Chapter 13
“I apologize for being so… inattentive,” replied Jonathan as his eyes scoured the landscape ahead, though he saw little of it.
But then, he supposed that was to be expected of someone who was so rarely present.
“I ought to have given this conversation its proper due, and I hope you know it has nothing to do with how enjoyable your company is. And it is very enjoyable. This is turning into one of the most enjoyable afternoons I’ve had in a long while. ”
Miss Eden straightened, and she turned an inquisitive look in his direction. “Most gentlemen toss about such compliments, but I think you truly mean that, which is far better than an apology, Mr. Hatcher.” Pausing, she tacked on, “Though I do appreciate hearing a man admit he is wrong.”
“I was wrong,” he echoed. “And your company is enjoyable.”
The remark earned him another brief laugh, softer this time, as they wound their way through the afternoon.
The business concerns did not disappear entirely.
Every so often some unfinished matter still attempted to force itself back into Jonathan’s thoughts before he consciously returned his attention to Miss Eden.
To whatever observation she was presently making.
To the sharp intelligence beneath her teasing remarks.
To the easy rhythm of the conversation that matched their meandering steps.
Perhaps conversing with a lady wasn’t some great feat after all.
The guarded restraint that ordinarily governed so much of his conduct loosened gradually without his noticing precisely when the shift occurred.
He answered more readily. Laughed more easily.
Even his pace altered subtly beside her, no longer carrying the restless forward momentum of a man mentally racing three streets ahead of himself at all times.
And while Jonathan rarely had anything of importance to offer when it came to the subjects Miss Eden favored, he listened with an attentiveness that would’ve felt absurd earlier that afternoon.
By the time they circled the water, Jonathan had the strange and increasingly undeniable realization that he was not merely passing an agreeable afternoon in Miss Eden’s company. He truly liked the lady.
Their path eventually drew them back toward the streets bordering the park, and soon, they found themselves in front of an obliging bookshop that boasted the warm atmosphere particular to those establishments.
The air smelled of paper and leather bindings, and narrow aisles forced patrons to carefully maneuver around one another, whilst somewhere in the back the bookseller argued in low tones with an elderly gentleman over the merits of a historical volume.
Despite Jonathan’s best efforts, he wasn’t permitted to simply select a suitable novel and purchase it with reasonable efficiency.
Miss Eden led him well beyond the front displays and into the deeper maze of shelves, dismissing several perfectly respectable options as she deemed them too popular, and thus, had likely been read by an avid lover of the genre.
And Jonathan followed in her wake, carrying an increasing number of volumes whilst she moved from shelf to shelf with determination, pausing now and then to extract some title and launch into an impassioned speech concerning it, either praising or condemning it as appropriate.
“Mr. Hatcher, I insist,” she said, setting another book on the top of the stack.
“And I insist that I shan’t find the time to read it.”
Miss Eden huffed. “What utter nonsense.”
“It will simply join the ranks of the many other novels gathering dust on my night table.”
Miss Eden turned toward him fully then, one brow arching as she studied him. “Do you realize how often you say that?”
“Say what precisely?” asked Jonathan with a frown.
“You’ve spoken of books you once had time for reading.
Music you once enjoyed playing. Hobbies you once enjoyed doing.
” She gestured vaguely with one gloved hand before reclaiming another volume from a nearby shelf.
“It seems everything in your life is something you enjoyed once, but no longer have time for.”
“There are only so many hours in the day, Miss Eden.”
The lady gave a hum that conveyed her low opinion of that excuse. “And yet the rest of humanity somehow finds time for the occasional entertainment without civilization collapsing around them.”
“My work is demanding,” he said.
“You, alone, suffer from a demanding schedule? Everyone else has ample time to laze about, is that it?” she asked, the faint smile and tease in her voice softening the chastisement.
Jonathan opened his mouth with some ready explanation regarding current pressures, delayed projects, and the unfortunate timing of several overlapping matters within the company, yet even to his determined mind, the excuses felt weak.
“Before you rush in to offer up a litany of excuses,” she added, “I would ask you to consider how long it has been since you allowed yourself to enjoy anything. How often do you take a moment to rest your mind? To simply amuse yourself?”
It ought to have been an easy question to answer.
A month ago perhaps? Last autumn? Yet as he searched for the answer, an itch settled beneath his skin.
Somewhere amidst the endless procession of contracts, expansions, meetings, investments, delays, obligations, and responsibilities, the expectation that matters would soon settle had quietly given way to the certainty that they would not.
“I am in a difficult season of my life. That is all,” he murmured.
Reaching up, Miss Eden tapped the top book in his stack.
“All the more reason to allow yourself some pleasures, Mr. Hatcher. Can you not allow yourself five minutes with a good story? A way to calm your thoughts before bed? I promise it will do you much good, for I find that when life is at its most demanding, it is necessary to step away from those cares and revel in a distraction. One cannot run all the day long.”
Jonathan shifted the stack of books slightly in his arms, gaze dropping toward the titles rather than Miss Eden.
That was sensible, but work demanded attention, and leisure did not ensure that his staff was paid and his family’s company remained solvent.
With so many matters still unresolved, leisure wandered far too close to irresponsibility.
Yet even as the arguments formed, another quieter thought settled unpleasantly beside them: one ought not ignore good advice simply because it proved inconvenient.
“You are correct, Miss Eden.”
Straightening, she grinned. “Brilliant. I appreciate you acquiescing so quickly. That saves me from having to browbeat you into submission, which is very considerate of you.” Miss Eden took one of the books she’d chosen for Mother and set it to the side.
“And while we are at it, you are going to accompany me to the opera.”
Jonathan blinked.
“The opera?”
“Yes.” She nodded firmly, already sounding as though the matter had been settled beyond dispute. “There is a performance of La Traviata next week, and you have already admitted to enjoying music, though apparently only in the distant past alongside all your other abandoned pleasures.”
“That is hardly a fair characterization—”
But his argument died when Miss Eden leveled a narrowed look at him. “You will enjoy it, and more importantly, it will be good for you.”
As much as Jonathan wanted to accept, the words faltered.
One might be foolish enough to think that the leaders of companies possessed more freedom than their staff, but Jonathan found that with each added responsibility, less and less his daily schedule belonged to him.
When the end of the day arrived, the likes of Mr. Vane could blithely return home without a second thought whilst the responsibilities bore down on Jonathan day and night.
The ball last night and his dallying this afternoon had eaten away too much of his time whilst the work multiplied relentlessly. Every completed task only uncovered three more beneath it, each carrying its own urgency, expense, and consequences should he fail to address it quickly enough.
“You are formulating an excuse,” she said, the accusation thick in her tone.
“I am considering the matter.”
“That is polite phrasing for the same thing.”
Jonathan exhaled quietly through his nose, gaze drifting toward the crowded shelves beside them. A sennight ought to be time enough for him to prepare, yet as he considered all that needed doing, he didn’t know how he could spare it.
Turning to the shelves, Miss Eden brushed a hand along the books’ spines. “My family would be quite happy for you to join us. Mama is unlikely to attend, as she does not care for the opera, but Papa does so when his schedule allows.”
Trying with all his might, Jonathan fought to keep his brows from rising at that. If ever there was a reason to slough off the demands of work, it would be to meet Mr. Virgil Eden. With him in attendance, the evening transformed into something more than mere entertainment.
“If you wish, I would be glad to accompany you,” he said.
A deeply satisfied look crossed Miss Eden’s face, the corners of her mouth curving upward with unmistakable triumph.
“Excellent,” she said, adding another novel to his stack. “I was beginning to think I would need to bully you into behaving sensibly.”
Eventually Miss Eden succeeded in narrowing the growing possibilities down to the ones most likely to please his mother, but in the end, Jonathan purchased the novel intended for her, another Miss Eden insisted he ought to read himself, and no fewer than three additional titles the lady declared were necessary acquisitions for her personal library.
And by the time they emerged onto the busy London street beyond, Jonathan had become something perilously close to a packhorse with a great many carefully wrapped parcels tucked in his arms.
Yet oddly enough, he found that he did not mind it one bit.