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 truthto him directly and expected him to make sensible use of it afterward. And it was oddly steadying.
Chapter 13
“Iapologize 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 teasingremarks. 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 withdetermination, 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.”
