Epilogue #2
But Jonathan silenced her in a manner that was all too effective, for the moment he pressed his lips to hers, Nora found it most difficult to concentrate on anything but his touch or her desire for more. And it left her far too befuddled to concentrate until he released her once more.
“I shan’t hear any more of that, Mrs. Hatcher,” said Jonathan, his brow lowering. “Our family is proud to have you, and none of us will stand for you saying otherwise. Or do I need to tattle to Mother and Father?”
Nora couldn’t help a laugh as she rested her hands upon his lapels.
“Please, no. Your parents are forces unto themselves, and I cannot bear another lecture from him or tears from her. They do not fight fair.” Drawing in a deep breath, she sank into him, resting her head into the crook of his neck.
“We do not need more attention, Jonathan.”
“It is a glowing piece, Nora. Beautifully written—”
“It is attention,” she said, straightening as a chill ran down her spine. “I do not doubt that Mr. Pell meant well, but it will only stir things up again.”
Drawing her to the sofa, Jonathan snatched up the newspaper and settled before tucking her into the crook of his arm.
“Read it,” he insisted, placing it upon her lap.
“I have.”
“Clearly, not. For you seem to think it a bad thing.” Then with a tone that demanded compliance, he added, “Read, Mrs. Hatcher.”
Oh, how she loved that name, and her husband knew it, for it had almost as much power as his kiss, bending her will as easily as a stalk of grass in a summer breeze.
“‘The Price of Honor: What this country owes to a selfless lady,’” she began with a sigh, the words bitter on her tongue, though she quelled the impulse to grimace when Jonathan gave her a gentle squeeze.
Honor is a word too often reserved for men, especially those of a certain station, fortune, and consequence, as though income confers honesty and virtue comes draped in an expensive tailcoat.
But honor is not bound by sex. It is not purchased like a house in Berkeley Square.
It does not spring from fortune nor is it erased by poverty.
It is the determination to deal justly with one’s fellowman, even when dishonesty proves easier, safer, and more profitable.
For too long, this country has possessed a remarkable example of such honor, yet too many of us denigrated and denounced her for it.
I speak of Miss Nora Eden. Now, Mrs. Jonathan Hatcher.
Try as she might, Nora’s voice faltered as heat crept into her face.
It was too much. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the paper, crinkling it faintly, and she gave a small, strangled huff.
But Jonathan—curse the man—plucked it up and continued reading aloud, his voice ringing clear through the room.
When Mrs. Hatcher first revealed the Eden & Co. fraud, she did so at a cost few cared to measure. She exposed not a stranger, nor a rival, nor some distant scoundrel whose ruin would leave her untouched. She exposed her own father, knowing that the price would fall first upon her and her household.
In short, Mrs. Hatcher sacrificed everything for the sake of integrity, and for this, she was mocked as unnatural, condemned as disloyal, and treated by many as though the greater offense lay not in Mr. Eden’s theft but in his daughter’s refusal to turn a blind eye.
With the recent collapse of the Kensington family, I cannot help but believe a time of reckoning has arrived for those who castigated poor Mrs. Hatcher.
Another casualty of misplaced confidence, the Kensingtons managed through prudence and sacrifice to struggle along after the City of Glasgow Bank disaster so many years ago, but now, they have met their financial end, and it leaves one to consider the ramifications of Mr. Eden’s actions.
As it is, his crimes touched so many, impacting countless lives that will be feeling that pain for years, even decades, to come. But how many more would be suffering if Mrs. Hatcher had remained silent?
It must also be said that this journal, like so many others, did not do Mrs. Hatcher justice.
Scandal and accusations sell more papers than honesty, and we turned an act of sacrifice into a mockery.
But loyalty to wickedness is not virtue.
Silence in the face of evil is not filial devotion.
And a daughter does not dishonor her family by refusing to assist in the destruction of others.
Mrs. Hatcher did what more celebrated people lacked the courage to do. She placed integrity above comfort, truth above convenience, and kindness for her fellow man above her own family.
That is honor. And if this great city has any, it ought to acknowledge her sacrifice, rather than disdain it…
“Please, stop. It is mortifying enough to read the words, let alone hear them.” Nora covered her face and shook her head. “Mr. Pell wrote a lovely piece, but it sounds like my father, when he stood in the dock, condemning everyone else for his crimes.”
Jonathan pressed a kiss to her temple. “Not at all, my love. I promise you it does not. Do you want to know how many approached me today to discuss investing in the company? Society is a fickle thing, so puffed up by its own sense of self-importance, and they are happy to embrace whatever the masses deem acceptable. You were a byword yesterday, but today you are the apple of London’s eye. ”
Voice softening, he glanced at her. “Not that it matters one bit to me. We do not need society’s approval. However, I am inordinately pleased to see them recognize what has been plain to me all along: my wife is a remarkable lady.”
Nora’s eyes filled before she could stop them, blurring the world as Jonathan turned his face to hers, pride aglow in his gaze.
Leaning close, she pressed a kiss to his lips, brief and grateful and wholly inadequate for everything she wished to say, and Jonathan smiled, drawing her deeper into his arms as he continued to read aloud.
The article was dreadful, of course. Far too generous and inclined to describe her in terms no sensible woman could hear without wishing to vanish from view. But wrapped in Jonathan’s embrace, she could endure far more than this embarrassment.
Nora rested her head against him and let herself listen. Outside, the world would think what it liked. It always had. But here, in the quiet of their parlor, with Jonathan snuggled close and his voice turning those ridiculous words into something sweet, the world seemed very far away indeed.
And when Jonathan’s thumb traced idly over her hand, his wedding band brushing faintly against hers, Nora allowed the warmth of the moment to settle through her. And she smiled.
Text