“I am at the opera. What could possibly be amiss?” she asked with an arched brow.
The steady weight of his attention fixed upon her with quiet persistence, his expression unchanged save for the faint crease settled between his brows. No impatience. No demands. Simply waiting with a silence that became increasingly unbearable, and heat prickled unpleasantly along the back of Nora’s neck.
“The music is lovely, Mr. Hatcher. It is difficult not to be affected.” But when that earned no reprieve, Nora babbled on, the words tumbling together with increasing aimlessness as she spoke of the opera and the evening and everything else that did not revolve around Mr. Lyndon.
Yet still, Mr. Hatcher waited.
With a huff, Nora considered what she was doing. What did it matter if she told him the truth? Mr. Lyndon was of no significance. Whatever foolishness had once existed between them belonged firmly in the past. She was no tragic heroine fraying at the seams because an inconstant beau now smiled at another woman.
“‘Tis of little significance,” she said in an airy whisper. “But my former—and brief—husband-to-be is here with another lady on his arm. It is surprising to see him once more, but I count myself fortunate that my foolish attachment was broken before it did irrevocable damage. He was naught but a fortune hunter, eager to secure my dowry and my father’s good favor, and he fled the moment the truth was revealed.”
Mr. Hatcher’s eyes turned to where she’d been staring, though he wouldn’t know which gentleman was the bounder in question.
“There is no reason to dwell on the past,” she whispered. “It was a mistake, and I haven’t seen him since our ill-fated engagement, so it is simply a surprise. Nothing more. In all honesty, I pity his sweetheart, for she clearly adores him. I only pray she frees herself before it is too late.”
That unwavering attention returned to her, watching her with such intensity that before she knew what she was about, the tale spilled forth in whispers whilst Alfredo and Violetta argued on stage. Every time Nora halted, Mr. Hatcher simply waited and more poured forth. Not merely the broken engagement itself, but all the humiliating particulars she’d never shared outside the walls of her father’s study—and some of which she hadn’t shared even there.
No one had ever truly asked before (not that Mr. Hatcher said the words, but his unwavering gaze prodded her on), and the thrill of having a listening ear was an enticement Nora could not turn aside. So she spoke of Mr. Lyndon’s affection, of thefoolish hopes she’d fostered, and of the terrible mortification when Papa had told her the truth. That dreadful moment on the street when Mr. Lyndon’s house had been closed to her. The stares and whispers from the passersby.
Only once Nora had spoken her fill (and then some), did Mr. Hatcher whisper, “You needn’t feign indifference, Miss Eden. That was a dreadful business, and if someone I trusted treated me so poorly, it would hurt me to the core, and as your heart is far bigger than mine, I imagine it pained you even more. So do not feign indifference. I shan’t think less of you.”
Nora stared at him. The compliment arrived so unexpectedly she scarcely knew what to do with it. But her wretched vision began to blur despite her best efforts, and she drew in a shaky breath. The warmth behind her eyes intensified so quickly Nora had to look away altogether lest the gentleman beside her witness the full humiliation of it.
“Perhaps I would believe that if that foolhardy attachment had been my first,” she whispered, her cheeks warming as she confessed the whole of it. “But a mere three years prior, I fell in love with another blackguard who cared nothing for me. I ought to have known better.”
“You feel things deeply, Miss Eden, and that is admirable. Do not be ashamed of it, for the world would be a better place if more were like you. The fact that another took advantage of your kindness is a mark of shame against them—not you.”
The orchestra thundered onward around them, bright and triumphant and impossibly distant now, and Nora was very grateful for the dimness of the theater and the audience’s collective attention being fixed safely elsewhere. She could not remember the last time someone had spoken to her of that disastrous attachment without mockery or pity, but Mr. Hatcher sounded only kind, and Nora didn’t know what to do with that.
“My thanks, sir,” she whispered, her eyes turning once more to Mr. Lyndon’s box.
“Which one is he?” asked Mr. Hatcher. “The smug twit with the absurd waistcoat and pretentious mustache?”
Nora’s brows rose at that, though she nodded as she couldn’t dispute either description. Had Mr. Lyndon possessed that facial hair previously, she wouldn’t have accepted a dance with the puffed-up dandy. Though apparently, his companion admired it.
“Do you wish me to pay him a visit?” asked Mr. Hatcher.
Eyes darting to him, Nora frowned. “A visit?”
“I cannot do so in your name, as that is highly improper, but there is no reason I cannot do so of my own volition. From what I know of your brothers, I doubt any of them bothered to do their duty,” he explained.
“Duty?” repeated Nora.
Mr. Hatcher flexed his hand, and that threat was no less forceful for being wrapped in an evening glove. Just the thought of Lionel or Harlow attempting such a thing brought a laugh to Nora’s lips, halting though it was, and she stifled the noise before she drew attention. Hushed conversation was one thing, but such a brazen interruption wasn’t tolerated.
“My elder brother is like a housecat. Lionel has claws, but he is far more suited to displays of overt disgust,” said Nora. “My younger brother is useless in every fashion of the word, though Harlow would take great offense at such a categorization, for he views himself as quite the sportsman, but the only thing he is good at is searching for pleasures and distractions. And the youngest pair are children still in school, though Elton and Cecil believe themselves to be grown men.”
Gaze fixed upon her, Mr. Hatcher simply said, “No doubt your father paid his own sort of vengeance, but I find that dishonorable men remember a broken nose far longer than a bruised bank account. And seeing as the cad is parading aboutthe opera, I would hazard to say the lesson did not cause him enough harm for him to afford such a luxury.”
Waving toward the lady at his side, Nora said, “No doubt, he found his fatted calf to sacrifice to his vanity.”
“Perhaps. But that does not answer my question,” he pressed. “You were mistreated in a manner that deserves retribution, and as you clearly received none, do you wish me to do so? It is only right.”
There were plenty of gentlemen who believed themselves to be burly specimens because they rode with the hounds and occasionally mucked about with their mates, but Mr. Hatcher had an air about him that said he knew how to use those fists. And his offer was no idle one.
Straightening, Nora studied her companion for a long moment. “Your offer is quite appealing, but strangely enough, Mr. Hatcher, simply knowing you are willing is enough.”
And it was far more than anyone else had offered.
