Chapter 11
Jonathan’s hand slipped to the timepiece tucked within his waistcoat pocket, drawing it free with a practiced motion as unease pricked at him.
He had left the office with time to spare; even allowing for the crowded streets, he hadn’t dawdled.
Yet Miss Eden stood there with a patient air, and for one dreadful moment Jonathan wondered whether he had lost a quarter hour without noticing.
Miss Eden’s eyes dropped to the pocket watch in his hand, the amusement deepening in her gaze. “You are not tardy, Mr. Hatcher. I am absurdly early wherever I go.”
Jonathan slid the watch back into his pocket, relief arriving with embarrassing force.
“My family mocks me at length for it,” Miss Eden continued, entirely untroubled. “But I would far rather arrive a quarter hour early than risk arriving late.”
The corners of Jonathan’s mouth drifted upward despite himself.
“After all, traffic is an unpredictable thing and can turn a five-minute journey into a half hour, and it is terribly upsetting to watch the time tick away, knowing you shan’t arrive as intended,” she added.
“You needn’t convince me of that. I am here a full ten minutes before our appointment,” he replied.
A glitter of approval gleamed in the lady’s eye as though punctuality was the mark of a good character.
And Jonathan supposed it was. Not that lateness was a grievous sin, but timeliness required forethought and consideration.
He’d once heard it said that tardy people were simply overly optimistic sorts, forever thinking they could achieve more than time would permit, but Jonathan couldn’t help thinking that was a generous assessment.
Together they turned toward the gates and the broad pathways winding into the park beyond, and Jonathan had scarcely taken more than two steps when Miss Eden slipped her hand lightly upon his arm.
The contact should not have been startling.
It was an ordinary enough thing. Respectable.
Entirely proper for a promenade through the park.
Yet the unexpectedness of it sent a visible jolt through him all the same, his shoulders tightening before he managed to smooth the reaction away.
Jonathan had escorted ladies before, but there was a vast difference between one’s kin and a lady.
Not that Mother and Emma weren’t ladies. But they weren’t ladies.
Miss Eden glanced sideways at him then, dark eyes bright beneath the brim of her hat perched atop her head, and Jonathan became abruptly certain she was laughing at him. Though he supposed it was only fair when he’d jumped like a schoolboy caught red-handed by the headmaster.
Together they passed through the entrance and into the park proper, where the city vanished into vast stretches of green. The winter’s mildness lingered pleasantly in the air, and the trees carried the first vibrant haze of new leaves whilst little bursts of color dotted the flowerbeds.
The afternoon sat comfortably between warm and cool, and carriages rolled at an unhurried pace along the outer drives.
In the distance, children laughed and chased one another across the lawns whilst their nursemaids watched from the nearby benches, and conversations drifted around them in fragments as others passed by, but beside him Miss Eden remained silent.
Jonathan cast about desperately for something suitable to say.
Even the most difficult of negotiations were far easier than this, for contracts and figures obeyed reason in ways ladies did not.
And his mind was being as utterly useless as it had been the previous night.
Why the lady wished to see him again was a mystery, but Jonathan accepted that many a man was blessed with things they did not deserve.
Beside him, Miss Eden appeared perfectly at ease, her hand resting lightly upon his arm, seemingly unaware that he was reduced to a trembling jelly at the prospect of speaking to a young lady. Jonathan began to suspect silence might be preferable to whatever catastrophe his mind produced.
Adam would have spoken by now. Effortlessly.
A light observation delivered with that careless confidence which made ladies laugh before they had even properly considered whether the remark deserved it.
Jonathan had watched his brother accomplish it a hundred times without apparent thought.
Surely it could not be so difficult to imitate.
Determination settled grimly into Jonathan’s spine.
“You look particularly…” But his words faltered. “Pretty” sat immediately in his throat with such alarming force that he nearly choked on it, but it seemed too suggestive. “Beautiful” proved infinitely worse. Even “fetching” felt too intimate.
Miss Eden turned her face toward him expectantly, and the full attention of those dark eyes demolished his remaining composure. Jonathan’s gaze dropped in panic to the first harmless object he could find.
“…Your shawl is nice.”
The article in question was a particularly fine cashmere and worthy of compliment, but of all the things to say, that was by far the weakest choice.
“What I meant was…” he added quickly, but Jonathan didn’t know how to finish that statement.
Of course, he’d seen Adam maneuver about society enough times for several rote compliments to come to mind, but it wasn’t merely the words that worked in his brother’s favor; the delivery mattered far more, and Jonathan could not replicate that.
Hopelessness pressed heavily against his chest, and his free hand clenched at his side.
“Breathe, Mr. Hatcher,” said Miss Eden with a pitying smile. “‘Tis only a conversation. Nothing so important, so do not work yourself into a dither.”
“That is easy to say when you have conversation aplenty to offer,” he mumbled.
“Now, that is a far better compliment, Mr. Hatcher. Even if it was more akin to an accusation.” Miss Eden laughed, a sharp but warm sound.
“Though I would say you are the first person to think I am skilled at it. I am infamous for retreating behind a book when company becomes irksome, and if not for my surname, I am certain London society would’ve cut me from their ranks long ago. ”
Jonathan glanced down the path ahead of them, watching a carriage roll slowly along the outer drive whilst he attempted to gather what remained of his dignity.
“I would think a man in your profession would be skilled at conversing,” Miss Eden remarked. “Surely you are not so uncomfortable during negotiations.”
“That is different,” Jonathan replied, relieved to find that the answer came more steadily than anything else had thus far. “In those instances, there is always an objective clearly defined and a purpose to accomplish. One knows beforehand what must be discussed.”
“And society ladies are inconsiderate creatures that do not provide a properly structured agenda before conversing.”
“Precisely.”
The word slipped free before Jonathan thought the better of it, but her laughter rose again, softer this time, and he became acutely aware of the pressure of her hand resting upon his arm. Strange that something so slight could occupy so much of a man’s attention.
Determined to keep the silence at bay, Jonathan searched hastily for a safer subject. “You mentioned last night that you have traveled abroad—”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that he turned to her in surprise, and Miss Eden shook her head with an exaggerated grimace.
“I apologize, Mr. Hatcher, but I cannot permit that subject. I spent all of last evening enduring that subject again and again, broached by gentlemen who believed themselves singularly original for asking me the selfsame questions.” Lifting her free hand, Miss Eden ticked them off: “Wasn’t it frightening to travel alone?
Did you see any brigands in Italy? Did you visit a fashion house in Paris?
Were there any lavatories? And the answer to all of those, excepting the last, is a resounding ‘no.’”
“Lavatories?” he asked, a smile threatening to emerge.
Miss Eden sighed. “I do not comprehend why people assume there aren’t any on the Continent, but for some strange reason our countrymen believe England is the sole benefactor of modern plumbing. But it was hardly any different than what you find here.”
Giving him a teasing smile, she added, “The ladies also ask if the French and Italian men are truly that handsome—and if they are skilled at kissing.”
Jonathan’s brows rose at that. “And are they?”
Miss Eden gasped and gaped with mock affront. “You libertine. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”
Cheeks aflame, Jonathan tried to stutter out an explanation, but it was time to accept that witty banter and flirtatious asides were not his forte.
“Peace, Mr. Hatcher,” she said, patting his arm. “You are an odd fellow, but I happen to find it amusing. You blush like a debutante.”
Which only made his face grow all the redder.
“Now, my good sir,” she continued, her chin held aloft. “Though I heard you have the social acumen of a granite slab, I demand more than inanities. I am certain you are capable of captivating conversation.”
Jonathan nearly missed a step. The words were sharp enough that some instinctive part of him yearned to defend himself, yet they were delivered with such wicked delight that the corners of his mouth threatened upward despite every effort to keep them in place.
“Who said that?” he asked.
“I shan’t betray a confidence.”
“My brother, no doubt.” Jonathan gave a faint shake of his head. “In fact, I believe Adam has actually said those words to my face. On more than one occasion.”
Together they followed one of the broad walks that stretched across the lawn, the green fairly humming with new life.
The conversation followed them along, albeit in a halting fashion and with frequent changes of direction, but Miss Eden nudged matters onward, seeming wholly untroubled by his occasional lapses.
Jonathan answered readily enough whenever directly addressed, but his attention wandered with increasing frequency despite every effort to prevent it. Pulling out his timepiece, he glanced at the face and tucked it away before the lady spied it.
The afternoon was fading quickly.
The office was perfectly capable of surviving a few hours without him hovering over every contract and calculation.
Clerks would continue clerking. Contractors would continue complaining.
Investors would continue demanding reassurances.
There were men aplenty to manage it all.
And yet his thoughts kept circling back all the same.
Jonathan forced himself back into the conversation as the vista ahead opened to reveal a glimpse of the lake, its surface broken now and again by passing rowboats drifting lazily across the water.
“Do you have another appointment?” asked Miss Eden, slanting him an arched brow. “You keep looking at your pocket watch, sir.”
Clearing his throat, Jonathan resisted the urge to pull it forth once more. “A nervous habit, I suppose. Though your conversation reminded me that I need to visit a bookshop to buy my mother a present.”
And that was true enough, for buried beneath all the other noise was that prodding thought. Jonathan knew he could send a clerk to fetch one, but that felt like cheating: a gift ought to be chosen and procured by the giver. Else what was the point?
Not that he knew what to choose. Jonathan knew Mother’s tastes well enough, but he didn’t know every title she’d read, nor did he know the genre well enough to tell the good from the bad.
“Would you help me?” asked Jonathan, the question popping into his thoughts and out his lips in the same instant. Not only would he be spared having to navigate the bookshop on his own, but it allowed him to combine two errands.
Quite the coup.
“Of course,” said Miss Eden. “I am always happy to visit a bookshop.”
Giving that a sharp nod, Jonathan turned them down the path that would lead to the gates, his heart already the lighter for it—
“We needn’t rush off this very moment,” said Miss Eden, tugging him away from his salvation. “I still wish to explore the park.”
Jonathan allowed himself to be dragged away (what else could he do?), but he couldn’t help casting a longing look over his shoulder at what ought to have been his escape.