“So I see.” Her smile was warm and sweet, and for the first time that evening, he took the time to appreciate how lovely she looked. Her hair was beautifully arranged, the color practically glowing under the candlelight and set off against a deep green dress.
And he wasstillpreoccupied.
“I had only found something personal in my old room upstairs. Letters. They brought up unpleasant feelings, I am afraid.”
“From Miss Lewiston?”
He nodded, dipping his head down and taking another spoonful of soup. It was warm and comforting, and he was tempted to tip the bowl back and empty its contents in all but a few swallows—if only to fill himself with something other than the ache that haunted him.
Miss Gibbons straightened, her gaze distant as that scowl of hers formed again.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head, her mouth pulling to the side. “I cannot imagine someone having such a personal relationship and then doing what she did to you. It is so unfeeling. So . . .” her words trailed off as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate motion. “I am sorry. It only makes me angry to think of. I hope you will not waste many thoughts on her, for she does not deserve it.”
Luckily, the other guests were all having a raucous conversation about their days in school, brought on by Peter’s presence, and were paying Noah and Miss Gibbons no mind. One of the few benefits of being the fourth son, Noah supposed.
But Noah’s attention was now fixated on Miss Gibbons and her heartfelt words. “I thank you for saying so. But I fear it is not an easy task.” He looked at his lap, adjusting his napkin across his leg. “She and I have known one another for such a long time. And for the last six months, she was my every thought.”
Noah felt Miss Gibbons’s stare, so he glanced up, meeting her green eyes.
She blinked. “She was a lucky woman to receive so much admiration from you.”
“You make me blush, Miss Gibbons,” he teased, smiling.
She dipped her head. “You know what I mean. For a woman to hold such regard in any man’s eyes would be a gift.”
“Any man?” He leaned closer, wanting to make her smile again. “What about a thief?”
To this, she rolled her eyes even as her lips grinned. “You understand what I meant.”
“Ah, yes. I know. A dandy who wears ruffled sleeves and collars?”
Her chest jerked as she held in a laugh, and she picked up her napkin, wiping her mouth.
“Or,” he continued, “perhaps you prefer powdered wigs and buckled shoes?”
“Well,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Theywerethe height of fashion.”
“Perhaps twenty years ago.” He tilted his head. “Unless you are partial to it? I think my father may have a wig tucked away in the attic. Shall I go fetch it and ask Donald to wear it for you?”
A loud, beautiful laugh rose from Miss Gibbons’s lips—and every head at the table whipped toward them.
Mr. Gibbons looked from his daughter to his wife, while Mrs. Gibbons looked torn between horror and wanting to censure her daughter.
“Excuse me,” Miss Gibbons said, returning to her soup.
Soon, the low murmur of voices resumed about the table, but Noah’s dinner partner was much less talkative.
“Is something wrong?” Noah asked, leaning closer.
The servants came by, taking away their empty bowls and replacing them with mackerel served with mint.
Miss Gibbons kept her gaze down. “My parents do not like when I draw attention.”
He had not thought her laugh inappropriate, yet it had obviously caused her distress. “Because?”
“Because then we have to leave.” Miss Gibbons stared at her plate, but made no move to eat any of it. The spark and fire had left her eyes, and Noah felt guilty that he was the one who made it disappear.
