss Gibbons asked, breaking through his contemplation.
He jerked his head toward her. “Truly, you do not wish to know.” Noah nodded toward the coachman who was preparing their picnic. First, he laid out a green and blue checkered blanket, and Noah took Miss Gibbons’s hand and helped her sit. Within moments, the coachman had set down a basket and platters of food for them to enjoy. Miss Gibbon’s maid sat on the edge of the blanket, looking off at the scene before them, her back tilted toward them to offer a measure of privacy.
“And how are you enjoying Warthford, Miss Gibbons?” Noah selected a piece of meat, letting the savory flavor settle on his tongue.
His guest removed one of her gloves, then took a slice of crisp apple and held it in her hand. “It is splendid. The town is neat and tidy, and the people have been accommodating.”
“I think what you mean to say,” Noah began, “is that you have been blessed beyond measure to be in a place such as Warthford.” He grinned over at her.
She quirked a brow at him. “Is that so?”
