“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 histimepiece, 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.
