“I—” she began, but a knock on the box door had them both straightening.
Nora glanced down to find that the stage stood empty and the musicians had vanished from the orchestra pit whilst the audience wandered about; ladies drifted between boxes on their escort’s arm, and the low hum of conversation had fully reclaimed the theater. The intermission was evidently well underway, though Nora couldn’t say when the music had ended.
The door opened a moment later to reveal three figures, and Mr. Hatcher jerked to his feet.
“Mother. Father,” he greeted, though that deep voice rose half an octave. Mr. Hatcher’s gaze shifted toward the young woman beside them. “And Emma. I did not realize you were attending tonight.”
“You ought to have known better. Mama would never willingly miss the opera, let alone Verdi,” replied the youngest ofthe trio, who boasted Mr. Hatcher’s and his father’s broad build, though her expression lacked their reserve, for her grin matched their mother’s.
“We are living in a great age for opera, and I insist on lapping up every moment of it,” said Mrs. Hatcher. Despite being the shortest of the trio, the lady was striking. Not beautiful at first glance, perhaps, but she possessed a brightness of spirit that demanded to be noticed.
The elder Mr. Hatcher, on the other hand, looked as warm and inviting as an undertaker. It was clear which parent the son took after, for they boasted the same stoic expression and imposing build, though his sire had the added discomfort of the most piercing eyes Nora had ever seen, made all the more unsettling because the light color contrasted with his dark hair. Despite showing the clear signs of his age, the gentleman was no less imposing than a man with a quarter of his years.
“Well,” remarked Miss Hatcher mildly, surveying the pair seated together within the box, “this appears more interesting than the opera, dear brother.”
Chapter 16
As much as Miss Hatcher’s insinuations ought to cause discomfort, it was difficult to feel anything but amusement when the gentleman in question was squirming like a child in church. Or as much as a man of his ilk was wont to do. And though the lights weren’t bright enough to say for certain, Nora thought Mr. Hatcher was blushing.
“Hush,” chided her mother, though the word was softened by an expression that was more exasperated than chastising. Turning to her son, Mrs. Hatcher added, “We wanted to make good use of the intermission and pay you a visit.”
Stepping forward, Mr. Jonathan Hatcher made the introductions, and Nora felt like shrinking beneath the elder Mr. Hatcher’s gaze. However, Mrs. Hatcher more than made up for her husband’s silent perusal by launching into an animated dissection of the first act, including the performances and the pieces, and Nora couldn’t help but be swept into the discussion as both the Hatcher ladies were clearly among the few who attended for the love of music, not society.
“I am desperate to see Adelina Patti perform Violetta, but I fear tickets for her shows are so difficult to obtain,” said Mrs. Hatcher with a sigh.
“I hear she is simply divine,” added her daughter in equal measure.
“We shall attend the next one.” Those were the only words the elder Mr. Hatcher had offered since entering the box, and despite being a vow of sorts, it sounded more like a threat, and Nora prayed for any soul who dared to stand between that gentleman and his quarry. Nora’s eyes widened a fraction, but Mrs. Hatcher simply stepped into her husband’s side, slipping her arm through his, patting it with a laugh as though he was a grumbly puppy.
“He spoils me,” said Mrs. Hatcher, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “He discovered early in our courtship that I adore music and often indulges me.”
“‘Tis the best way to keep her in a good mood,” said the elder Mr. Hatcher, and Nora fought not to frown. If it were said by anyone else, she would think it a jest, but the tone was so severe. Was that a flash of a smile in his eyes? Nora couldn’t say for certain, for he turned his attention to his wife too quickly to tell.
The discussion rolled onward with such enthusiasm that Nora could scarcely contribute more than the occasional agreement before the Hatcher ladies carried the conversation off in another direction entirely. One moment they debated the merits of different sopranos for Violetta, and the next they moved seamlessly into complaints regarding dragging tempos and dreadful staging choices. Meanwhile, both Mr. Hatchers remained markedly quiet. The elder spoke so rarely that each remark carried significant weight, whilst the younger interjected only now and then with the exasperation of one managing an overeager family.
And Nora found herself increasingly entertained by the dynamic.
There was a warmth to their conversation, filling the box with easy laughter and lively observations without ever makingNora feel overlooked simply because she could not wedge herself between their rapid exchanges. Mrs. Hatcher spoke with the confidence of age and experience, whilst Miss Hatcher boasted a younger woman’s enthusiasm, leaning forward eagerly whenever some new opinion occurred to her.
“As an opera enthusiast, would you care to share our box tonight?” asked Nora, motioning toward the empty chairs. “My family decided not to attend, and there is more than enough space for you to join us.”
Mrs. Hatcher paused before saying, “Oh, that is exceedingly kind of you. Truly, Miss Eden, what a generous offer. I am honored that you would wish to include us. You are being so very hospitable. And of course, it is a pleasure to be with those who properly appreciate the music. It is a veritable feast for the ears, yet far too many ignore the stage in favor of their own conversations. At times, the audience is so noisy that I can hardly hear the music, which is simply shocking—”
“No,” said the elder Mr. Hatcher, cutting short his wife’s babbling.
Nora’s brows rose.
“Really, Jack,” said Mrs. Hatcher, a sigh woven through her tone, though a smile still graced her lips. “There are more tactful ways to decline an invitation.”
“The sound is better where we are seated, so we shall remain there,” he replied.
Laughing softly, Mrs. Hatcher patted her husband’s arm. “He is saving me from myself, for I desperately do not wish to offend you, Miss Eden. My husband doesn’t care one jot where we sit, but he knows perfectly well I shall enjoy the performance more there. The sound is poorer here.”
“And you dislike the boxes,” Miss Hatcher added with visible amusement.
Mrs. Hatcher sniffed lightly. “I do not wish to spend the evening being stared at by strangers. I do not know why anyone would wish to.”
“It is unnerving, though one grows accustomed to it,” replied Nora, chuckling. “And as these are the only seats my parents deign to purchase, I fear I haven’t much choice in the matter. I adore opera more than I dislike gawking.”
