Chapter 7
“I fear you misunderstood my meaning, Miss Eden,” Mr. Hatcher said at last, the words coming carefully, each one placed with more thought than any he had spoken that evening.
His expression had already begun to recover, the shock smoothing into something more measured, more controlled.
“If I have given you cause to think… Well, I would not wish to mislead you.”
Nora’s smile only widened. “Mislead me? You have been very clear in your intentions. So attentive. So complimentary. I did not see it at first, but there is no way to mistake your intentions when you say you do not wish to relinquish your time with me. I have never heard such a tender, earnest declaration.”
Mr. Hatcher drew in a breath, his composure holding, though it required clear effort now. “You are very kind. But I believe you place far too much weight upon a few minor compliments—”
“It was hardly a few. And hardly minor,” she said with a sigh worthy of a lovesick young lady. “Mr. Hatcher, your words have altered more than my evening. They have shifted the course of my life.”
His mouth opened, though whatever he meant to say faltered before it could form.
The gentleman’s composure did not collapse—he was far too well-trained for that—but it strained in a manner that was impossible to miss.
He searched for footing, for some phrase that might ease them back onto safer ground without giving offense, without closing a door he clearly did not wish to shut.
Even now, caught so neatly in her trap, he sought a way out that would leave her good opinion intact.
Else he would lose whatever advantage he’d gained by approaching her in the first place.
Nora saw it in the slight hesitation before he spoke, in the way his gaze flickered, not in panic alone, but in consideration.
Mr. Hatcher was not merely flustered. He was thinking.
For a fleeting moment, something in her softened. The urge to press further faltered as she watched him attempt to disentangle himself with what dignity he could salvage. Mr. Hatcher had been kind in so many ways, and Nora wasn’t certain how kind it was to toy with him.
But the moment passed, swept away in a flood of memories. This was a dance she knew all too well, and Nora was determined to find some enjoyment in it. Heaven knew the gentlemen of London had used her often enough.
“To think, I was prepared to retreat into my book, to endure another tiresome night, and instead—” She drew a breath, her hand pressing briefly to her chest as though the force of her feelings required it. “Instead, I find myself changed. Forever—”
“I am not courting you,” blurted Mr. Hatcher, the words coming too quickly, as though breaking free of his control. He drew in a breath and steadied himself. “You mistake me. Entirely. I never intended—”
He stopped, as though the phrasing would not serve, and began again.
“I never meant to raise your expectations. I only hoped to make your acquaintance. To speak with you. Nothing more.” His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to her with an effort that did not go unnoticed.
“This was my brother’s plan. I disagreed with it—argued most ardently against it, in fact—but we never intended to raise your expectations.
I was persuaded that there was no harm in befriending you. ”
Mr. Hatcher shifted in place, his brow furrowed as his eyes fixed upon the ground.
“I know that is a poor excuse, but my brother is desperate to make your father’s acquaintance, and though his plan was genuinely the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard—and entirely out of character for him—he is my brother and has done so much for me. I couldn’t say no.”
Finally straightening, and with clear effort, Mr. Hatcher met her gaze, his eyes pleading for her to believe him. “I am deeply sorry.”
There was no evasion left in him now, no careful phrasing designed to preserve advantage. Whatever calculations had occupied his thoughts before had fallen away, leaving something far simpler and genuine behind. Mr. Hatcher meant his apology.
The certainty of that settled in, steady and undeniable, stripping the moment of its playfulness with a force she had not anticipated.
But then, she hadn’t expected him to own up.
Certainly, some thought it best to be direct, but there always remained an edge of calculation to their tone and words.
Here stood a man who had misstepped, recognized it, and chose to admit it.
“Please forgive me,” he added. “Though I certainly do not deserve it.”
Stepping back, Nora wrinkled her nose. “If we are being truthful, I will admit that I recognized your game some time ago. You are not the first to attempt to win my good opinion for Papa’s sake—though this is by far the most unusual approach.”
The tension that had held him upright eased all at once, and Mr. Hatcher let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping as though some unseen weight had been lifted. He stepped back without thinking, finding the nearest bench and dropping onto it, his posture deflating.
Then, as though realizing his audience, the gentleman snapped upright with a wince.
“I beg your pardon. That was poorly done,” he said quickly, rubbing his brow. “It isn’t that you are unappealing as far as sweethearts go, but I have no wish to marry, and that makes me ill-suited to the role.”
Straightening her skirts, Nora waved that aside.
“As I have no intention of shackling myself to a husband, I do not begrudge you for feeling the same.” Pausing, she considered that and slanted him an amused look.
“And the abject fear in your expression when you grasped my meaning was terribly entertaining. I was looking for a diversion tonight, and you served that purpose admirably, so I hold no ill will toward you, Mr. Hatcher.”
The gentleman’s brows rose at that, the faintest spark of his earlier ease returning to his expression as he pushed himself upright. “Served my purpose? Miss Eden, I cannot decide whether I ought to be flattered or deeply offended.”
“I recommend the former,” Nora replied lightly.
“Do you?” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. “To think I was merely a diversion.”
Nora allowed herself a small smile at that, the last of the earlier tension easing from her shoulders, and the distant music drifted from the Dunnings’ windows, adding a magical quality to the night as the gas lamps shivered. Neither spoke for a moment, the silence settling peacefully.
“I do hope you will not hold this against my brother,” added Mr. Hatcher in a quiet tone. “He is not usually so… imbecilic.”
“My father likes to say that if you must tell someone you are something, then you are not,” replied Nora with a raised brow. “If he isn’t imbecilic, I would think his actions would reflect that.”
Crossing his arms, Mr. Hatcher nodded. “I agree, but do not discount the power of desperation. Eden though his attention appeared fixed elsewhere, there was a tautness to the gentleman’s stillness that betrayed him entirely.
Nora’s lips twitched as she released Mr. Hatcher’s arm and continued past the lurking brother at an unhurried pace; she did not slow, nor did she acknowledge her quarry, though she felt his attention follow her all the same.
The little alcove remained mostly empty, and Nora reclaimed her chair once more as she withdrew the yellowback.
And with that, Mademoiselle Adèle’s story reclaimed her.