“That is,” he continued, pacing behind the settee, “not today. Not until something is cleared up.”
Hannah dearly hoped it had nothing to do with their strange moment last evening. The one in which she threw food at another young woman before Noah hauled her off. But surely Mr. Swinton hadn’t seen them leave the party?
“Yes?” she asked with as much confidence as she could muster.
Mr. Swinton sighed, placing his hands on the back of a chair. “Do you have feelings for Lord Noah?”
Hannah’s blush reached new heights, burning her skin until she was quite sure her head would burst.
He shook his head, his eyes looking over her face. “I will take that as a yes.” He tapped his thumbs on the wooden chair back, creating an audible pattern of his thoughts.Tap, tap, tap.“And I do not think I need to tell you how inappropriate it is for a young woman to throw food at someone.”
Hannah cleared her throat. “Well, it would be inappropriate for anyone, really. Not just young women.”
His stare was flat. “I would agree with that observation. But as I have never witnessed it fromanyoneother than you, I suppose I inserted that detail from my own experience.”
Hannah chewed her lip. Goodness, no. Her mouth twitched and her chest burned. She could feel the laugh attempting to free itself, but she tried to swallow it down. It was only that now, outside of the moment, Hannah realized how ridiculous it must have looked to see the small raisin sail through the air and hit Margaret in the face.
Hannah shrugged. “I was only trying to help.” She sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling.
Mr. Swinton stared. And stared. And then stared some more. The silence was beyond awkward. It was oppressive.
“I came today as a service to you. I do not feel it fair to discontinue my visits without you understanding why.”
She swallowed. “Of course. I appreciate the gesture.”
“Are you even upset by this news?” He straightened, removing his grip from the chair back. “Because it seems like you are attempting not to smile, Miss Gibbons. Which isalsonot in good taste.”
“No,” Hannah said, waving her hand. “It is only that I had remembered something from the other day.”
“I see.” Mr. Swinton ran a hand over his waistcoat, and then a gentle knock sounded.
“The tea is ready,” her mother said, opening the doors. “And some of those lavender biscuits you enjoyed so much last time you visited, Mr. Swinton.”
Mr. Swinton held Hannah’s eyes before turning a smile to her mother. “That sounds lovely, Mrs. Gibbons. Unfortunately, I have some business that cannot wait. I hope you and Miss Gibbons are able to enjoy your tea together.”
He walked toward the door so quickly that he must have stirred up dust from the rug, for Hannah’s nose only gave her a moment’s warning before a horridly loud sneeze burst forth from her. She slapped a hand over her face.
Mr. Swinton stopped halfway to the door, looking over his shoulder with wide, horrified eyes. “Bless you, Miss Gibbons.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked out. But he did not wait for her reply, hastening toward the door like a man attempting to escape the company of a dangerous villain.
Mrs. Gibbons watched him retreat, and then she turned toward Hannah. Her mouth was pulled aside, her lips tight. “What happened while I ordered the tea?”
“He informed me that he may not be back to visit for a couple weeks.”Or ever.
“Why?” she snapped.
Hannah deliberated how much she should tell her mother, but how else could she explain Mr. Swinton’s sudden disinterest? Besides, between Mr. Swinton and Miss Lewiston, word was bound to spread. “It had to do with his dislike of raisins.”
“Raisins.” Her mother’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.
“Or, rather,” Hannah picked at her fingers, “because a raisin happened to end up hitting Miss Lewiston yesterday, and he feels I am responsible.”
“And why would he think that?” her mother ground out.
Hannah swallowed. “Because I threw it.”
“Hannah.” Her mother came around and fell into the settee, her eyes fluttering closed. “Whywould you do that? Of all the things a young lady could do, you choose to throw a raisin at someone?”
