Hannah thought for a moment. “I believe my mother thinks she is doing me a favor. But I fear the truth of the matter is that they want my dowry to buy them into the right crowd. It seems to be as much for them as it is for me.”
His brow furrowed and his deep brown eyes held a tenderness to them that nearly made Hannah’s knees buckle. “I hate that they have done this to you. No one should have to fear the actions of their own family. They should make you feel safe and loved.” He looked at the ground, shaking his head. “I do not want you to leave.”
Noah’s words were soft and seemed to carry to her on the breeze. Like a gentle kiss, his words caressed her, filling in parts of her soul that she hadn’t realized needed filling. He was making her hungry for more—more attention from him, more sweet and tender words, more affectionate glances. But she needed to stop herself now, before she fell even further. It was difficult to say where his heart laid at the moment. He did not often speak of Margaret, but most people did not go about declaring their pain for all to hear. And Noah often masked his with smiles and good humor, making it near to impossible to know.
Hannah rubbed her arm as the wind took on a chill. “I suppose I will learn within the next few days. If I am lucky, no one will speak of it again and she might let it pass.”
Sarah suddenly appeared in the tower with Miss Grove and waved down at them, and Hannah returned the gesture.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Noah asked.
Hannah smiled to herself, loving that Noah had offered, even though she was quite sure there was nothing he could do.
“You can climb the tower with me.” She turned toward him. He wore a scowl—his mouth pulled to the side, but then it melted away when he could see she did not wish to speak of it further.
He offered her his arm. “Yes. I would be happy to do that.”
Chapter 12
Noahstretchedhisarmsover his head, then shuffled the loose papers into a neat stack. The soft clacking of the edges against his wooden desk gave him a feeling of satisfaction, and it was the perfect way to end his workday.
He glanced about his study, admiring the furnishings and overall atmosphere. And yet, something felt wrong. Like he was intruding upon the space—a mere visitor who had overstayed their welcome and needed to move on.
So much for his feeling of accomplishment. As his eyes meandered, they fell and snagged on the bottom drawer of his desk, and his hand itched to open it. He had done his very best for the last several weeks to forget the contents were there. He had stolen them from his old room at his father’s home with the intent to destroy them. But instead, he had only stashed them inside yet another drawer. Reaching down, he pulled the drawer open and retrieved the folded pages. The edges were worn from the hours he had spent going over them after Margaret’s refusal. Now, he just wanted them near, though he couldn’t explain why. In truth, he supposed it was only a way to prolong letting her go.
Noah flipped through them, pulling out one of his particular favorites. It started with the words,My Dear Noah.
My. She had said “my”. How could she wonder at his surprise when she declined his offer? The evidence was before his very eyes. Pages of words and thoughts and dreams shared with him—slipping the notes to each other in passing with none the wiser. At first he read the paragraphs he knew would hurt the most. The ones where she told him all the things he had wanted to hear. And he had drank them in.
The words didn’t hurt as much as they had before, but they stung all the same. And once he had read through his usual lines, he began to skim the rest. But as he continued to read through the pages, her words did not bring sadness or an ache to his chest. Instead, he found himself becoming angry.
I miss you.
Lies.
I saw a cravat in the most stylish print today. I almost purchased it for you since you love green, and it was such a lovely shade.
His favorite color was blue, not green.
You will never guess what Miss Baxton dared to wear to the picnic today . . .
Gossip.
Noah leaned closer to the paper as if it would somehow make the words change. How had he missed all of this before? They were the same words that he had read time and time again, only now, he wasn’t focusing on the parts that had made him feel loved and cared for. It was like scales had fallen off his eyes. Yes, her words of adoration were still there, but what of the rest?
A knock rattled the door, and his head flew up as he pressed his arm across the page to protect its contents.
Egerton stood at the threshold. “A package for you, sir.”
“Ah.” Noah’s eyes darted about. Would Egerton be able to see what was written on the pages? “Thank you, Egerton. If you would just place it on my desk.”
The old man walked in with a small package beneath his arm, then gently placed it on the corner of Noah’s desk before turning and leaving without another word. Noah felt heat rise to his cheeks even though Egerton had kept his eyes to his steps and not Margaret’s letters. Pushing the pages aside, Noah reached for the parcel, taking note of the directions.
What on earth would Hannah send him? Unless it was Mr. or Mrs. Gibbons who had posted it, but Noah could hardly imagine what occasion they would have to do so. He pulled the brown paper back, and then a smile split across his face as a small burst of yellow appeared. Lemon drops.
Noah pulled out the note that sat inside.
Noah,
