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 youoncehad time for reading. Music youonceenjoyed playing. Hobbies youonceenjoyed 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 enjoyedonce, 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.” MissEden 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 ofLa Traviatanext 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 tobe 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.”
