“A lady after my own heart,” said Mrs. Hatcher, nodding. “If I had no other choice, I would gladly join you, but—”
“You needn’t explain yourself, madam,” replied Nora. “I understand completely and take no offense.”
A bell chimed throughout the theater, and though there were a good many minutes before the next act would begin, the conversation drew to a quick close.
“I do hate to run along, but we must take our seats,” said Mrs. Hatcher.
“You are a lady after my own heart,” said Nora with a grin. “I fear I dragged your son to our seats a good thirty minutes before the beginning of the performance. I cannot bear to miss a moment of it.”
“Oh, you are a dear,” replied the lady. “Until we meet again.”
And with a few words of farewell, the party departed, leaving Nora and the younger Mr. Hatcher alone. He helped her back to her seat, and she settled into her chair once more, gathering the layers of skirts carefully into place as the low hum of the audience gradually shifted around them.
Below, musicians returned one by one to the orchestra pit, the restless clamor of tuning instruments rising anew through the opera house until the conductor reclaimed his position. The conversations dwindled, though they did not die altogether, when the curtain of crimson velvet drew upward in its arching folds as the opening notes of the second act sounded.
*
Warm light spilled across the stage whilst Alfredo’s rich voice rang out above the pulsing strings, but Jonathan struggled to keep his thoughts on the drama unfolding below when Emma’s opera glasses were fixed upon their box. Alfredo pleaded. Violetta wept. The orchestra rose and fell like waves. Yet the details blurred together as a weight settled in Jonathan’s chest, pressing down on his ribs.
There was nothing improper in his being here. Nothing whatsoever. A gentleman escorting a lady to the opera was hardly noteworthy.
Yet Jonathan knew questions awaited him once his mother and sister got him alone. Why had he never mentioned Miss Eden? How long have they been acquainted? Did he intend to see her again? And “I sought her acquaintance in hopes of securing favor with her father” sounded considerably worse aloud than it had within the privacy of his own thoughts last week.
What was he doing? Miss Eden was kind. Intelligent. Worse still, she was unfailingly generous, treating him with a warmth he found increasingly difficult to ignore in light of his intentions.
His jaw tightened.
Yet what choice did he have? The company was strained nearly to breaking. One poor season had compounded into another, and every week brought fresh complications. And failure would not land neatly upon Jonathan’s shoulders alone. Clerks, laborers, suppliers, investors, and all their families would feel the sting if Hatcher & Byrnes folded. In the course of his life, he’d seen what happened when companies toppled, and the destruction spread farther than anyone ever imagined.
“What is the matter?” whispered Miss Eden.
Jonathan nearly gave a start, his attention snapping to the lady beside him.
“You are fidgeting,” she explained whilst fiddling with the opera glasses in her lap. “You only seem to do that when you are distressed.”
The observation unsettled him far more than it ought, and it felt as though his clothing were made of the roughest wool, scritching and scratching until his skin was raw. Jonathan stared at her, uncertain what to say and certain that the whole ugly truth was written plainly across his face.
Gaze darting away, Jonathan shifted in his seat as he cleared his throat. “Nothing is the matter.”
Miss Eden’s attention remained fixed upon him, and it pressed steadily into the side of his face until at last he forced himself to glance at her—but that was a mistake, for he spied the pain that flashed in her eyes. And Jonathan became abruptly, miserably aware that not half an hour earlier she’d entrusted him with one of the most painful moments of her life, unveiling her humiliation, heartbreak, and betrayal with frankness, only to have him reject that offering by withholding his own.
That realization sat like lead in his stomach.
And worse still was the ugly awareness that Jonathan had spent the better part of the evening condemning the blackguard who had courted Miss Eden for advantage whilst privately harboring intentions that were far too alike.
However, Jonathan had not deliberately misled her with false declarations. Companionship was all he’d offered, and he had no intentions of straying beyond that.
But even in the hidden depths of his thoughts, Jonathan knew those excuses were hollow at best. What, precisely, did he imagine Miss Eden thought he was doing by escorting her through parks and bookshops? Sitting beside her alone at the opera? Seeking her company again and again? Any lady inher position would come to a natural conclusion about his intentions.
Jonathan Hatcher was a bounder.
The opera pressed onward in waves of swelling music and mounting tragedy whilst he sat beside Miss Eden. Voices rose from the stage. The orchestra thundered beneath them. Applause occasionally rippled through the audience at the close of some particularly impressive aria.
Jonathan scarcely absorbed any of it. Instead his thoughts circled endlessly back upon themselves, finding no relief no matter how he attempted to arrange the matter, and by the time the second act finally drew to its close and the curtain swept downward beneath thunderous applause, Jonathan felt stretched taut as wire.
“Would you please fetch me some lemonade?” asked Miss Eden.
Shooting to his feet, Jonathan hurried away, grateful to be of use rather than drown in his own thoughts.
