The house stood mostly quiet at this hour. Only a handful of lamps still glowed in the lower windows whilst the rest of the townhouse disappeared into darkness and shadow. Somewhere deeper within the house, a clock chimed softly as Nora surrendered her wrap to the waiting servant and made her way up the stairs.
She ought to have been exhausted. Instead, her thoughts circled restlessly through the evening’s conversations as fragments of music and quiet confessions lingered stubbornly at the edges of her mind.
“Nora,” called Papa from his study.
Her steps halted immediately, and she paused for the briefest of moments before coming to stand in the doorway.
“Yes, Papa?”
He sat behind the massive desk dominating one side of the room, papers spread in stacks around him beneath the warm glow of several lamps. Ledgers lay open beside correspondence marked heavily in his sharp hand whilst a pair of spectacles rested atop a column of financial reports near his elbow, andthe scent of ink and cigar smoke lingered heavily throughout the study.
At her appearance, Papa leaned back slightly within his chair, studying her with the sort of long assessing look that always left Nora fidgeting.
“How was your evening?” he asked at last.
“Very enjoyable, thank you.”
“I heard you attended the opera with Mr. Jonathan Hatcher.”
The statement was pleasant enough, yet something in his tone caused Nora’s shoulders to stiffen.
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “As the family chose not to attend, Mr. Hatcher was kind enough to escort me so that I might still enjoy the performance.”
Papa said nothing. Outside the study, the house remained perfectly still, save for the distant ticking of a clock, yet beneath Papa’s steady gaze Nora became acutely aware of every creak that echoed through the townhouse.
“It was a friendly outing,” she added. “That is all. And he is not concerned about my dowry.”
Of that, Nora was certain. Mr. Hatcher may be in financial straits, but there was nothing to suggest her dowry was his goal. And though she didn’t think her introduction would do much for Mr. Hatcher, she wasn’t opposed to helping the man: desperation had driven him to act rashly, but his intentions were good.
Yet even as Nora considered bringing Mr. Hatcher to Papa’s attention, a tightness seized hold of her stomach. It was ridiculous, truly. Papa accepted clients of all sorts, and Mr. Hatcher would be an excellent addition. Or perhaps Eden & Co. could invest in one of Hatcher & Byrnes’s projects. There was no earthly reason she ought to hesitate to facilitate the introduction. Yet her tongue refused to speak the words.
Though she supposed it made sense. Mr. Hatcher had proven quite useful, and once he secured what he truly wanted, there would be little reason for him to continue their acquaintance. It would settle into polite distance like so many before it, and Nora didn’t wish to surrender the benefits of having a gentleman on hand.
That must be it.
Lips pinching, Papa’s gaze remained fixed on her. “I am concerned about you, my girl.”
Straightening, Nora brushed at her skirts. “Believe you me, I have learned my lesson. I know better than to throw my heart about. Besides, you know I haven’t any interest in marrying. I simply wished to attend the opera, and he was the only way Mama would’ve allowed it.”
Papa’s expression softened, though that ever-present pity made an appearance as he looked at her, and in a gentle tone he said, “My darling girl, you are too kind for your own good. Clever in many respects, certainly, but unfortunately inclined to see the best in people long after prudence ought to intervene.”
Leaning back in his chair with a faint sigh, he added, “You are fortunate your mistakes occurred before permanent damage was done. There are a great many young ladies who ruin themselves entirely before learning such lessons. So, do be careful. It may not be wise to further your acquaintance.”
Nora’s fingers tightened lightly in the folds of her skirt. “Yes, Papa.”
However, the gentleman’s attention had already drifted away from her to the papers spread across his desk, and Nora’s gaze followed absently, skimming over the endless ledgers and correspondence cluttering the polished surface. Beneath his forearm rested a stack of pristine letterhead, the company’s markings boldly embossed across the blank sheets.
The paper was expensive, with elegant engraving pressed sharply into the surface, though Nora could make out only part of the company name from where she stood. But even upside-down and obscured, Nora knew Eden & Co.’s stationery. She had seen enough of it in her time. This wasn’t theirs.
“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the papers.
Papa’s gaze followed hers, landing upon the blank letterhead before turning back to his daughter. “That is none of your business. That is what it is.”
Holding up her hands, Nora shook her head. “I meant no offense—”
“I spend all day with investors questioning every choice I make—even after having made them fortunes many times over—must I endure an inquisition from my own children as well?” asked Papa, his frown deepening.
“I did not mean to question you,” she said, stepping toward the doorway. “I was simply curious.”
