Walking over to the window, the floor creaked as he passed by the footboard of his old bed, just as it always had. His feet led him to the small writing desk tucked in the corner, and he sat, mindlessly opening its drawers and pulling out whatever he found. And what he found was a stack of letters from Margaret, which they had secretly passed to each other over the last six months.
A hardness balled up his stomach as he leafed through the pages, her handwriting beautiful and familiar. If he were wise, he would burn them along with any memories they shared. But he was apparently not a wise man, as he shoved the letters into the drawer, tucking them as far back as he could before slamming the drawer shut. Then he laid his head on the hard surface of the wood. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he swiped it away with an angry jerk of his palm. He shouldn’t have come here, tearing open wounds that were just starting to scab over.
He lifted his head, pushed back against the desk, and stood. His feet quickened toward the door, needing to be out of this room. He kept telling himself to move on and heal, yet his actions proved he was not willing. Instead of moving forward, he kept ruminating on what could have been and letting it fester. He wasn’t even sure how to move on.
Entering the hall, Noah planned to head to the library, as that seemed a much safer space to be. But as he made it to the stairs, voices caught his attention from below.
Noah turned to go down, preferring the company of people to the silence of books. He did not need Shakespeare making matters concerning the heart worse.
“Yes, my son Noah will be dining with us this evening.” His mother’s words were faint from the other room.
Noah descended the stairs, making his way to the sitting room where they always received guests. Upon entering, a head of fiery red hair turned. Miss Gibbons locked eyes with him, a whisper of a smile still on her lips. She stood beside her parents, who were quietly conversing with the Hills by the bookshelf along the far wall.
Noah’s spirits lifted as he strode toward them, knowing Miss Gibbons always had a way of entertaining him—whether it was intentional or not. “Good evening, Miss Gibbons,” Noah said as he made it to the group. He dipped into a small bow.
“Good evening, Lord Noah.” Her gaze roamed over his face, and whatever she saw caused her brow to furrow. And just when he thought she would ask how he fared, she surprised him with a completely different question. “How is your business going?” She spoke confidently, but her voice lowered just enough to not draw the attention of the people around them.
“I have been preparing for my upcoming case. I have two weeks yet before I am to present it.”
This gave Miss Gibbons pause, her eyes peering at the wall as she thought. “I would be greatly interested in the details if you would feel comfortable sharing them with me after dinner.”
Noah chuckled. “Surely you do not wish to listen to me gabble on about something so boring.”
“Of course I do.” Her eyes snapped back to him, the scowl on her brow deepening.
“You are in earnest.” Another laugh slipped out, but this young woman was most peculiar, and he found himself laughing when in her company more often than not.
Miss Gibbons discreetly glanced over at her parents before looking back at him. “I told you to keep me abreast of your affairs. Did you think I was teasing?”
“I suppose I thought the subject would eventually bore you. But apparently I was wrong.” His mouth quirked up into a grin.
“Yes, you were. And I expect to hear all about your case when we can get a word—” She stopped and mouthed,alone.
“You need only name the hour.”
This seemed to appease her as her facial features finally relaxed and she bobbed her head in agreement. “Very good.”
Noah spoke to Mr. Baxton, his father, and Donald until dinner was announced, and then he sidled up beside Miss Gibbons. “May I escort you to dinner?”
She smiled and nodded, taking his arm.
They walked into the dining room, and Noah pulled out the chair for Miss Gibbons before taking the chair beside her. The first course was brought out in only a moment.
“So,” Miss Gibbons began, holding her spoon full of soup above her bowl. “Is there anything you wish to share?”
“Please tell me what you wish to hear and I will be happy to oblige.”
She took a quiet sip, then dipped her spoon again. “I only ask because you appeared . . . distraught when you came downstairs.”
This again? Women rarely asked him such personal things. And yet, Miss Gibbons asked them as if she were inquiring after the weather.
“Have I overstepped?” She spun her head toward him, the corner of her mouth turned down. “I am sorry. You had seemed upset, and I wanted to help. But if it is too much, please disregard my statement.”
“No,” Noah quickly said. “I was only surprised.” He dipped his own spoon into the white bean soup, taking a moment to consider before swallowing. Its thick warmth soothed the ache that had formed earlier whilst trying not to cry over those stupid letters. Letters that were filled with words and declarations that used to bring him comfort but now only brought heartache. Letters he never should have unearthed and perused, let alone kept and tucked away to pine and cry over again.
“Lord Noah?” Miss Gibbons’s voice startled him, and he dropped his spoon.
“Forgive me.” He fisted one hand beneath the table and swiped his brow with the other. “I was lost in thought.”
