Page 7 of A Beguiled Gentleman (The Bradley Brothers #1)

Chapter 7

Noah walked up the front steps of Willowcrest, looking forward to an evening with his family. The meals alone at home were growing tiresome, especially when all he could picture was Margaret sitting opposite him at the table. It had been three weeks, and thus far, the memory of what he had hoped would be had yet to relent. The evenings were worse than the mornings. During the day, he could occupy himself with planning for his upcoming trial or writing correspondence, but in the evening, the silence in his home was an ever-present reminder that Margaret was not there and never would be.

He walked through the front door, held open for him by a footman, and strode into the familiar entryway. This felt like home. Not the dower house with its empty halls and rooms. And now he wondered why he was even staying there. He had no plans for a family at the moment, so perhaps he should just move back and be where there were people who loved and cared about him. Though, he would have to bring Egerton along as a valet of sorts, for Noah was quite certain the older man would miss him.

Donald walked around the corner, smiling upon seeing him, with Peter clipping along at his heels like a smaller, lighter shadow. Donald bore the attention with his usual degree of patience while Peter was home between terms at Cambridge.

“Noah,” Donald greeted, walking toward him. “Good to have you home. It’s been too quiet around here with you gone.”

Peter came alongside Donald, his sandy-colored hair groomed to perfection. “Excuse me,” he said, elbowing his brother and making him laugh. Donald reached over, about to ruffle Peter’s hair as he smiled, but Peter reached up and stopped him just in time.

“I highly doubt you’ve even felt my absence,” Noah said. “Mother entertains frequently enough that these halls hardly know what silence is.”

“That is true. And yet, she hates it. Strange.” Donald stuck his hands into his pockets, smirking.

“I heard that.” Their mother walked down the stairs, playfully narrowing her gaze as she came over to them. “I do not hate entertaining. I simply find it draining.”

“Then why do it so frequently?” Donald asked.

She sighed, then raised her chin. “I feel it is my duty. And I still have sons to marry off.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed, but Noah felt as if a knife had stabbed into his stomach. He forced a smile so she wouldn’t know what her words did to him. He had only told Donald that he had proposed to Margaret. Noah didn’t want the rejection to add a strain to their family’s relationship with the Lewistons. They dined with them once a week, and his mother and Mrs. Lewiston were the closest of friends. Noah wasn’t sure how his mother would respond when she found out he had been jilted by their daughter.

“Noah,” his mother asked, looking him over. “Are you all right?”

He jerked his head up. “Of course. I am only wondering who the other guests will be for dinner tonight.”

She watched him for a moment, as if she didn’t completely believe him. But without evidence to the contrary, she pressed on. “With Peter home for break and with the Lewiston’s in London, I decided to invite some new friends. You know the Gibbons.”

“Yes,” he answered with a nod. “I took their daughter on a picnic at your request.”

His mother grinned. “And now they will be here for dinner.”

“How very convenient,” Noah muttered.

“Anyone else?” Donald asked.

“Curious if Mother invited a young lady for you?” Noah chuckled.

“I have invited the Baxton family as well. Though, I only did so to see if Miss Baxton and Miss Gibbons got on. I do not think Miss Gibbons has made many friends yet.”

“Miss Baxton?” Noah’s brow crinkled.

“Why do you ask with such concern?” his mother asked. “They are both accomplished, gently bred young ladies. I see no reason they would not get along.”

Miss Baxton was a kind young woman, but from what Noah knew of her, she had a bit of a flair for the dramatic. Which, paired with Miss Gibbon’s nature, could prove entertaining. Noah rubbed his mouth, trying to hide the smile that came unbidden to his lips, before he gave a slight wave. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

“I have also invited the Hills,” she continued, watching Noah curiously, “as they are greatly missing their son now that he has wed and moved out. And then the Moores are coming as well.”

“Goodness,” Donald said beneath his breath. “This is a large gathering.”

“Believe it or not—” their mother put a hand to the emerald necklace around her throat—“I find hosting a large crowd easier than a small one.”

“Because?” Noah asked, rolling his hand in the air.

“Because there are more people to converse with each other and fewer chances for uncomfortable silences that I feel the need to fill.”

Donald dipped his head, sighing. “Fair enough. Though I may find myself with a headache shortly after dinner.

“You shall do no such thing, Donald.” Their mother glared at him—her brow in its signature bow, which warned of trouble if the one receiving said look did not comply. How many times had Noah and his brothers been given such a look over the years? Too many to count.

“You know I do not like large social events,” Donald said, his voice low.

“As the future marquess, you had better get used to it.”

He straightened, his mouth pinched.

“Now,” she said, her eyes glancing over the brothers as she clasped her hands in front of her. “I expect you three to be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, Mother,” the brothers said in unison.

“Good. I will be speaking with Mrs. Bamber if any of you need me.”

She walked off to talk to their cook, leaving Noah, Donald, and Peter to chuckle to themselves.

Peter glanced toward the hall. “I’m going to sneak into the kitchen and see if Mrs. Bamber set aside a roll or two for me. I am starved.”

As their rail of a brother made his way to the kitchen, Donald smiled after him. His smile faded, however, as he looked down at Noah. Why did Noah’s older, broader brother also have to tower over him? It didn’t seem fair.

“Have you not told her?” Donald asked.

“About Margaret?”

Donald quirked a brow.

Noah let out a sigh. “No. I do not want it to affect her friendship with Mrs. Lewiston.”

“It could make for an uncomfortable evening if Mother were to invite the Lewistons over for dinner.”

“I suppose.” Noah looked up at the ceiling. “But I have at least eight weeks until they return from London. And even then, Margaret will likely—” his voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “—likely be happily engaged.”

Donald’s eyes filled with pity as he watched Noah do his best to keep his composure. Donald had always been the most stoic of the five brothers, while Noah was easily the most emotional. He had often been teased for it growing up, but he had never minded, for his brothers all teased each other. Noah for being whiny and emotional, Archie for his wild blond hair and ever-present smile, Donald for always trying to keep them in line, Anthony for his ridiculous efforts to seem dark and mysterious, and Peter always got the short end of the stick merely for being the youngest.

Donald put a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Mother said Miss Gibbons would be here tonight. And Miss Baxton. They are both lovely ladies.”

“Yes, but there is only one problem.”

Donald’s brow rose as he waited.

“They aren’t Margaret.”

“What can I do to cheer you up? Anything? Anything at all?” Donald slapped Noah’s shoulder in a good-natured gesture.

Noah hid his wince, knowing Donald would tease him if he admitted his smack had hurt him. But goodness, Donald had never known his own strength. “No, nothing that comes to mind.”

“Be sure to let me know if you think of anything.” When Noah nodded, Donald released his vise-like grip on Noah’s shoulder, turned, and walked toward the back hall.

Dinner wouldn’t be served for another hour, so Noah took the opportunity to go up to the library and read in his favorite leather armchair to bide his time. As he walked up to the second floor, an inexplicable pull led him down the hall and to the fourth door on the right of the east wing. He swung the door open, then stepped into the familiar room.

Walking over to the window, the floor creaked as he passed by the footboard of his old bed, just as it always had. His feet led him to the small writing desk tucked in the corner, and he sat, mindlessly opening its drawers and pulling out whatever he found. And what he found was a stack of letters from Margaret, which they had secretly passed to each other over the last six months.

A hardness balled up his stomach as he leafed through the pages, her handwriting beautiful and familiar. If he were wise, he would burn them along with any memories they shared. But he was apparently not a wise man, as he shoved the letters into the drawer, tucking them as far back as he could before slamming the drawer shut. Then he laid his head on the hard surface of the wood. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he swiped it away with an angry jerk of his palm. He shouldn’t have come here, tearing open wounds that were just starting to scab over.

He lifted his head, pushed back against the desk, and stood. His feet quickened toward the door, needing to be out of this room. He kept telling himself to move on and heal, yet his actions proved he was not willing. Instead of moving forward, he kept ruminating on what could have been and letting it fester. He wasn’t even sure how to move on.

Entering the hall, Noah planned to head to the library, as that seemed a much safer space to be. But as he made it to the stairs, voices caught his attention from below.

Noah turned to go down, preferring the company of people to the silence of books. He did not need Shakespeare making matters concerning the heart worse.

“Yes, my son Noah will be dining with us this evening.” His mother’s words were faint from the other room.

Noah descended the stairs, making his way to the sitting room where they always received guests. Upon entering, a head of fiery red hair turned. Miss Gibbons locked eyes with him, a whisper of a smile still on her lips. She stood beside her parents, who were quietly conversing with the Hills by the bookshelf along the far wall.

Noah’s spirits lifted as he strode toward them, knowing Miss Gibbons always had a way of entertaining him—whether it was intentional or not. “Good evening, Miss Gibbons,” Noah said as he made it to the group. He dipped into a small bow.

“Good evening, Lord Noah.” Her gaze roamed over his face, and whatever she saw caused her brow to furrow. And just when he thought she would ask how he fared, she surprised him with a completely different question. “How is your business going?” She spoke confidently, but her voice lowered just enough to not draw the attention of the people around them.

“I have been preparing for my upcoming case. I have two weeks yet before I am to present it.”

This gave Miss Gibbons pause, her eyes peering at the wall as she thought. “I would be greatly interested in the details if you would feel comfortable sharing them with me after dinner.”

Noah chuckled. “Surely you do not wish to listen to me gabble on about something so boring.”

“Of course I do.” Her eyes snapped back to him, the scowl on her brow deepening.

“You are in earnest.” Another laugh slipped out, but this young woman was most peculiar, and he found himself laughing when in her company more often than not.

Miss Gibbons discreetly glanced over at her parents before looking back at him. “I told you to keep me abreast of your affairs. Did you think I was teasing?”

“I suppose I thought the subject would eventually bore you. But apparently I was wrong.” His mouth quirked up into a grin.

“Yes, you were. And I expect to hear all about your case when we can get a word—” She stopped and mouthed, alone .

“You need only name the hour.”

This seemed to appease her as her facial features finally relaxed and she bobbed her head in agreement. “Very good.”

Noah spoke to Mr. Baxton, his father, and Donald until dinner was announced, and then he sidled up beside Miss Gibbons. “May I escort you to dinner?”

She smiled and nodded, taking his arm.

They walked into the dining room, and Noah pulled out the chair for Miss Gibbons before taking the chair beside her. The first course was brought out in only a moment.

“So,” Miss Gibbons began, holding her spoon full of soup above her bowl. “Is there anything you wish to share?”

“Please tell me what you wish to hear and I will be happy to oblige.”

She took a quiet sip, then dipped her spoon again. “I only ask because you appeared . . . distraught when you came downstairs.”

This again? Women rarely asked him such personal things. And yet, Miss Gibbons asked them as if she were inquiring after the weather.

“Have I overstepped?” She spun her head toward him, the corner of her mouth turned down. “I am sorry. You had seemed upset, and I wanted to help. But if it is too much, please disregard my statement.”

“No,” Noah quickly said. “I was only surprised.” He dipped his own spoon into the white bean soup, taking a moment to consider before swallowing. Its thick warmth soothed the ache that had formed earlier whilst trying not to cry over those stupid letters. Letters that were filled with words and declarations that used to bring him comfort but now only brought heartache. Letters he never should have unearthed and perused, let alone kept and tucked away to pine and cry over again.

“Lord Noah?” Miss Gibbons’s voice startled him, and he dropped his spoon.

“Forgive me.” He fisted one hand beneath the table and swiped his brow with the other. “I was lost in thought.”

“So I see.” Her smile was warm and sweet, and for the first time that evening, he took the time to appreciate how lovely she looked. Her hair was beautifully arranged, the color practically glowing under the candlelight and set off against a deep green dress.

And he was still preoccupied.

“I had only found something personal in my old room upstairs. Letters. They brought up unpleasant feelings, I am afraid.”

“From Miss Lewiston?”

He nodded, dipping his head down and taking another spoonful of soup. It was warm and comforting, and he was tempted to tip the bowl back and empty its contents in all but a few swallows—if only to fill himself with something other than the ache that haunted him.

Miss Gibbons straightened, her gaze distant as that scowl of hers formed again.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She shook her head, her mouth pulling to the side. “I cannot imagine someone having such a personal relationship and then doing what she did to you. It is so unfeeling. So . . .” her words trailed off as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate motion. “I am sorry. It only makes me angry to think of. I hope you will not waste many thoughts on her, for she does not deserve it.”

Luckily, the other guests were all having a raucous conversation about their days in school, brought on by Peter’s presence, and were paying Noah and Miss Gibbons no mind. One of the few benefits of being the fourth son, Noah supposed.

But Noah’s attention was now fixated on Miss Gibbons and her heartfelt words. “I thank you for saying so. But I fear it is not an easy task.” He looked at his lap, adjusting his napkin across his leg. “She and I have known one another for such a long time. And for the last six months, she was my every thought.”

Noah felt Miss Gibbons’s stare, so he glanced up, meeting her green eyes.

She blinked. “She was a lucky woman to receive so much admiration from you.”

“You make me blush, Miss Gibbons,” he teased, smiling.

She dipped her head. “You know what I mean. For a woman to hold such regard in any man’s eyes would be a gift.”

“Any man?” He leaned closer, wanting to make her smile again. “What about a thief?”

To this, she rolled her eyes even as her lips grinned. “You understand what I meant.”

“Ah, yes. I know. A dandy who wears ruffled sleeves and collars?”

Her chest jerked as she held in a laugh, and she picked up her napkin, wiping her mouth.

“Or,” he continued, “perhaps you prefer powdered wigs and buckled shoes?”

“Well,” she said, then cleared her throat. “They were the height of fashion.”

“Perhaps twenty years ago.” He tilted his head. “Unless you are partial to it? I think my father may have a wig tucked away in the attic. Shall I go fetch it and ask Donald to wear it for you?”

A loud, beautiful laugh rose from Miss Gibbons’s lips—and every head at the table whipped toward them.

Mr. Gibbons looked from his daughter to his wife, while Mrs. Gibbons looked torn between horror and wanting to censure her daughter.

“Excuse me,” Miss Gibbons said, returning to her soup.

Soon, the low murmur of voices resumed about the table, but Noah’s dinner partner was much less talkative.

“Is something wrong?” Noah asked, leaning closer.

The servants came by, taking away their empty bowls and replacing them with mackerel served with mint.

Miss Gibbons kept her gaze down. “My parents do not like when I draw attention.”

He had not thought her laugh inappropriate, yet it had obviously caused her distress. “Because?”

“Because then we have to leave.” Miss Gibbons stared at her plate, but made no move to eat any of it. The spark and fire had left her eyes, and Noah felt guilty that he was the one who made it disappear.

“Why would you have to leave?”

“I—” She stopped, seemingly thinking over her words. “I can be a bit impetuous at times. And as a young woman who is not yet married, that is not always a good trait to have.”

“But it was only a laugh. Surely there is nothing wrong with that.”

She lifted her eyes to her plate, but no further. “You do not understand. They are overly sensitive of my actions after some mishaps in the past.”

Noah looked up to find Mrs. Gibbons had redirected her attention to the other guests. “I see,” he said. He glanced back at Miss Gibbons. “May I say something to that?”

She raised her gaze. “Of course.”

“I appreciate what you have done for me, and I would like to return whatever small favor I can. I hope you will always feel comfortable to be yourself with me.”

Her eyes glimmered in the candlelight as she studied him. For his sincerity? He let her think as long as she needed, for she would find he was sincere. She allowed him to sulk and be sullen when he needed to be, so why would he ask her to be anything other than herself?

“Thank you, Lord Noah. That is very kind of you to say.”

“I feel like we have made quick friends, you and I.”

She smiled. “I quite agree.”