“Trust me, Miss Gibbons,” Mrs. Baxton said over her shoulder. “It is better than listening to her ramble on for hours on end.” She softened her words with a smile, looking toward her daughter.
“Please,” Miss Baxton insisted, taking Hannah’s arm. “Come and visit. And I shall return the favor.”
Hannah smiled. “All right. That should not be a problem. Assuming my mother can spare me for a time.”
“Of course she can.” Mrs. Baxton held a pair of gloves up for inspection. “We mothers need a break every now and again.”
Miss Baxton laughed. “Mother. You truly are incorrigible.”
“Why else do you think mothers are always trying to marry off their daughters?” Mrs. Baxton raised her brow in jest, but Hannah’s smile tightened with her remark.
“I will plan on it,” Hannah said. “It sounds lovely.”
Mrs. Gibbons turned from the counter and walked back to their small group. “Two of the dresses are ready and the others will be ready next week. But we might as well have you try on the two that are finished while we are here.”
“Yes. Of course. Please, excuse me, Miss Baxton.” Hannah nodded. “Mrs. Baxton.”
“We shall have you over soon,” Hannah’s mother said, smiling as she took Hannah by the arm and steered her toward the back of the shop. In only a moment, Hannah was being slipped into a lovely peach-colored evening gown, and a stab of guilt jolted her stomach. Not every young woman was afforded new gowns with every town they came to. Hannah’s mother viewed it as a way to be seen, to get attention, and to let the small-town gossip run wild as they heard of her expensive order.
Hannah pushed the thought aside. This town was going to be different. They wouldn’t have to leave and start over again. Hannah would make sure of it.
Chapter 10
Hannahranherhandalong the handle of her basket, smiling at Noah and his ridiculous theatrics. While over for dinner the other evening with his mother and brothers, he had offered to escort her to the Baxton’s for an afternoon of berry picking. Hannah enjoyed the natural way her bond with Noah had grown over the last two weeks of dinner parties and day outings. It was rare for her to so readily connect with someone.
“I plan to pick two full baskets and put you to shame.” He swung his basket in a full circle as if it were a display of great athleticism.
Hannah watched it spin with a laugh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are missing a basket if that is your aim.”
The day was perfect—the sun hanging lazily in the sky with a cool breeze from the not-so-distant shore. Hannah wished to throw her bonnet to the wayside and relish in the feel of the sun on her face, but her freckles would come out in full force if she did such a thing.
Noah twisted his basket so it spun in his grasp. “I’m sure Mrs. Baxton would give me another basket if I return a full one to her.”
Hannah turned to him. “If you do such a thing, she will think it as good as done that you wish to court her daughter.”
“Nonsense.” His face scrunched up into a scowl. “Over berries?”
“Oh, yes.” She kept her face serious. “It is an old custom. Men regularly offered baskets of berries for a young maiden’s hand.”
He gave her a flat stare. “Well then, perhaps I shall have you return my basket. I do not wish to give Miss Baxton false hope. Though, I’m sure she would welcome an extra basket of strawberries from Donald.”
A guffaw burst out of Hannah. “As if she could rightly expect such a thing. I’m sure Donald’s attentions are saved for some daughter of high rank or wealth. Even though Miss Baxton is perfectly lovely, and I enjoy her company very much.”
It had been six weeks since they arrived in Warthford, and the last two had been greatly spent with the Bradleys. It was not lost on Hannah what her mother’s aim was. But Noah did not seem to mind.
Noah knelt in front of a bush, picking several strawberries and placing them into his basket. One had a soft spot, leaving a bit of red juice on his finger, which he promptly licked off. “Donald has not shown interest in any young woman thus far. I’m not quite sure what he is waiting for, to be honest. The man is over thirty.”
“Perhaps he is in no rush.” Hannah squatted in front of the same bush as Noah, plucking a berry and popping it into her mouth.
“If you keep eating the strawberries, you shall never win.” He nodded toward her still empty basket. “But,” he said, throwing another handful into his own, “my biggest curiosity concerning Donald is why he doesn’t seem interested in matrimony. It is my utmost goal. Or, it was,” he added, his brow puckering. But it had no effect on his frantic picking—the berries were already piling up. “I hope that one day, my desire will return.”
Hannah ate a few more berries and watched as Noah competed in a game against himself. “How long has it been now?”
“Since the balcony incident?” He smiled, looking up at her.
Hannah tried to quell the shimmer in her stomach as she thoughtfully admired the deep brown of his eyes. It was happening more and more—this physical reaction to him—whenever he smiled at her or gave her his complete and rapt attention as she shared her thoughts. But they were only friends. That was the plan all along. And he was still hurting. It would be selfish of her to expect anything other than friendship from him. And yet . . .
She shook her head, finally putting some of the large, ripe berries into her own basket. “Are you always going to call it that?”
