Chapter 12
“Now, as we are on the subject of books and bookshops, who are your favorite authors?” asked Miss Eden.
“I do not read much nowadays,” he replied whilst resisting the urge to check his pocket watch.
“As you said last night. But who were your favorites?”
Jonathan supplied several answers in quick succession, and then paused as he realized his reply was veering into the dreaded “interview” territory that Miss Eden despised so much.
Drawing in a breath, he forced himself to provide a more thorough answer, though none of it was particularly illuminating as his reading choices weren’t inventive.
Thankfully, that redirected the conversation neatly to Miss Eden’s own tastes, and once settled there, she spoke with an ease and liveliness that carried the discussion entirely on its own.
That led to her defending sensational literature with great enthusiasm, particularly the more scandalous plots involving disguises, ruined fortunes, improbable inheritances, and characters behaving very poorly indeed.
Every so often she interrupted herself to point out some detail within the park before circling back again without losing the thread of her argument.
Meanwhile, Jonathan’s attention frayed at the edges.
He trusted his staff. He’d spent years ensuring the firm could function properly without requiring his supervision every moment of the day.
Yet too many matters were shifting at once, and each hour spent away from the office seemed less like harmless amusement and more like neglect.
Several times his fingers drifted toward the watch concealed in his waistcoat pocket before he stopped himself, but it grew increasingly difficult to restrain the impulse.
“I see it is time to be blunt, Mr. Hatcher,” said Miss Eden, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.
“You are clearly distracted, sir, and not listening to a thing I am saying. And whilst I do not mind rambling on, curiosity is getting the best of me, and I demand to know what has you so occupied.”
A faint warmth rose beneath Jonathan’s collar at being so directly observed, yet the candor eased something inside him.
There was no uncertainty in his interpretation, no expectation that he decipher hidden meanings buried beneath politeness and half-finished remarks.
Miss Eden had noticed his distraction and demanded an explanation with enough good humor in her voice that he knew he had not entirely ruined the afternoon.
The simplicity of this moment settled through him with surprising steadiness.
“I apologize—”
“An explanation is better than an apology,” replied Miss Eden. “Though I am happy to know you regret neglecting our conversation, I would rather have a bit of honesty. If you do not find my subjects interesting enough, then I might as well attempt to join in yours.”
Jonathan shook his head. “The fault lies squarely on my shoulders, madam. Not your conversation.”
“Then out with it,” she said, glancing out at the people passing by.
Drawing in a breath, he said, “I was thinking of business matters.”
“I could’ve guessed that, sir.”
“Yes, well, there is a project that is particularly vexing at present,” replied Jonathan.
“Concerning…?” she prompted.
Glancing at his companion, he fully expected to see some teasing glint in her eye as though daring him to answer, but when he found only genuine curiosity, Jonathan began to explain the troubles facing a certain housing development.
As the subject was unlikely to entertain a lady whilst walking through Regent’s Park on a clear spring afternoon, he began with only the broadest of explanations, yet every few sentences he found himself clarifying some point, correcting details, and explaining consequences that would likely hold little meaning for anyone outside his profession.
And when Jonathan glanced sideways toward Miss Eden, he expected to spy an expression of politely concealed boredom—and found only quiet attentiveness.
There wasn’t an ounce of performance about it, with vague nods to be agreeable; her gaze met his with evident interest, brows slightly drawn as though genuinely attempting to follow the problem through each turn of it.
“A city is not merely a collection of buildings. Each decision has lasting impacts,” he continued, trying in vain to keep his tone from sounding like a lecture, but the idiocy of their choices was infuriating.
“Drainage. Traffic. Rail. Housing. Markets. The impact of a poorly planned neighborhood is felt far beyond its boundaries, and to solve the problem costs far more in the future than it does to do it right in the first place.”
“As is often the case,” said Miss Eden with a nod. “Consequences only gain in strength and power the longer they are ignored.”
Brows raised, Jonathan nodded. “Precisely. Yet the cities are expanding willy-nilly with little thought beyond the immediate concerns, and even those are often overlooked in favor of greed.”
The whole thing infuriated him, making his words come faster as he described the frenzied manner in which so much was built, investors rushing ahead without considering the impact their actions would have.
And though Jonathan tried to keep his feelings in check, the more he spoke, the quicker the words came.
“But by building so carelessly, aren’t they cutting into their own profits?
” asked Miss Eden with a frown. “I do not boast a great understanding of business and economics, but doesn’t having too much of a thing lower the value?
More houses than tenants mean they have their pick, then landlords must lower the rents to entice them. ”
Huffing a sharp laugh, Jonathan shook his head.
“You are quite right, of course, but I fear some of the most short-sighted creatures in creation are investors. When money is involved, immediate greed overtakes good sense and long-term dividends, so the fools rush ahead, hoping to get their great payday before the market falters.”
Rather than allowing the matter to rest there, Miss Eden continued questioning him as they wandered farther along the paths bordering the water. The inquiries came steadily enough that the conversation never lost momentum, yet it moved along in an unhurried manner.
How did one determine where a city ought to expand? Why did certain neighborhoods prosper whilst others declined into squalor? Could overcrowding ever truly be corrected once it had begun, or did the problem simply shift elsewhere?
Her queries seemed genuine, and as she grasped each explanation, Jonathan found himself answering with increasing thoroughness, and all the while, the park drifted around them unremarked.
Gravel paths curved beneath the pale green canopy of early spring leaves whilst fashionable walkers passed in slow-moving clusters nearby.
Sunlight broke across the lake in shimmering waves, and Jonathan found himself eagerly anticipating Miss Eden’s next question.
“That is troubling, indeed,” she said, her brows pinching together. “I wish I had some grand revelation or insight to offer, but I fear I know little about such things.”
Jonathan waved that aside. “There is nothing you can say or do to alter the situation. Markets fluctuate. It is the nature of things, just as it is the nature of greed to push people into terrible decisions. I just need time and strong investors to weather this latest upset.”
The words had scarcely left his mouth before realization struck with such force that his steps nearly faltered outright.
What sort of fool says such a thing? Of course, Jonathan hadn’t intended to mention her father, nor had he been thinking of Eden & Co.
in the moment, but heat filled his cheeks as every piece of the conversation rearranged itself into something vastly more dangerous than intended.
Speaking of struggling developments and nervous investors whilst walking arm in arm through Regent’s Park with Virgil Eden’s daughter was already questionable enough.
Hinting at the need for financial backing bordered perilously close to confirming every ugly implication behind that disastrous scheme in the ballroom.
Jonathan became abruptly, painfully aware of Miss Eden beside him. But before he could think what to say, the lady patted his arm with a laugh.
“You see, Mr. Hatcher?” Miss Eden turned bright eyes to him.
“This is what we call a conversation. It needn’t be a difficult thing.
Simply two people fully engaged with the subject at hand, even if one knows nothing about it.
Did I ask any brilliant questions? Or say anything profound or revelatory? ”
Huffing to herself, she answered her own question. “Not at all. But a good conversation doesn’t require great insights or a mutual comprehension of the subject. One must only show an interest.”
Forcing himself to swallow, Jonathan met her gaze. “You were warned about my poor social skills.”
“That makes it sound as though you are rude,” she replied, gazing out at the path before them. “But it isn’t that you do not comprehend how to interact with others. It is that you live at too frenzied a pace to truly engage. There is a difference.”
The words struck their target as though fired by an expert marksman, and his brows pulled low as he considered that.
How many conversations had he half endured whilst his attention remained fixed elsewhere entirely?
How many times had he nodded through dinners, meetings, and introductions whilst mentally sorting contracts, figures, schedules, and delays into their proper order?
The habit had become so constant he scarcely noticed it anymore.
Yet there was remarkably little accusation in her manner.
Miss Eden did not sound offended. Merely observant.
As though she had identified some practical flaw in his character much the same way one might point out a crack spreading through a wall before it became serious enough to threaten the structure itself.
The realization drew an unwilling breath of amusement from him.
And—oddly enough—gratitude.
Most people either tolerated such failings in silence or condemned them outright. Miss Eden simply handed the truth to him directly and expected him to make sensible use of it afterward. And it was oddly steadying.