Chapter 4
Three Years Later
A blaze of light filled the vast drawing room, the chandelier’s countless crystals scattering the candlelight across gilded cornices and painted ceilings.
The air shimmered with motion; silk and satin swept across the polished floor as couples turned in time to the music, the measured strains of violins singing above the rhythmic pulse of the orchestra.
Flowers spilled from vases in soft abundance, and along the edges, clusters of guests gathered in tight circles, their laughter and conversation weaving through the space in a constant murmur.
The press of bodies warmed the air as the night settled into its full height, the energy carrying the evening forward in a tide of sound, light, and motion.
Mr. Haskett’s hand remained steady at her waist as he guided her through the turn, his steps precise, his attention fixed where it ought to be. Nora matched him without effort, her movements as steady and fluid as the music itself.
Her partner droned on, his voice an accompaniment to the dance as he touched upon the prospects of the Season, the likelihood of favorable weather, the anticipated assemblies and dinners that filled every calendar.
It was the sort of pleasant, unremarkable conversation that required little beyond the occasional inclination of her head, and she gave what was expected of her, though her thoughts slipped their tether.
Nora’s gaze swept the room as they turned, and faces passed in a steady procession, some familiar enough to place without effort, others known only in passing, and still more entirely unknown to her.
How curious to consider how all these lives intersected for this moment beneath this roof, each person moving through a world that was as real and complete as Nora’s own, though entirely separate from it.
A couple came into view, and for all that they comported themselves with all the dignity and respectability required of this setting, they did not stand with that careful distance that propriety demanded, but the nearness of an unguarded moment.
The gentleman’s hand rested at the lady’s waist with an intention that reached beyond the dance whilst her hand rested on his shoulder with the quiet certainty of one who felt free to touch.
This was no overt display, nothing that might draw comment from the room at large, and yet there was something so private about it.
A glance held a fraction too long. Words exchanged in lowered tones, meant for no one else.
The way they moved, not in time with the music but with one another.
This was a stolen moment during a crowded evening, and the world beyond held no power over them.
“Miss Eden?”
Nora’s attention returned to him at once, her hand steady where it rested upon Mr. Haskett’s shoulder as they turned. “I beg your pardon. I fear my thoughts wandered.”
“I was saying,” he continued, his tone easy and unremarkable, “I understand you traveled the Continent for some time. Did you find it agreeable?”
“I did,” Nora replied.
“And the scenery?” he asked. “Is it as fine as people claim?”
“It is,” she said, inclining her head.
“I had planned on traveling after my studies concluded, but an opportunity arose that I could not delay, so I remain in England for the sake of my position,” replied Mr. Haskett. “But I should very much like to see it for myself one day.”
“I am certain you will.”
The exchange settled there for a moment before he asked yet another question that required little consideration and even fewer words to answer.
They were the same ones Nora had been asked dozens of times in drawing rooms and at dinner tables.
Even those queries that had required some thought once upon a time held no interest after having answered them so many times before.
Which cities and countries had she visited?
Which were her favorites? Where did she suggest they visit when they inevitably followed in her footsteps?
No doubt Mr. Haskett thought his questions unique (just as everyone had before him), yet they were so similar that Nora could guess what was to be asked before the words were spoken.
The final notes of the waltz rose and fell, and Mr. Haskett brought them to a smooth halt, releasing her with a polite bow before escorting her toward the edge of the floor. Almost immediately, a small circle formed about her, drawing her into conversation.
The topics shifted with little effort. The ball.
The season. Who had arrived, who had not, what might be expected in the coming weeks.
It was all familiar ground, navigated without thought.
Nora received it all with the same composed attention, her responses measured and her smile appropriate when required, allowing the current to carry her along.
“I hear there is to be a number of new ventures this spring,” said Mr. Carlisle, his tone turning more intent. “Several promising speculations are already being whispered about. It is to be a profitable year, it seems.”
“That is always the case at the start of the Season when everyone descends upon Town,” replied Mr. Haskett.
“For all that men like to hold themselves up as paragons, far too high and mighty to resort to gossip, we are eager to titter over every possibility, guessing who among our ranks will succeed and who will be ruined.”
A soft laugh passed through the group. And Nora waited for the inevitable shift that was to come. Everyone thought themselves so clever when attempting to wheedle secrets from her, completely unaware of how uninspired their efforts were.
“There is a certain gentleman who never struggles with such matters,” said Mr. Pembroke, with a knowing lift of his brow.
“Indeed,” added Mrs. Carlisle, her fan moving in a slow, thoughtful arc. “There is scarcely an investment in London worth making that does not pass beneath his notice first.”
The tone shifted as they discussed the successes afforded to the clients of Eden she simply wished they weren’t so keen to dump their dissatisfaction upon her.
Mr. Haskett huffed. “And where would that be? Everyone knows Mr. Eden is one of the best private bankers in the country. If not the best of his kind. Having him manage your investments is like printing your own money.”
“Quite right,” said Mr. Carlisle at once, recovering himself. “Any man of sense would eagerly entrust his fortune to Mr. Eden if given the opportunity.”
“I should think so,” added Mr. Pembroke. “The results speak for themselves.”
Mrs. Carlisle batted her fan. “If there is a safer pair of hands, I have yet to hear of it.”
“You are all so quick to defend him,” said Mrs. Windsor, finally daring to meet Nora’s gaze. “Yet what defense can you give for his withholding payment to my husband? There is money owed—”
“Madam, do you truly believe that one of the most generous gentlemen in the city is stealing from you?” asked Mr. Haskett with all the incredulity that such a question warranted.
“I doubt there is a charitable institute in London that hasn’t benefited from his kindness.
Yet you believe he is stingy with a few thousand pounds? That is ridiculous!”
Mrs. Windsor clutched her glass. “I only know what my husband said, and I trust his opinion far more than anyone here.”
“Many a man has blamed others for his losses,” said Mr. Haskett with a vague wave of his hand, and Mr. Pembroke’s gaze darted away from Mrs. Windsor as he covered his smirk with a drink.
“I am sorry you find my father’s business so unsatisfactory,” said Nora with a strained tone. “But I would remind you that investing is called speculation for a reason. It is always a gamble. I do not know what you wish me to do about it, madam.”
Glancing about the group, Nora turned away. “Now, if you will forgive me, I have a novel that cannot be put off any longer.”
“Come now, Miss Eden,” said Mr. Pembroke, motioning to the festivities. “Do not escape so soon—”
But Nora was quite happy to stride away.
The crowd parted before her with little resistance, the flow of the room shifting just enough to accommodate her passage as she moved along the edge of the floor.
Laughter rose and fell behind her, the music pressing onward without pause, yet it all receded as she fixed her attention ahead, seeking a quiet corner in which to hide.