The orchestra swelled mournfully as the tragedy unfolded upon the stage, but Jonathan’s attention remained fixed upon the lady seated beside him and the strange lightness that settled upon him whilst in her company. Before Jonathan could overthink the matter, a question escaped his hold.
“Would you show me that confectionary shop you mentioned the other day? You made it sound so enjoyable. I would love to visit it.”
Miss Eden gave him a knowing smile. “And you shan’t bother to go on your own unless I drag you there?”
With a shake of his head, he said, “I want to go with you.”
Chapter 18
Miss Eden studied him for a long, agonizing moment, and Jonathan refused to fidget.
“I am available tomorrow,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow, it is,” he said, turning his gaze back to the stage.
“But I expect you to give me a detailed review of the latest book you read,” she added with a smile in her voice.
“Am I expected to present a full report like when I was a schoolboy?”
Miss Eden shook her head. “You needn’t go to such lengths. I simply wish to ensure you are truly reading it and not spouting fibs to appease me.”
The teasing remark struck far closer to home than Miss Eden could possibly realize. Jonathan felt it immediately, a faint tightening low in his chest that left the warmth of the moment sitting suddenly alongside something considerably less comfortable. The evening had become crowded with half-truths and omissions until he no longer knew quite where the line rested between truth and fibs.
And still Miss Eden looked at him with open amusement and easy trust, opera glasses lifting to peer at the stage whilst the tragedy below pressed onward toward its inevitable conclusion. The mournful swell of the orchestra filled the theater, wrappingitself through every box and corridor and ringing through Jonathan with melancholy power.
***
Cool night air swept across Nora’s face the moment they stepped beyond the wall of people surrounding the opera house, carrying with it the mingled scents of damp stone, horses, smoke, and a city settling down for the night. Carriages lined the street in an endless procession beneath the glow of gas lamps whilst drivers shouted to one another over the noise of wheels rattling against the road.
Mr. Hatcher guided her carefully through the crowded pavement and lingering theatergoers, and fragments of music clung to her thoughts, mingling with the evening’s conversations until she no longer knew whether the restless ache inside her was due to Verdi’s tragedy or the gentleman beside her.
Perhaps both.
Her family carriage waited near the curb, lantern light glinting softly across its polished panels. The groom stepped down, but Mr. Hatcher reached her side before the servant could assist.
“Allow me,” he said quietly, and Nora placed her gloved hand into his. The contact lasted only the briefest moment as he steadied her ascent into the carriage, yet the warmth lingered as she settled into her seat.
“Thank you for accompanying me,” she said.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Eden,” he said, giving her a low bow. “And I look forward to our outing tomorrow.”
“As do I,” she replied as he shut the door and signaled to the driver.
With a jolt, the carriage lurched into motion, sweeping her away from the opera house and the gentleman who had spent the better part of the evening looking as though he might buckle beneath a burden too weighty to bear.
Whatever else might be said of Mr. Hatcher’s conduct, the man was not cruel. Nor selfish. There had been nothing calculating in the strain she glimpsed tonight whilst he spoke quietly of responsibilities and burdens he clearly believed belonged upon his shoulders alone. No, the gentleman cared too much. Worked too hard. Drove himself forward with such relentless determination that Nora suspected he would continue until he collapsed if left unchecked.
And yet he was still deceiving her. Not with the deliberate cruelty of Mr. Lyndon, who had smiled prettily whilst scheming after her dowry, but that did not negate the fact that Mr. Hatcher’s hopes had rested upon using her for his benefit; whatever fondness or comfort that had grown naturally afterward did not alter how the acquaintance began.
The realization left her thoughts tangled as the carriage continued onward through the sleeping city. But the more she came to know Mr. Hatcher, the more difficult she found it to fit him neatly into the role of villain. And the less amusing it was to needle and tease him. And the harder it was to remember that his attentions were dishonest.
Nora could scarcely believe she had spoken so openly of Mr. Lyndon. Nor could she quite comprehend how Mr. Hatcher, who guarded himself so tightly, had slowly unraveled beside her. The memory lingered with uncomfortable persistence. Not merely the words themselves, but the strange ease that had settled between them after his confession.
Outside, carriage lamps drifted past the windows in blurred ribbons of gold, but Nora hardly saw them, her mind casting her thoughts forward to their outing. For the first time in a very long while, the prospect of seeing a gentleman didn’t leave her searching for an escape.
And it wasn’t solely because she adored that confectionary shop.
By the time the carriage rolled to a halt before the townhouse on Berkeley Square, Nora was hopelessly trapped in her own thoughts. The groom lowered the steps, and she gathered her skirts absently as she descended, scarcely noticing the cool night air brushing her face whilst the servants secured the carriage behind her.
