Page 23 of A Beguiled Gentleman (The Bradley Brothers #1)
Chapter 23
How did one evening feel like a lifetime?
Mr. Swinton stood in their foyer, and Hannah did her best to seem pleased he was there. Memories from last night filled her every thought. Noah’s behavior the previous evening had been so erratic that she hardly knew what to think of it. And now, after whatever that had been, she was unsure of what it meant for them going forward. Which left her even more baffled as to what to do about Mr. Swinton. She needed to speak to Noah, but wasn’t sure how she could make that happen.
“Miss Gibbons,” Mr. Swinton said, bowing. “Lovely to see you again.”
Hannah tried to smile. “That is kind of you to say.”
Mr. Swinton’s eyes flicked to her mother before saying, “I was hoping to have a private audience with Miss Gibbons this morning.”
No! She hadn’t had enough time to think. It wasn’t possible to make this decision now. Not when everything between her and Noah was still in upheaval. It would not be possible, in good conscience, for Hannah to accept a proposal today.
But Hannah’s mother only beamed. “Of course. I need to order the tea things anyway, so that will give you two time to talk.” She put her hand to Hannah’s back, ushering her toward Mr. Swinton. “I will return shortly, and we can have our tea then.”
Mr. Swinton nodded, but his mouth was turned down in a frown. He did not look like a man about to propose. Nevertheless, he held his arm out to Hannah and walked with her into the drawing room, pushing the doors mostly shut behind them.
Hannah’s heart raced in her chest as her face flushed. Before she opened her mouth to speak, Mr. Swinton broke the awkward silence.
“Miss Gibbons,” he began. “I hope you do not misunderstand my intentions this morning. I am not here to propose.”
Hannah’s breath left her in a whoosh .
“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 from anyone other 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 is also not 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. “ Why would you do that? Of all the things a young lady could do, you choose to throw a raisin at someone?”
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.