Chapter 18
Miss Eden studied him for a long, agonizing moment, and Jonathan refused to fidget.
“I am available tomorrow,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow, it is,” he said, turning his gaze back to the stage.
“But I expect you to give me a detailed review of the latest book you read,” she added with a smile in her voice.
“Am I expected to present a full report like when I was a schoolboy?”
Miss Eden shook her head. “You needn’t go to such lengths. I simply wish to ensure you are truly reading it and not spouting fibs to appease me.”
The teasing remark struck far closer to home than Miss Eden could possibly realize.
Jonathan felt it immediately, a faint tightening low in his chest that left the warmth of the moment sitting suddenly alongside something considerably less comfortable.
The evening had become crowded with half-truths and omissions until he no longer knew quite where the line rested between truth and fibs.
And still Miss Eden looked at him with open amusement and easy trust, opera glasses lifting to peer at the stage whilst the tragedy below pressed onward toward its inevitable conclusion.
The mournful swell of the orchestra filled the theater, wrapping itself through every box and corridor and ringing through Jonathan with melancholy power.
***
Cool night air swept across Nora’s face the moment they stepped beyond the wall of people surrounding the opera house, carrying with it the mingled scents of damp stone, horses, smoke, and a city settling down for the night.
Carriages lined the street in an endless procession beneath the glow of gas lamps whilst drivers shouted to one another over the noise of wheels rattling against the road.
Mr. Hatcher guided her carefully through the crowded pavement and lingering theatergoers, and fragments of music clung to her thoughts, mingling with the evening’s conversations until she no longer knew whether the restless ache inside her was due to Verdi’s tragedy or the gentleman beside her.
Perhaps both.
Her family carriage waited near the curb, lantern light glinting softly across its polished panels. The groom stepped down, but Mr. Hatcher reached her side before the servant could assist.
“Allow me,” he said quietly, and Nora placed her gloved hand into his. The contact lasted only the briefest moment as he steadied her ascent into the carriage, yet the warmth lingered as she settled into her seat.
“Thank you for accompanying me,” she said.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Eden,” he said, giving her a low bow. “And I look forward to our outing tomorrow.”
“As do I,” she replied as he shut the door and signaled to the driver.
With a jolt, the carriage lurched into motion, sweeping her away from the opera house and the gentleman who had spent the better part of the evening looking as though he might buckle beneath a burden too weighty to bear.
Whatever else might be said of Mr. Hatcher’s conduct, the man was not cruel.
Nor selfish. There had been nothing calculating in the strain she glimpsed tonight whilst he spoke quietly of responsibilities and burdens he clearly believed belonged upon his shoulders alone.
No, the gentleman cared too much. Worked too hard.
Drove himself forward with such relentless determination that Nora suspected he would continue until he collapsed if left unchecked.
And yet he was still deceiving her. Not with the deliberate cruelty of Mr. Lyndon, who had smiled prettily whilst scheming after her dowry, but that did not negate the fact that Mr. Hatcher’s hopes had rested upon using her for his benefit; whatever fondness or comfort that had grown naturally afterward did not alter how the acquaintance began.
The realization left her thoughts tangled as the carriage continued onward through the sleeping city.
But the more she came to know Mr. Hatcher, the more difficult she found it to fit him neatly into the role of villain.
And the less amusing it was to needle and tease him.
And the harder it was to remember that his attentions were dishonest.
Nora could scarcely believe she had spoken so openly of Mr. Lyndon.
Nor could she quite comprehend how Mr. Hatcher, who guarded himself so tightly, had slowly unraveled beside her.
The memory lingered with uncomfortable persistence.
Not merely the words themselves, but the strange ease that had settled between them after his confession.
Outside, carriage lamps drifted past the windows in blurred ribbons of gold, but Nora hardly saw them, her mind casting her thoughts forward to their outing. For the first time in a very long while, the prospect of seeing a gentleman didn’t leave her searching for an escape.
And it wasn’t solely because she adored that confectionary shop.
By the time the carriage rolled to a halt before the townhouse on Berkeley Square, Nora was hopelessly trapped in her own thoughts.
The groom lowered the steps, and she gathered her skirts absently as she descended, scarcely noticing the cool night air brushing her face whilst the servants secured the carriage behind her.
The house stood mostly quiet at this hour.
Only a handful of lamps still glowed in the lower windows whilst the rest of the townhouse disappeared into darkness and shadow.
Somewhere deeper within the house, a clock chimed softly as Nora surrendered her wrap to the waiting servant and made her way up the stairs.
She ought to have been exhausted. Instead, her thoughts circled restlessly through the evening’s conversations as fragments of music and quiet confessions lingered stubbornly at the edges of her mind.
“Nora,” called Papa from his study.
Her steps halted immediately, and she paused for the briefest of moments before coming to stand in the doorway.
“Yes, Papa?”
He sat behind the massive desk dominating one side of the room, papers spread in stacks around him beneath the warm glow of several lamps.
Ledgers lay open beside correspondence marked heavily in his sharp hand whilst a pair of spectacles rested atop a column of financial reports near his elbow, and the scent of ink and cigar smoke lingered heavily throughout the study.
At her appearance, Papa leaned back slightly within his chair, studying her with the sort of long assessing look that always left Nora fidgeting.
“How was your evening?” he asked at last.
“Very enjoyable, thank you.”
“I heard you attended the opera with Mr. Jonathan Hatcher.”
The statement was pleasant enough, yet something in his tone caused Nora’s shoulders to stiffen.
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “As the family chose not to attend, Mr. Hatcher was kind enough to escort me so that I might still enjoy the performance.”
Papa said nothing. Outside the study, the house remained perfectly still, save for the distant ticking of a clock, yet beneath Papa’s steady gaze Nora became acutely aware of every creak that echoed through the townhouse.
“It was a friendly outing,” she added. “That is all. And he is not concerned about my dowry.”
Of that, Nora was certain. Mr. Hatcher may be in financial straits, but there was nothing to suggest her dowry was his goal.
And though she didn’t think her introduction would do much for Mr. Hatcher, she wasn’t opposed to helping the man: desperation had driven him to act rashly, but his intentions were good.
Yet even as Nora considered bringing Mr. Hatcher to Papa’s attention, a tightness seized hold of her stomach.
It was ridiculous, truly. Papa accepted clients of all sorts, and Mr. Hatcher would be an excellent addition.
Or perhaps Eden & Co. could invest in one of Hatcher & Byrnes’s projects.
There was no earthly reason she ought to hesitate to facilitate the introduction.
Yet her tongue refused to speak the words.
Though she supposed it made sense. Mr. Hatcher had proven quite useful, and once he secured what he truly wanted, there would be little reason for him to continue their acquaintance.
It would settle into polite distance like so many before it, and Nora didn’t wish to surrender the benefits of having a gentleman on hand.
That must be it.
Lips pinching, Papa’s gaze remained fixed on her. “I am concerned about you, my girl.”
Straightening, Nora brushed at her skirts. “Believe you me, I have learned my lesson. I know better than to throw my heart about. Besides, you know I haven’t any interest in marrying. I simply wished to attend the opera, and he was the only way Mama would’ve allowed it.”
Papa’s expression softened, though that ever-present pity made an appearance as he looked at her, and in a gentle tone he said, “My darling girl, you are too kind for your own good. Clever in many respects, certainly, but unfortunately inclined to see the best in people long after prudence ought to intervene.”
Leaning back in his chair with a faint sigh, he added, “You are fortunate your mistakes occurred before permanent damage was done. There are a great many young ladies who ruin themselves entirely before learning such lessons. So, do be careful. It may not be wise to further your acquaintance.”
Nora’s fingers tightened lightly in the folds of her skirt. “Yes, Papa.”
However, the gentleman’s attention had already drifted away from her to the papers spread across his desk, and Nora’s gaze followed absently, skimming over the endless ledgers and correspondence cluttering the polished surface.
Beneath his forearm rested a stack of pristine letterhead, the company’s markings boldly embossed across the blank sheets.
The paper was expensive, with elegant engraving pressed sharply into the surface, though Nora could make out only part of the company name from where she stood. But even upside-down and obscured, Nora knew Eden & Co.’s stationery. She had seen enough of it in her time. This wasn’t theirs.
“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the papers.
Papa’s gaze followed hers, landing upon the blank letterhead before turning back to his daughter. “That is none of your business. That is what it is.”
Holding up her hands, Nora shook her head. “I meant no offense—”
“I spend all day with investors questioning every choice I make—even after having made them fortunes many times over—must I endure an inquisition from my own children as well?” asked Papa, his frown deepening.
“I did not mean to question you,” she said, stepping toward the doorway. “I was simply curious.”
“Take your curiosity off to bed, my girl,” he said, waving her away. “I have business to conduct—business which pays for the roof over your head and that fine silk gown on your back.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, retreating from the study before Papa’s temper could sharpen further, yet the moment she stepped out of view, she paused.
The door remained partially open behind her.
Lamplight spilled across the parquet floor in a golden strip whilst the faint rustle of papers resumed within the study as though the interruption had already been dismissed from Papa’s mind entirely.
At length Nora forced herself onward at last, climbing the staircase toward her bedchamber whilst the house settled quietly around her. It was time to set aside all the oddities of the evening and sleep. A bit of rest would set the world to rights once more.