“Take your curiosity off to bed, my girl,” he said, waving her away. “I have business to conduct—business which pays for the roof over your head and that fine silk gown on your back.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, retreating from the study before Papa’s temper could sharpen further, yet the moment she stepped out of view, she paused. The door remained partially open behind her. Lamplight spilled across the parquet floor in a golden strip whilst the faint rustle of papers resumed within the study as though the interruption had already been dismissed from Papa’s mind entirely.
At length Nora forced herself onward at last, climbing the staircase toward her bedchamber whilst the house settled quietly around her. It was time to set aside all the oddities of the evening and sleep. A bit of rest would set the world to rights once more.
Chapter 19
The ballroom pulsed with movement and music. Conversation bubbled in the air beneath the strains of the orchestra, which was stationed upon the raised gallery at the far end of the room. Silks whispered across the floor in every imaginable shade from rich jewel tones to delicate creams and pale spring pastels, each of which was draped in great folds and twists and gathered at the back in the bustle style that was growing ever larger with each month. Gentlemen moved amongst the crowd in the black evening coats demanded by fashion, the dour color relieved only by the occasional gleam of a jeweled shirt stud or a particularly daring waistcoat.
The Bexleys had transformed their townhouse into a glittering monument to excess, every floor ablaze with enough gaslight that it looked like full noon; great crystal chandeliers blazed overhead whilst additional wall sconces added their golden light, all of which was magnified by the mirrors hanging along the walls.
The scent of beeswax polish, perfume, champagne, and hot gas fixtures mingled heavily in the air, carrying with it the warmth of an overcrowded ballroom where hundreds of bodies, blazing lights, and endless layers of silk transformed spring nights into stifling affairs. The terrace doors were cracked openin a futile attempt to encourage cooler air indoors, and beyond them, the courtyard glimmered with scattered lanterns that called to the overheated guests like moths.
It was the sort of glittering chaos that London society called delightful. Nora called it imprisonment. And the ball had only just begun.
Trapping her beside a towering floral arrangement, Mr. Foley expounded earnestly upon railway shares and freight tariffs, and Nora found her attention wandering so aggressively that she wondered if she could feign a bout of vapors and collapse into a heap to spare herself the conversation. Her reticule dangled from her wrist, a yellowback tucked firmly inside, and the temptation it presented was nearly unbearable.
Mr. Hatcher had ruined her. It wasn’t as though his conversation was revelatory. Saints above, the gentleman knew how to linger on tedious subjects as much as anyone. However, there was something about him that made railway shares and freight tariffs intriguing. Even engrossing at times.
Now, she was far too aware of the absence of that gentleman and how much more tolerable the evening would be if he appeared beside her with that grave expression and distracted manner. Likely, Mr. Hatcher would find her all the quicker if she sequestered herself in a quiet corner, rather than losing herself in this crush. He knew the sorts of spaces that attracted her.
The thought had scarcely crossed her mind before a familiar figure emerged from the shifting crowd beyond the dancers, and relief arrived with such ridiculous force that Nora nearly laughed aloud. Mr. Hatcher cut through the ballroom, moving with his usual determination, his strong presence parting clusters of guests whilst his gaze swept the room.
And then he spotted her. Nora raised a hand in greeting and managed to keep herself from waving like a ninny. But only just.
“Miss Eden,” he greeted before giving only the briefest nod to her present companion. “May I claim this dance?”
“You may indeed, sir,” she replied, placing her hand upon his arm as he guided her toward the dance floor just as the orchestra swelled into the opening measures of a waltz.
Mr. Hatcher’s gloved hand settled firmly at her waist as they joined the movement of the dancers, and Nora surrendered to the familiar rhythm. Together they swept across the polished floor, skirts swirling around her ankles whilst the music carried them through the crowd.
“You looked desperate for a rescue.” Though hardly any mirth showed on Mr. Hatcher’s face, Nora recognized the spark in his gaze for what it was.
And though Nora wished to respond in kind, she stifled a grimace. “Was I so obvious?”
Mr. Hatcher frowned, consideringly. “No. I suppose it was more of a guess.”
“Thank the heavens,” she said, releasing the breath she’d been holding. “Mr. Foley may be a bore, but he and his family are good people. I would hate to offend him.”
“Foley?” Mr. Hatcher’s brows lowered in thought. “As in the son of Lord Ainsworth?”
“One and the same,” said Nora. “The Baron is one of Papa’s oldest and dearest friends and was his first client after Papa established Eden & Co. But having parents who like one another does not guarantee their children will feel the same. Mr. Foley is nice enough, but we share nothing in common.”
Mr. Hatcher gave a little smirk. “I know precisely what you mean. As children, it is far simpler to rub along, but as we grow and branch into different interests and activities, it becomes more and more difficult. But that old connection ensures you will occasionally be trapped together at a ball or party.”
“And none of us will ever acknowledge it openly,” she added, glancing out toward the dancers as he guided them around the floor.
“Have no fear,” said Mr. Hatcher. “I doubt Mr. Foley recognized just how desperate you were, but I saw how you were clinging to your reticule, which I suspect holds your latest literary obsession.”
“You suppose correctly,” said Nora, stifling a laugh. “I wasn’t certain you were attending, and I prepared my own escape.”
“I wasn’t certain, either. But the thought of leaving you to fend for yourself made it impossible to focus on the work I ought to be doing.”
Nora nearly tripped over her own feet at the admission. He had come for her benefit? Warmth swept through her with such sudden force that for one mortifying instant she truly did lose the rhythm of the dance. Only Mr. Hatcher’s steady hand at her waist and quick correction kept her from making a complete spectacle of herself amidst the crowded ballroom.
He had come for her. Not for Papa. Not for introductions or business opportunities or any of the practical motives that rested at the heart of this acquaintance. This was for her sake.
The realization settled dangerously deep inside her chest, leaving her far too aware of the gentleman guiding her across the dance floor. The warmth of his gloved hand through the silk at her waist. The low timbre of his voice beneath the music. The simple fact that amidst all the demands forever pulling at Mr. Hatcher’s attention, he had altered his entire evening to spare her some boredom.
