Chapter 22
Miss Eden’s face lost all color. Only her eyes seemed alive, dark and bright and fixed upon some point beyond him. She remained upright, perfectly so, but there was nothing easy in it. Her composure was stiff as though bracing for a blow.
And Jonathan couldn’t help saying, “You look unwell.”
“You should know better than to say such a thing to a lady,” she replied lightly, as though attempting a jest, though it lacked her airy laughter. “I assure you, I am perfectly recovered. Some time alone with a ridiculous novel has restored me entirely.”
Jonathan searched her face as his ribs tightened. “Father said you were greatly distressed.”
Something flickered briefly across her expression at that before vanishing beneath another practiced smile.
“I was, but I am not so delicate that I fall to pieces at the slightest upset. I am quite capable of rousing my spirits.”
Jonathan shifted closer and lowered his voice despite the empty corridor. “Miss Eden.”
The lady finally looked at him properly, and though a smile remained fixed neatly in place, there was a distance in that expression.
Over these past weeks he had grown accustomed to her openness.
Her teasing observations. The easy warmth that slipped so naturally between them now.
This felt like a door slammed in his face.
“You needn’t look so concerned, Mr. Hatcher. I promise I wasn’t weeping uncontrollably over some past heartbreak.”
For one strained moment neither of them spoke.
The muffled music drifting from the ballroom below filled the silence whilst Miss Eden kept that careful smile fixed into place with such obvious determination that Jonathan’s chest tightened all the more.
Something had altered between them. He could feel it, even if he did not understand it.
But before he could decide whether pressing her further would help or worsen matters, she spoke.
“I ought to speak to Papa, else he will claim I neglected him all evening.”
The words landed with such abrupt force that for half a beat Jonathan wondered whether he had misunderstood her. Miss Eden’s gaze had drifted away from him now, fixed instead upon some indistinct point farther down the corridor.
“You needn’t look so startled,” she said with another attempt at lightness. “Papa cuts an imposing figure, but I daresay half the men in this city would give anything to be introduced to Mr. Virgil Eden.”
Jonathan’s ribs tightened sharply. Not because she was wrong, but standing there beneath the corridor lamps whilst Miss Eden held herself together with such visible effort, he hadn’t the slightest inclination to do so.
Before he could gather any sensible response, Miss Eden turned away with brisk determination, forcing him to follow.
The ballroom sounds swelled steadily louder as they drew nearer, but Miss Eden didn’t speak.
Her pace never faltered. And Jonathan found himself watching her more closely with every step, unease settling heavier the farther they walked.
At last she guided him toward one of the adjoining rooms branching off from the ballroom proper. Warm light spilled through the open doorway alongside the low murmur of masculine voices and the unmistakable scent of cigar smoke.
Virgil Eden stood at the center of it all, occupying the space like a king in his court, with gentlemen clustered loosely around him with drinks in hand as they hung on his every word.
Lord Ainsworth stood nearest the hearth, deep in conversation with a ruddy-faced shipping magnate Jonathan recognized as Mr. Weatherby, whilst another older fellow from railway circles listened attentively beside them all.
“Papa,” said Miss Eden smoothly as they entered.
Mr. Eden turned immediately, and though his broad smile grew at the sight of his daughter, there was a sharp glint in his eyes when they settled on her companion.
“Good evening, my girl,” said Mr. Eden. “And who is this gentleman?”
The attention of the room shifted toward Jonathan at once.
“You have been lurking about my daughter these past weeks,” said Mr. Eden, amusement weaving through his tone, though his gaze assessed him. “Mr. Jonathan Hatcher, is it not?”
Jonathan nodded, forcing himself not to think too hard about the strange tightness still lingering in Miss Eden’s posture beside him. “Yes, sir.”
“Hatcher…” Mr. Eden nodded once as though sorting through memory. “As in Hatcher & Byrnes, yes? You took over the company for your father not long ago.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah!” Lord Ainsworth shifted immediately, his drink sloshing slightly as recognition crossed his features. “You are the fellow behind the Southwark development. I heard someone grumbling last week that you intend proper drainage and wider streets throughout the entire project. A mad extravagance.”
“Only according to men who have never walked those streets after a hard rain,” replied Jonathan, the words slipping free before he considered the wisdom in disagreeing with someone of his rank and power. But it drew a low ripple of amusement from the circle.
In a flash, the conversation absorbed him into its current, drawing him along as questions flowed regarding housing developments, rail and telegraph expansions, canals, and the endless frustrations that followed such projects.
To Jonathan’s surprise, no one treated him as some young upstart fortunate enough to have stumbled into their company.
The gentlemen questioned him seriously and listened attentively when he answered, and more than once, Mr. Eden himself prompted Jonathan to elaborate upon some point rather than allowing another voice to overtake him.
It was a triumph, yet somewhere amidst a discussion regarding railway expansions north of Birmingham, Jonathan realized that Miss Eden had disappeared. His gaze drifted over the room, half expecting her to appear from some hidden nook with a wry observation, but she was nowhere to be found.
Forcing his attention back to Mr. Weatherby, who was lamenting council interference in private contracts with enough enthusiasm to fill the room twice over, Jonathan knew he needed to listen carefully to every word rather than allow his mind to wander after the lady: a favorable impression here might open doors that otherwise remained barred.
Yet the effort grew more difficult with every passing minute.
Miss Eden had already suffered through an unpleasant encounter with Mr. Lyndon earlier that evening—enough so that Father had given her his favorite seat—and despite her attempts to pretend otherwise, the lady was clearly distraught.
The thought of her wandering about alone sat poorly with him.
For heaven’s sake! Men spent years maneuvering into opportunities like this. A single evening in Mr. Eden’s good graces might accomplish more for Hatcher & Byrnes than anything else he’d attempted in the past year. Jonathan knew that. Knew it with painful clarity.
And yet he found himself setting aside his drink.
“If you gentlemen will forgive me,” he said, “I promised Miss Eden a dance, and I have already neglected her company longer than intended.”
Lord Ainsworth barked a laugh. “Ah, I see, Mr. Hatcher. Are our eyes not fine enough to hold your attention?”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. Weatherby. “The man has more sense than the rest of us combined. Had I chosen dancing with my wife rather than hiding here with you fellows all these years, she might still tolerate me.”
A low ripple of amusement followed, but Mr. Eden merely waved one hand dismissively at the door.
“Go on, my boy,” he said, amusement glinting in eyes that were the mirror of Miss Eden’s. “I daresay this explains why my daughter has been so remarkably cheerful these past weeks.”
Heat crept up his neck, though whether from embarrassment or the uncomfortable awareness that Mr. Eden had noticed far more than he’d hoped, Jonathan couldn’t say, but before he could think whether to correct the fellow or to deny the insinuation, the menfolk brushed him away, their laughter following him into the corridor.
Holding fast to what dignity remained, he turned his attention to the task at hand—and refused to consider whether or not this decision had been a mistake.
Jonathan trod down the crowded corridors, searching for any sign of her as his feet drew him to her likely hiding place.
The library doors stood partially open, golden light spilling quietly into the corridor, and he paused briefly before stepping inside and ducking around the bookshelf that hid her away.
Miss Eden glanced from her book, and for the briefest instant something unreadable crossed her face before smoothing away once more.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
The sharp tone caught him so thoroughly off guard that Jonathan stopped short.
“You vanished without a word,” he replied, for it was the only thing he could think to say.
“I’ve had my fill of business tonight—especially my father’s. I saw no reason to remain.” And with that, Miss Eden’s attention returned to the open book.
Shifting in place, Jonathan considered what to say. “You’ve had a dreadful evening, and I do not want to leave you alone.”
At that, her fingers paused before turning the page. “That is kind of you, Mr. Hatcher.”
The statement landed with a hollow thud, and Jonathan found himself studying her once again, increasingly certain something had shifted between them, though he couldn’t say what or why. Jonathan only knew he didn’t care for it.
“But I assure you, I am quite capable of managing on my own,” she added. “You got precisely what you wanted, so you needn’t be my nursemaid any longer.”
The sharp edges of the truth scraped at his ribs as the words settled into his chest. Men had approached her all her life wanting something.
Her father’s influence. Her fortune. Her connections.
Not a single one cared about the lady herself.
It was little wonder that she questioned the sincerity of any gentleman who attached himself to her side.
And Jonathan Hatcher had been one of them.
The yellowback rested open across her lap whilst the lamplight flickered softly across her features, and Jonathan was seized with the dreadful certainty that if he answered poorly now, this fragile friendship would shatter.
But he was not like his brothers, who knew the right words to say and how to express themselves sensibly (except for Malcolm, who may be the only one of the lot more ill-suited to stand here). So Jonathan decided to offer the truth.
“I do not wish to be your nursemaid, Miss Eden. I wish to be your friend, and I came tonight to spend the evening with you.” Taking in a deep breath, he added with certainty, “I am precisely where I wish to be.”