The ludicrous situation only worsened Hannah’s urge to laugh. But the reality of her circumstances sobered her enough to dull the sensation so that she was able to keep her composure.
“She said she wanted to try a raisin tart,” Hannah whispered.
Her mother glared. “You realize what this means, do you not?”
“No.” Hannah shook her head. “Surely this doesn’t mean we—”
“—have to leave,” her mother finished for her.
“But what if it only stays between Mr. Swinton and Miss Lewiston? Should we not wait and see what comes of it? It may be nothing.”
“Really?” Hannah’s mother said in disbelief. “You think that Mr. Swinton will not mention this to his friends? That Miss Lewiston will not spread the gossip around Warthford?”
“They may not.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “I will give it one week. If we hear rumors, I do not see how we can stay.”
“Surely it cannot taint my reputation so much that no one will have me. I do not wish to move again, Mother. Please.” She swallowed the burning in her throat. Everything she had hoped for in Warthford was slipping away before her very eyes. Stability, her family’s chance to come together again, Sarah . . . Noah. “No!”
Her mother leaned forward. “No?”
“No.” Hannah was shaking her head. “I cannot do it. I cannot leave and start again. I would rather take my chances and stay. Someone will have me. I am sure of it. My dowry will be enough to tempt someone. Please, just don’t make us move again.”
Her mother sat in silence, her eyes staring Hannah down. “Then perhaps you should consider your actions more so we wouldn’t have to keep doing this.”
The room went dark as Hannah slipped her hands over her face as she sat on the chair. Warm tears streamed down her cheeks. All that she had tried to build for herself—all for naught. Her friends would forget her. This town would move along as if she had never walked its roads. Noah would marry Margaret, and Warthford would continue as it had before her. How silly that she had thought she could incite change. That she could impress herself upon the people and town in a way that they would be worse off if she left. For the truth of the matter was that she was just another girl. And whether she came or left, it did not matter.
Chapter 24
Thebedsheetstangledaround Noah’s legs as he tossed and turned. The sun had easily risen to midday, but Noah made no move to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed. He might just stay here for the rest of the day. Perhaps even the rest of the week. If only he didn’t have an evening game night at his parents', then he could do just that. But when Noah had tried to decline the invitation, his father had sent him a strongly worded reply about how the Lewistons would be most put out by his unexcused absence.
A knock sounded on his door and he made no move—only mumbled out a soft, “Yes?”
“It is me, sir.”
Egerton.
“I had only wondered if you were ready for some tea or food to be sent up to your room.”
Noah groaned before sitting up and throwing back his covers. He padded across the floor, running his hands through his hair and over his face to try and wake himself up. The stubble on his cheeks scratched the palm of his hands, and then he ran a hand over his bare chest just before he opened the door. “No need, Egerton. I will come down shortly.”
The older man showed no shock or judgment regarding Noah’s appearance. “Very well. I will have Cook put on a pot of tea.”
“I don’t need—”
“The tea will be ready in fifteen minutes,” he said, turning and walking down the hall.
Noah scowled as he rubbed the scruff on his cheeks again. Perhaps Egerton had been judging him after all.
He sulked back into his room and threw on a dressing gown. Perhaps after tea he would summon the motivation to change. It had been three days of keeping to his house. Thinking, pacing, thinking, reading, pacing, walking. And when he couldn’t pace, he continued his frantic thoughts as Egerton drew a hot bath, helped Noah dress, styled his hair, and finally saw him out the door and on his way to his father’s home. Properly groomed, Noah rode over with leaden feet. The usual feeling of comfort and love and beinghomeeluded him as he entered through the front doors. Instead, he felt heavy and worn.
Noah walked into the drawing room, where several gaming tables had been set up. Instead of taking a seat, he made his way to the bottle of brandy he knew his father kept tucked away in the corner. Selecting one of the four ornately carved glasses, he poured himself a finger of the amber liquid and lifted it to his lips, welcoming the burn in his throat as it slid down.
“Noah,” his father said with a laugh. He then took one of the remaining glasses and helped himself. “It isn’t like you to partake in my brandy.”
Noah looked down at his glass. “It just sounded particularly good this evening.” He took a large swallow.
“Be careful.” His father nodded toward the cup in Noah’s hand. “If you aren’t used to it, you should take your time.”
