She shrugged, looking ahead as they neared the edge of town. “It is only a hypothesis.”
A couple of carriages clipped along, and people meandered about, looking through shop windows. Their proximity to Brighton often brought a trickle of tourists, especially as they neared summer.
“Well,” he said, pulling her closer as they walked by a large group of people while he kept a tight grip on his horse’s reins. “I take your hypothesis and raise you one. I believe we shall both stuff our pockets with sweets and eat them on the walk back until our stomachs ache.”
Her grin widened. “I fear that will most likely be the case.”
“I plan to get lemon drops,” Noah said.
“They are one of my favorites.” She adjusted the rim of her bonnet to shield her eyes. “So, if you are supplying the citrus,” she said, tapping her chin, “I will get some bittersweet chocolate nonpareils. Those are my second favorite.”
“We shall definitely end this walk with a stomach ache,” Noah said with a decisive nod.
“But it shall be worth it.” Miss Gibbons gave him a cheeky grin.
“What if I wish to take some chocolate home with me? Perhaps we should each get both.”
“I hardly think that is necessary. We can share.”
“Now, Miss Gibbons,” he said as he spun about, walking backwards and switching the reins to his other hand as he watched her. “Where is that sense of adventure you mentioned earlier? If anything, we should be including a third option.”
“And what would you suggest?”
“Marzipan,” he added without missing a beat. They neared the sidewalk and Noah tied up his mount.
Miss Gibbons’s eyebrows drew together. “Are we perhaps introducing too many flavors? What if we stick to one category? Such as all citrus or all chocolate.”
“No. I believe we need a variety.”
“And I believe that my hypothesis will be the one to win out,” she said, glancing over her shoulder toward the bakery.
Just as Noah was finishing up his knot, a carriage and four rattled by, emitting a cloud of dust. He turned back toward Miss Gibbons, who was frantically looking through her reticule.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
She clamped a hand over her mouth as she shook her head. “Dust makes me sneeze.” Her words were muffled under her hand.
He smiled, about to laugh, when he realized she was quite serious. “And that is a problem?”
She pulled a kerchief from her reticule and held it to her nose. “It is when your sneezes are as intrusive as mine.”
“Then let us get you inside.” He took her arm, leading her to the bakery door. And just as he opened it—a welcoming aroma wafting toward them as the bell above the door rang out their arrival—Miss Gibbons let out the loudest sneeze he had ever heard.
Chapter 9
Hannahwalkedintoherhome with her small satchel of candy in hand and a lemon drop melting on her tongue. Her spirits had been lifted by her unexpected company, and a new vigor for the day had emerged. What an intriguing young man Lord Noah was. He was handsome, attentive, kind—for the life of her, Hannah could not figure out why Miss Lewiston turned him away. Lord Noah wanted nothing more than to provide a comfortable life to have a family. She ached to know what that would be like. To have a love so secure from your parents that you could not help but want to replicate it for your own life.
Perhaps this town was what Hannah’s family needed. A place to call home once and for all. They could put down roots. She could find friends, like Miss Baxton from dinner at the Bradleys’ home the other night. Hannah might even be able to find love.
The small town of Warthford was her oyster.
Hannah’s mother whisked by with their housekeeper, Mrs. Mowatt, on her heel, pointing at the walls as Mrs. Mowatt nodded along.
Hannah watched them as her mind continued to whir with possibilities. This town could be the opportunity for Hannah to find a place, and in doing so, find a common footing with her parents. If she did as they desired, they might not look at her with that familiar gleam in their eyes. The one of expectations and possibilities for their social status.
“Mother,” Hannah said, striding toward her and Mrs. Mowatt.
“Oh, Hannah, wherever have you been?” She turned with a furrow on her brow.
