Page 9 of A Beguiled Gentleman (The Bradley Brothers #1)
Chapter 9
Hannah walked into her home with her small satchel of candy in hand and a lemon drop melting on her tongue. Her spirits had been lifted by her unexpected company, and a new vigor for the day had emerged. What an intriguing young man Lord Noah was. He was handsome, attentive, kind—for the life of her, Hannah could not figure out why Miss Lewiston turned him away. Lord Noah wanted nothing more than to provide a comfortable life to have a family. She ached to know what that would be like. To have a love so secure from your parents that you could not help but want to replicate it for your own life.
Perhaps this town was what Hannah’s family needed. A place to call home once and for all. They could put down roots. She could find friends, like Miss Baxton from dinner at the Bradleys’ home the other night. Hannah might even be able to find love.
The small town of Warthford was her oyster.
Hannah’s mother whisked by with their housekeeper, Mrs. Mowatt, on her heel, pointing at the walls as Mrs. Mowatt nodded along.
Hannah watched them as her mind continued to whir with possibilities. This town could be the opportunity for Hannah to find a place, and in doing so, find a common footing with her parents. If she did as they desired, they might not look at her with that familiar gleam in their eyes. The one of expectations and possibilities for their social status.
“Mother,” Hannah said, striding toward her and Mrs. Mowatt.
“Oh, Hannah, wherever have you been?” She turned with a furrow on her brow.
Hannah forced an easy smile. “I was out for a walk, accompanied by Joyce, of course,” she added as her mother scowled, “and we happened upon Lord Noah.”
“Lord Noah, you say?” Her mother lifted her chin. “That is very good. Very good indeed.” She waved her hand, turning and giving Mrs. Mowatt further instructions about which painting to have placed in the spot they stared at.
“It was a very nice walk.” Hannah cleared her throat. “I was only wondering if you wished to go back into town with me.”
“Town? Now?”
“Yes,” Hannah began. “I saw a small shop that was quite darling. I thought we might go and look at the wares.”
Her mother sighed, putting a hand to her head before turning toward Hannah. “Lady Chatham and her sons are coming to dine here this week. I do not have time for such a venture right now.”
The Bradleys were coming to dine? It was a wonder Lord Noah hadn’t mentioned it on their walk. Unless he wasn’t coming. When one lived in the dower house, were they included in dinner invitations?
“Hannah?”
Her attention was brought back to the present. “Sorry. I was only thinking. If we are having the Bradleys over for dinner, it would be nice to have a new pair of evening gloves. Mine seem to have a spot on them that won’t come out.”
Mrs. Mowatt pinched her lips, and Hannah nearly rushed out another reason. It hadn’t been her intention to insult the staff’s work. The truth was, Hannah only wanted to try and rebuild the relationship she once had with her mother. There was a time when things between them were not so tense. But with every move, emotions only grew more strained between them. Her mother’s demands grew more difficult to attain, and Hannah’s actions were further scrutinized.
“New gloves, you say?” Her mother’s words were distant. Distracted. She continued to stare at the wall. “No, Mrs. Mowatt. I do believe I’ve changed my mind. Put the Constable painting here. The white wall will make the green of the landscape stand out better.”
“Yes,” Hannah continued. “Or even a new gown if we are to have company.”
This caught her mother’s attention. “We just had five made.”
“And we haven’t picked them up yet.” Hannah’s fingers itched in her grasp. “We could see if they are ready.”
Her mother spun toward the wall, tapping her chin, before she sighed. “Very well. Let us go to the modiste. I want us all to look our best when Lady Chatham and her family come. Including this house.”
“And then, since we are already out, we could go into the shop I saw.”
“Hm?” Her mother asked with a lifted brow. “Oh. Yes. I suppose we could. But then we must hurry home.”
Hannah already had her reticule in hand, but she hastened upstairs to put her sweets into her wardrobe, tucking them toward the back. And then she met her mother outside, where their coach already awaited them.
The ride into town was short, but her mother was not fond of walking for leisure. When they arrived at the modiste, Hannah hoped her gowns would be ready, or else she feared her mother would rush them back home.
As they entered the shop, they were met with a room flooded with natural light from large, arched windows framing the back wall. Bolts of fabrics lined shelves all around the store. As Hannah glanced about, her eyes snagged on a familiar young woman.
“Miss Baxton,” she said, a smile growing across her lips. Hannah strode over to her. “It is so good to see you again.”
“Miss Gibbons.” Miss Baxton reached out and took her hand. “A pleasure. What brings you to Miss Dupont’s shop?”
“New gowns, Miss Baxton,” Hannah’s mother said, walking up beside her. “We ordered several the other week and are hoping they might be ready.”
“New gowns,” Miss Baxton said with envy in her eyes. “As in, numerous gowns?”
“Of course.” Hannah’s mother smiled, then walked toward the counter to speak with the store owner, Miss Dupont, who promptly disappeared into the back room after a short word with Hannah’s mother.
Miss Baxton stared at Hannah, her mouth slightly open.
“Miss Baxton, how have you been since we last visited?” See? Hannah could be the polite, social young woman society wanted.
“Bored out of my mind,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Hannah covered her mouth, attempting to smother a laugh. But then Miss Baxton’s serious facade cracked as she smiled. “Truly though. Please have tea with us soon. I need the company, and Mother has tired of bringing me into town every day.”
“Every day?” Hannah asked, intrigued. Her own mother came when needed, but doing so just for the fun of it was not a common occurrence.
“Trust me, Miss Gibbons,” Mrs. Baxton said over her shoulder. “It is better than listening to her ramble on for hours on end.” She softened her words with a smile, looking toward her daughter.
“Please,” Miss Baxton insisted, taking Hannah’s arm. “Come and visit. And I shall return the favor.”
Hannah smiled. “All right. That should not be a problem. Assuming my mother can spare me for a time.”
“Of course she can.” Mrs. Baxton held a pair of gloves up for inspection. “We mothers need a break every now and again.”
Miss Baxton laughed. “Mother. You truly are incorrigible.”
“Why else do you think mothers are always trying to marry off their daughters?” Mrs. Baxton raised her brow in jest, but Hannah’s smile tightened with her remark.
“I will plan on it,” Hannah said. “It sounds lovely.”
Mrs. Gibbons turned from the counter and walked back to their small group. “Two of the dresses are ready and the others will be ready next week. But we might as well have you try on the two that are finished while we are here.”
“Yes. Of course. Please, excuse me, Miss Baxton.” Hannah nodded. “Mrs. Baxton.”
“We shall have you over soon,” Hannah’s mother said, smiling as she took Hannah by the arm and steered her toward the back of the shop. In only a moment, Hannah was being slipped into a lovely peach-colored evening gown, and a stab of guilt jolted her stomach. Not every young woman was afforded new gowns with every town they came to. Hannah’s mother viewed it as a way to be seen, to get attention, and to let the small-town gossip run wild as they heard of her expensive order.
Hannah pushed the thought aside. This town was going to be different. They wouldn’t have to leave and start over again. Hannah would make sure of it.