“Is something wrong with Mr. Hodge? He was my first choice.”
“No,” Noah said, briefly shaking his head. “He is only wrong for Ha—”
Lady Chatham’s eyes narrowed.
“—Miss Gibbons,” he finished.
“Well,” she said, scanning her list. “My next choice was Mr. Abbins.”
“Abbins?” Noah leaned forward, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Nonsense. He is nearly twice her age.”
“He is only thirty-six. That is not so very old,” his mother defended.
“No. Someone else.” He flicked his hand, dismissing her choice.
“All right. What of Mr. Sullyard? He is only twenty-six and has already inherited Rose Cottage from his father. It’s a wonder he hasn’t already married.”
“Sullyard.” Noah rolled the man’s name around in his mind, attempting to find a face. And then a man sporting brightly colored jackets with ruffled sleeves came to the forefront of his memory. “Sullyard?” he asked, incredulous. “Sullyard with the yellow jackets and jeweled fobs and lace cuffs?”
Lady Chatham huffed a breath. “I realize his choice of wardrobe is a bit . . . progressive . . . but he is perfectly acceptable. And I think Miss Gibbons would make him a nice match.”
“Yes, she would make him a nice match. But he would not suit her.”
“Very well. What of Lord Raynord?”
“Too old.”
“Mr. Swinton?”
“A notorious flirt.”
“Mr. Hosmer.”
“Too hairy.”
“Fine.” Lady Chatham put her list down and crossed her hands on her lap. “Then who would you suggest, Noah? For you are being entirely unhelpful. There are only so many eligible men that would be suitable.”
Noah stood and began pacing the length of the rug. “Why does Ha—” He stopped, anticipating the return of his mother’s narrowed gaze. “Miss Gibbons, needanyone?”
“I know for a fact that her mother wants her married.”
Noah waved her off. “That does not mean Hannah needs to.” Another slip of the tongue. And judging by his mother’s pause, she heard it as well.
“Noah, I do not believe you understand the gravity of her situation.”
He shook his head. “She is not in danger of becoming a spinster.”
“No, but if she does not choose for herself, her parents might choose for her. She will not reach her majority for another year.”
Noah’s feet halted and he turned toward her. “They wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because she is their daughter!”
“And they want what is best for her.”
“No, they want what is best for them, and that’s the dirty, rotten truth of it all.” His pacing resumed. “She deserves someone perfect for her, and none of those men fit the bill. She will simply wait until the correct man comes along.”
