Page 24 of A Beguiled Gentleman (The Bradley Brothers #1)

Chapter 24

The bed sheets tangled around 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 being home eluded 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.”

“I’m aware of its effects.” Another swallow.

His father’s brow pulled down. “Are you all right?”

Noah tilted his glass as he looked down at it. “No, not really.”

“Noah, what is going on?” Lord Chatham leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You have been off ever since the Lewistons came home. I had thought you would be thrilled to have them back.”

Noah took one last swallow, successfully draining his glass. “So had I, once upon a time.” He poured another finger of brandy and looked at the door as the Baxtons entered. “But you have guests. Let us not be rude.”

“I think you mean to speak of yourself when you say that.” His father’s eyes lingered on him, censure in his gaze, before striding toward the door to welcome the newcomers.

Noah needed to pull himself together. Now he was being rude to his own father who, while utterly failing, meant well. But a little loyalty on Noah’s part wouldn’t go amiss. While they did not know he had proposed to Margaret, they did know she went to London, and it seems they could figure out her intent in going.

Noah looked down at his glass, but instead of taking another drink, he put it on the shelf and walked away. He approached Miss Baxton, who stood next to her parents and wouldn’t seem to meet his eye.

“Miss Baxton,” he greeted.

She finally met his eyes and smiled. “Good evening, Lord Noah.”

“Is—” He stopped and looked over at her parents, but they were currently busy speaking with his father. “How is Hannah?”

She bit her lip and glanced about the room before looking back at him. “I haven’t spoken to her in a week.”

“That is unlike the two of you, is it not?”

“Yes. I did try and go visit her, but Mrs. Gibbons informed me she was out with Mr. Swinton and that I shouldn’t return for a visit for two weeks.”

“Swinton?” Noah said, louder than he ought. It briefly caught the attention of his father. Noah swallowed. “But do you know anything else? Is she in good spirits?”

Miss Baxton’s eyes dropped to the floor, as if reluctant to answer his question.

“Please,” he said. “If you know anything, I would be eternally grateful.”

She looked at her parents before giving him her attention once more. “I do not believe her spirits are high.”

Noah rubbed his face. “Right. Of course. Thank you, Miss Baxton. I will not trouble you any longer.”

“Your spirits do not look high either, if you do not mind my saying so.”

“No, I am not in good spirits. It’s been a rather tumultuous week.”

“Will Hannah be here this evening?”

Noah’s head cocked to the side. “Were they invited?”

“I had thought my parents mentioned it, but perhaps I was wrong.”

Goodness, Noah wasn’t sure he could handle Margaret and Hannah being in the same room with him again. “I am sure the Lewistons will be here, but that is all.”

“I see.” Miss Baxton looked pointedly away, her mouth forming a tight line.

“Did you know?” he asked.

Her face jerked toward him. “Excuse me?”

“About . . . did Hannah tell you anything? About me?”

“Nothing so clear as saying it directly,” she said, lowering her voice. “I can only say that I had my suspicions.”

“So it was only me that was living in ignorance.”

More people filtered through the door, but Noah paid them no mind. Miss Baxton, on the other hand, used the distraction as an excuse to switch the line of conversation. “Ah, the Lewistons have arrived. I shall leave you be, Lord Noah.” She shouldered past him, and her parents excused themselves from their conversation with his father and followed after her.

But instead of going to the Lewistons, Noah stepped in front of his father. “Are the Gibbons coming this evening?”

His father scowled. “The Gibbons?”

“Yes. Miss Baxton had mentioned the Gibbons being invited this evening.”

He waited a moment, his eyes briefly flicking to the Lewistons. “Your mother did invite them, but they declined.”

“Because?”

“I believe they had dinner plans with that young chap.” His one eye wrinkled at the corner as he squinted in thought.

“Mr. Swinton?”

“Ah, yes.” His father snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

Hannah did not even like Mr. Swinton. Why would she entertain his pursuit? Nothing made sense anymore. Hannah had said she was in no rush to marry, and now she was allowing a cad like Swinton to think he had a chance at her hand.

Before Margaret could come over and claim Noah’s attention for the evening, he went to the card table where Miss Baxton sat. If he was lucky, the other spaces would be taken before Margaret had a chance to sit beside him. But luck was not his friend this evening, he realized, as he felt a hand trail lightly across his shoulders.

“What game are we playing here?” Margaret asked, standing beside him.

“Whist,” Miss Baxton said, her tone flat.

“Which is a game you hate,” Noah added.

Margaret took the seat beside him. “I am flattered you know me so well. But, since London, I have found my feelings toward the game have changed.”

“Is that so?” Noah refused to meet her eyes. If she wished to pretend things between them were normal, she would have to do that on her own. “We need a fourth,” Noah said aloud to no one in particular.

Donald took the seat across from him. “I will be your fourth.”

Noah looked up to find Donald smiling as he made himself comfortable in his seat. Then Noah’s eyes strayed to Margaret.

She was smiling. Not at him. Not at Miss Baxton. But at Donald.

What on earth was that coy look for?

“You know,” Noah said, standing and pushing his chair back, “I find I am not in the mood for whist after all. I think I shall play chess instead.” He was just about to ask his brother to play when Margaret inserted herself into his plan.

“I would love to play chess,” she said, standing.

Noah’s hands gripped the back of his chair tighter, and Donald’s gaze swung from Noah to Margaret and then back again. His mouth turned down and his eyes softened, but there wasn’t much he could do now. Donald could not invite himself to play after Margaret had imposed herself, and he was too polite to leave Miss Baxton alone.

“Very well,” Noah grumbled.

They walked over to the chess table by the window. All the while, Noah’s heart continued to beat harder against his ribs. Margaret took her seat, and Noah made the mistake of meeting his mother’s eye before he sat down. She smiled and gave him a nod, as if approving of his choice.

Her choice. His father’s choice. But what about his own choice? Once upon a time, it had been Margaret. He wouldn’t have even hesitated if asked. But now, so much had changed.

Noah finally took his seat, and Margaret smiled as she led with a pawn.

“This is nice.” She waited as Noah stared at his pieces.

He selected a pawn at random. “I’m glad you think so.” His wooden piece clacked against the board.

Margaret frowned as she looked down at her pieces, selecting another pawn. “You look well this evening. I love when you wear green. It’s my favorite color on you.”

Noah made another move, not much caring where it went. “Interesting.”

Margaret’s countenance took on an uneasy smile. “Is it? I had thought you would appreciate the compliment.”

They each took another turn. “But what is my favorite color?”

“Green of course.” She claimed one of his pawns.

He pursed his lips and moved one of his rooks. “And what is my favorite sweet?”

She shrugged. “Raisin tarts.”

“And if I had the choice of reading by myself or playing a game with a group of people, which would I choose?”

“The games of course.”

That one was correct, at least.

“Why are you here, Margaret?” He looked up to find her with wide eyes, staring at him with her bishop in hand.

“I was invited.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her shoulders bristled, but she kept her smile in place. “I am quite sure I don’t.” She moved her rook, taking one of his pawns.

“Then let me remind you.” He moved a rook and took one of her knights. “I proposed to you, and you turned me down. With little to no remorse, I might add.”

Margaret’s smile dropped, and she worked her mouth. “I was only confused. It is not uncommon for a woman to decline the first offer of marriage made to her.”

“But it wasn’t from any random fellow. It was from me. The man you sent letters to and declared you loved.”

Margaret looked about the room, then lowered her voice. “And I do.”

“Do what?” His eyes snapped to hers as he held his king in his grip.

“Love you, of course.”

Nausea, sudden and hot, roiled through his stomach. Those words had once been so familiar on her lips, and now they sounded wrong. “Do not lie to me. I am only a convenient choice for you.”

Margaret studied the board before letting out a soft sigh. “Noah, it was nothing personal.”

“It felt personal.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her neck strained. “I was only afraid that . . . well, your career wasn’t . . .”

“I wasn’t successful enough for you.”

She pursed her lips, thinking. “I realized that’s not the most important thing to me anymore. I missed you.”

When he only scoffed and sat up to move another piece, Margaret leaned over the chessboard. “Do you remember the night beneath the stars?”

His mind fought against it, but it drifted into his thoughts. “Yes,” he said, his teeth clenched.

“Then how can you say I only love you for convenience? Clearly we fell in love. I only made a mistake. But now, I am here. There is no reason we cannot pick up where we left off.”

“Do you not hear yourself? You are manipulating details to paint a picture in your favor.” He smacked his king down on the board. “Do your parents even know that I offered for you?”

She huffed a breath. After a pause, she finally answered through clenched teeth. “I don’t believe so.”

“How advantageous.”

“What has gotten into you, Noah? This isn’t like you. The Noah I once knew would have been happy to see me. He wouldn’t have hesitated to renew his offer and marry me. He loved me.” She took her turn, but made a sloppy move.

Noah took advantage and claimed a bishop. “That’s the thing, Margaret. I’m not sure I ever did.”

“Now you are just being cruel.” She made another hasty move on the board.

He snatched up another piece. “My favorite color is blue.”

“What?” She scowled.

“I said—” He leaned forward, “my favorite color is blue. Not green.”

“A simple mistake.” She pushed a piece ahead.

“My favorite sweet is lemon drops.” He took a random pawn.

Margaret shrugged as she took her turn. “That is good to know. Consider it noted.”

He flicked over her queen with his king and the soft thud echoed in his ears. “I never want you to touch me again.” He stood, gripping the edge of the small table. “Never talk to me again. Never write to me. Anything.”

She sat back in her chair, clenching her jaw as she looked at him with fire in her eyes. “After all we have been through, this is how you want to treat me?”

“I’m just glad I got to see your true colors before it was too late.” He pushed away from the table and strode toward the side door. He needed to leave before he made a scene. His temper simmered just below the surface, and he wished to get out while he still had some semblance of control. He burst through the front door, breathing in the cool air and clearing his head.

“Noah!”

He clenched his fist but stopped his hurried steps. Turning around, his shoulders sagged. “What is it, Father?”

His father stopped several feet away. “What just happened in there? I feel I deserve an explanation if you are going to be rude and walk out on company in my home. Friends of yours, I might add.”

“I just can’t—” He threw his head back, shutting his eyes. “I can’t pretend anymore. I’m sorry.” He pulled his head upright. “I don’t want to fail or disappoint you and Mother, but I can’t pretend things are the same with Margaret since she left for London.”

“Why? She does not seem to have changed.”

He swallowed. She hadn’t changed. That was the frustrating thing about it. Yes, her actions toward him were more desperate, but other than that, she was the same Margaret as always. “Then maybe I have changed.”

“Is this because of Miss Gibbons?” His tone clearly conveyed he did not approve.

Noah swallowed. Yes, it was because of Hannah. Because she made him see what a healthy friendship could look like. One in which both parties helped the other. “In a matter of words, yes. But things changed before that.”

“It cannot be something so bad that it is worth throwing away our friend’s daughter for.”

“Father, really. I am sorry, but things with Margaret—”

“Her parents expect you to propose, Noah.”

“I tried!” Noah finally snapped. “I told her I loved her. I proposed to her.” He slapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other with each point. “And then she said no, that she was going to London.”

His father jerked back. “What do you mean you proposed to her? When?”

“The night of the Lindfields’ ball.”

“But—” His father glanced toward the house before turning back. “You never told us this, Noah.”

“I didn’t want to ruin things between Mother and Mrs. Lewiston. I assumed Margaret would come back engaged and no one would even know that I had proposed, nor would they care because Margaret would have moved on. But then she came back. And was very decidedly still single.”

His father put a hand to his chin as he glanced back at the house once more. It was as if he couldn’t quite comprehend the new information. “So ever since she came back, you had already been rejected by her.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I was torn because I don’t wish to be with her anymore. I had offered for her, and I knew it was what you and Mother wanted—”

His father held a hand up. “Slow down. This is a lot to take in.” He sighed, rubbing his brow. “We didn’t have all the information. If she refused you, then you have no obligation to her.”

Exhaustion crept through Noah’s extremities. Nerves had been running through him like stallions left to run free, but now the stampede came to a halt, and he wanted nothing more than to shove his face into his pillow and go to bed. “I am tired. Please give my sympathies for my untimely departure. I cannot go back in there. Margaret and I had . . . words.”

His father put a hand to his brow. “Blast, Noah. I really wish you had told us sooner.”

“I am sorry,” he said, looking down at the gravel.

“I will say you felt ill and had to leave.”

“Thank you.” Noah turned to go home.

“And Noah?”

He stopped in his tracks. “Yes?”

Gravel crunched as his father walked up behind him and put a hand to his shoulder. “I am sorry too. We will talk tomorrow. All right?”

Noah nodded. “All right.”