Chapter 27
Mr. Sampson’s grip tightened on his glass. “I trust your judgment more than most, but one hears troubling things often enough these days, and I wish to invest in my son’s company—”
“Of course. Of course.” Papa gave a small thoughtful nod as though the matter scarcely concerned him in the slightest. “Naturally, I regret losing your business, but if you no longer feel confident in Eden & Co., I would never wish you to remain from obligation alone.”
“Oh no,” said Mrs. Sampson quickly. “That is not what Henry means at all.”
Mr. Sampson shifted slightly. “Nor was I suggesting that I remove all my funds.”
“Then perhaps I misunderstood,” said Papa, a sharp edge to his smile. “For you clearly said you wish to remove funds invested with Eden & Co. in case it fails, and thus, your income shan’t be wholly lost.”
The gentleman said nothing.
“He only worries because everyone has been so nervous of late,” Mrs. Sampson hurried to add. “But truly, Mr. Eden, your guidance has always served us extraordinarily well.”
Papa’s expression softened at once, all easy charm and reassurance again.
“And I take that trust very seriously, Mrs. Sampson. But if you cannot trust me wholly, I do not feel comfortable managing any part of your funds. I have many who wish to invest with my company and trust me without caveat, and I hate for you to feel as though your money is at risk in my hands.”
“And you must consider, Mr. Sampson,” added Mr. Hatcher, stepping into the conversation with ease.
“Diversification is sensible, but I have seen gentlemen spread themselves across too many ventures, and it leaves each of their investments too thin to grant good returns. You need large, steady investments to offset those that fail. Panic leads to terrible decisions.”
With that, Mr. Hatcher helped Papa close the trap.
Not cruelly. Not knowingly, even. He likely thought his efforts kind and useful, offering calm explanations to soothe an investor who had allowed his nerves to run wild.
Yet there was a thread of warning in Papa’s tone that set Nora’s insides churning, and when paired with Mr. Hatcher’s reasonable arguments, Mr. Sampson crumpled quickly.
“I see I spoke too hastily,” said the gentleman with a halting laugh. “You are right, Mr. Hatcher. Panic does not help matters, and I fear I let it get the better of me.”
Papa smiled broadly. “My dear Mr. Sampson, caution is an admirable quality, but I fear there is something in the air at present that is causing otherwise reasonable gentlemen to falter. They fret and fuss, quickly forgetting that I have guided them through other storms before.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” murmured Mr. Elkins with a salute, and laughter rippled through the group, the tension dissolving like a sugar lump in a cup of tea.
Yet a chill settled in Nora’s chest as Papa clapped Mr. Sampson upon the shoulder and exchanged another few easy remarks, all sign of hesitation erased.
Then Papa’s eyes shifted to Mr. Hatcher with obvious approval, and the younger gentleman straightened almost imperceptibly, a subtle pleasure flickering in his expression before he hid it away.
Someone claimed Mr. Sampson for a card game whilst his wife was drawn aside by another lady eager to discuss dinner arrangements for the following week, and fresh discussions sprang up as some gentlemen went in search of brandy whilst others gathered around the faro tables with renewed enthusiasm.
“Come,” said Mr. Hatcher, lowering his voice as the crowd shifted around them. “I believe we have both earned a respite from financial debates. Let us escape before someone else claims us.”
Nora managed a smile and allowed him to guide her away from the gathering circle whilst behind them Papa’s laughter rose once more.
“Do you truly think it is wise for Mr. Sampson to remain fully invested with Eden & Co.?” whispered Nora, her brows knitting together.
“Why shouldn’t he?” he asked quietly as they moved to the far side of the drawing room where the crush of conversation thinned.
“Investors panic easily, and half the time they damage themselves far more severely by reacting to fear than by staying the course. To say nothing of the harm they do to the projects and companies.”
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Hatcher examined the portrait on the wall, though it was hardly worth noticing.
“Those funds, once invested, are put to use, so it isn’t as though companies have vast funds on hand to pay back skittish investors who pull out prematurely, and it can cause others to panic as well.
A good many downfalls come about because investors simply believe trouble is afoot and leave en masse. ”
Nora’s fingers tightened lightly together. “Yes, but if Mr. Sampson truly felt uncomfortable—”
“Then he ought to have spoken to your father in private. Voicing those concerns in public only encourages others to doubt as well,” said Mr. Hatcher, with calm practicality.
“Confidence matters enormously in financial matters, Miss Eden. Once gentlemen begin second-guessing stable investments, it causes others to grow nervous. Fear is infectious, and the panic soon grows.”
The words settled strangely upon her ears. Not because they were unreasonable. Indeed, they sounded perfectly sensible. Rational. Exactly the sort of argument Papa himself might make.
Mr. Hatcher glanced at her and added, “Men like your father spend years building the stability to weather difficult periods, only for frightened investors to waver at the slightest concern. That was badly done, and Mr. Sampson ought to count himself lucky that your father isn’t simply cutting ties.
I, for one, wouldn’t question that good fortune if I were to work with him.
I would give anything for him to manage our finances. ”
The evening moved on, but Nora’s thoughts couldn’t.
Guests changed partners, cards were dealt, remarks passed lightly from one subject to the next, and Nora did all that was required of her.
She smiled, answered, played, and even managed a few pleasant observations when addressed.
Yet the conversation had left its mark, making her aware of every glance, every pause, every word that passed between Papa and Mr. Hatcher.
By the time the guests took their leave, Nora was thoroughly exhausted.
“You have been quiet this evening,” observed Mr. Hatcher as he escorted her to the waiting carriage. “If I have upset you somehow—”
“No,” she blurted with a shake of her head. Then softening her tone, Nora added, “I am fatigued. That is all.”
Mr. Hatcher nodded slowly, though he watched her closely. “Would you accompany me to the park later this week? I enjoy our walks there.”
Nora hesitated. Barely long enough to notice. Yet the pause existed all the same, hanging quietly between them before she finally gathered a smile once more.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Hatcher. I should like that.”
With a few quick words, their plans were set, and Mr. Hatcher helped her into her seat and waved the family off as the carriage rolled away.
Mama and Gretchen fell into conversation regarding the approaching end of the school term and the chaos certain to descend upon the house once Elton and Cecil returned home again, and Papa contributed now and then with amused remarks from across the carriage, his good humor entirely restored.
But Nora listened only in fragments. The evening churned through her thoughts as the city drifted past the windows, shifting between lamplight and shadow.
By the time the carriage finally rolled into Berkeley Square, she felt worn to pieces, but thankfully, none of the family paid her any mind as she fled for the safety of her bedchamber, casting quick goodnights to them before locking herself away.
Jane helped her from the gown whilst Nora stood distractedly before the mirror, scarcely noticing when the maid loosened pins from her hair one by one until the carefully arranged coiffure collapsed heavily down her back.
The bracelet now lay upon the dressing table, the sapphires still catching the lamplight whenever Nora’s gaze drifted unwillingly toward the piece.
This evening ought not to trouble her so deeply. She had watched Papa charm rooms full of people and guide nervous investors firmly back into the fold countless times before. None of that was new. And Papa had always possessed strong opinions regarding financial panic and foolishness.
Yet tonight something felt different. Or perhaps not different at all.
That possibility unsettled her most of all, and Nora found herself looking back upon the evening and those little things she might once have overlooked entirely: the sharpness hidden beneath Papa’s gaze, the subtle threat wrapped carefully inside gracious words, and worst of all, the way Mr. Hatcher had slipped so naturally into step beside him.
Not merely agreeing with Papa, but sounding like his twin.
Jane withdrew, leaving Nora alone with the dying fire and the soft hush of a house settling into sleep. Slowly she reached for the bracelet, running her thumb lightly over the cold stones whilst unease pricked and prodded her, demanding she settle upon answers this very moment.
A beautiful gift. Yet something about it felt like the words Papa had used on Mr. Sampson—warm and glittering but with a hint of warning.
Reaching for her jewelry box, Nora pulled open the drawer that was too small to hold anything more than the single ring that rested inside.
She lifted it carefully between her fingers, watching the firelight shimmer across the deep blue sapphire at its center whilst the surrounding diamonds scattered pale sparks throughout the darkened room.
Time had not diminished its beauty in the slightest. If anything, time had sharpened it into something painfully lovely. And disturbingly familiar.
Papa hadn’t chosen the bracelet deliberately to resemble the ring. That was absurd. Having seen it only once three years prior, it was highly unlikely he’d spared a single thought for Mr. Lyndon’s gift whilst selecting his. The resemblance was coincidence and nothing more.
Yet Nora couldn’t rid herself of the ugly possibility curling stubbornly at the edges of her thoughts. The ring was the physical embodiment of the trust she needed to place in Papa’s wisdom, and the bracelet was its twin. A cousin at the very least.
Carrying both pieces with her, Nora crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of the coverlet.
For all her anger toward Mr. Lyndon—and the bitterness and humiliation attached to this ring—she had never managed to throw the thing away.
Papa would call that weakness. Worse still, sentimentality.
A sensible woman ought to have cast the ring into the dust heap years ago and thanked the heavens she’d escaped before greater damage was done.
Yet every time Nora had tried to do so, something inside her recoiled.
Not because she still cherished the man who’d given it to her.
At least she didn’t think so, for the sharp grief attached to that old heartbreak had long since dulled into something quieter and more difficult to name.
Whether those moments had been real or fake, Nora didn’t have the strength to destroy the only evidence that they had happened.
Turning it this way and that, she watched the gem sparkle in the lamplight, the shades of blue shifting with every turn. A bit of paste and glass, yet the thing was beautiful. Remarkable, really.
Lifting the bracelet, those sapphires flashed brilliantly as she held the two pieces near one another, ready to see the stark difference between the fake and the genuine.
Yet sitting there upon the edge of her bed with both pieces glittering side by side, Nora could detect no difference at all.
The stones looked identical. The same rich depths.
The same brilliant shimmer. Even the way the gold contrasted with the blue seemed strangely alike.
A crease formed between Nora’s brows as she tilted the ring closer to the lamp.
Surely Papa’s jeweler wouldn’t have selected paste stones for the bracelet, but if someone placed it and the ring before her and asked her to identify the counterfeit, she wouldn’t know which to choose.
Indeed, the ring would look at home in any jeweler’s window on Bond Street.
But that was absurd. Papa had been certain—not merely suspicious or doubtful but certain.
Virgil Eden could appraise gemstones, paintings, investments, and people alike with terrifying accuracy.
He built his entire life upon recognizing worth where others failed to see it, and Nora trusted his opinion on such matters intrinsically.
Lowering her hands, she rested them on the bedcover. Outside, somewhere far below the windows, a carriage rattled through the sleeping square before fading once more into silence.
There had to be some explanation. Perhaps good paste mimicked sapphires better than Nora realized.
And there was a stark difference in size between the sapphires in the ring compared to the bracelet, which might make it more difficult for the naked eye to perceive the discrepancies.
No doubt, any jeweler in London could spot the fake at ten paces.
Nora remained motionless upon the edge of the bed with the bracelet and ring resting side by side whilst the fire burned low, and long after the lamps had dimmed, she stared into the darkness whilst questions turned restlessly about her mind.