But the gentleman shook his head. “It is a matter of experience, Miss Eden, and rationality. When money and pride are on the line, justifications push a man into despicable actions. Besides, there is no way to guarantee that his entire staff is honest, even if your father is.”
Pausing, Nora considered that, her eyes catching a movement behind the reporter to see shivering leaves caught in an evening breeze. “Then you do not think he is the culprit?”
“I cannot say for certain,” replied Mr. Pell in a cautious tone.
Crossing her arms, Nora straightened. “Do you know how much money my father donates? How generous he is? How much good he has done? Father has worked hard for everypenny in his bank account, yet he isn’t content to bless only himself and his family. There are a good many people alive today solely due to my father’s many charitable endeavors. What sort of underhanded man gives his fortune away?”
Mr. Pell opened his mouth to answer, but Nora spoke over him. “Or perhaps you should speak to Lord Ainsworth. He will tell you how my father saved his family during the Overend, Gurney and Co. collapse. Or speak to any number of his other clients, and they will tell you how he navigated them through the Glasgow Bank collapse, saving a good many family fortunes.”
“You mean he ingratiated himself into the good graces of those who have done their level best to protect him and his company from scrutiny?” asked Mr. Pell. “I beg your pardon, Miss Eden, but generosity is not an infallible endorsement of character. Money buys loyalty, and if I were the one making scads of money in questionable fashions, I would do precisely what your father has done.”
Huffing, Nora turned away. “If you think to win me over by disparaging him—”
“Not at all, madam,” said Mr. Pell, moving to stand before her. “But I am well aware of your reputation, and you do not strike me as one willing to turn a blind eye to wrongdoing.”
“The same could be said of my brother,” said Nora, stepping back. “And as Lionel works in the company, he would know far better than I would.”
“But he is even more difficult to speak to than you,” said Mr. Pell, stepping closer. “And the one time I was able to find him alone, he threatened to blacken my eye.”
“I may not be able to do so, sir, but if I tell my father about this, he will ensure you suffer more than a bruise.”
Mr. Pell tucked his hands behind him. “I am well aware of Virgil Eden’s vindictiveness. Do you not find it odd that anyone who dares to question him is threatened or discredited?”
Nora refused to think of the Windsors. There were any number of reasons why they would leave London—many of which did not necessitate some unscrupulous behavior on Papa’s part. Yet it was not out of the realm of possibility, and Nora couldn’t help wondering what such vindictiveness said about a person.
And for that matter, what did it say that her first thought had been to tattle to Papa, knowing he would silence Mr. Pell?
“I mean no disrespect, Miss Eden,” he said, lowering his voice and casting a look over his shoulder, though there was no need to worry for they were quite alone. “But in my experience, defensiveness is a sign of a restless conscience.”
The stack of letterhead. Yet another thing Nora refused to consider. There were any number of reasons why Papa would have such a thing. She could not think of one at present, but with all that had happened tonight, was it any wonder that her wits had deserted her?
“Perhaps I simply do not like to hear my father disparaged, Mr. Pell,” she said, lifting her chin. “That can make a person mighty defensive.”
Mr. Pell’s brows rose at that. “I wasn’t speaking of you, Miss Eden. I was speaking of your father’s aggressiveness toward anyone who questions him.”
Stepping backward, Nora’s gaze darted away from him. “I am not feeling well. Please leave me be.”
Lifting his hands in placation, he said, “I did not mean to upset you further, Miss Eden. I simply want the truth. The country has had enough of backroom deals and fraudulent businessmen, and if you know of anything that will help us to make matters better for the people, you have a duty to share it.”
“I know that, but there is nothing to share.”
Without waiting for further reply, Nora turned sharply and strode back to the ballroom, the gravel crunching far too loudlybeneath her slippers whilst Mr. Pell’s words nipped relentlessly at her heels. There were explanations for such things. Of course there were.
Papa was forever surrounded by papers and contracts and correspondence; one strange stack of stationery proved nothing. And he had every right to react decisively when faced with such overt disloyalty. To have made another so much money, only to have them turn on him? No wonder Papa’s temper was quick to spark.
Mr. Pell was mistaken. He was nothing more than a pig rooting about in the muck, certain that everyone else was equally filthy.
Yet that stack of letterhead. It itched at the back of Nora’s neck, scratching at her as she strode to the terrace doors.
Chapter 21
The ballroom windows blazed in the darkness, the music and laughter spilling into the gardens, but even the familiar sounds failed to steady the unease spreading through Nora’s veins. The moment she crossed the threshold, heat and noise crashed over her once more in a suffocating wave, and just as she convinced herself to slip quietly back into the crush, a broad figure detached itself from the edge of the crowd and stepped into her path.
“Miss Eden,” greeted Mr. Jack Hatcher, his deep voice carrying easily even beneath the surrounding noise. “Is something the matter?"
Nora straightened instinctively beneath the gentleman’s sharp blue eyes, forcing her mouth into something approximating a smile. “Not at all, sir. I am only fatigued.”
That unwavering gaze remained fixed upon her for a long moment, and it was deeply unfair that these Hatcher men possessed such a disconcerting ability to see through a person’s flimsy attempts at composure. Nora resisted the childish urge to squirm beneath the scrutiny and wished it was Mr. Adam Hatcher standing there, who was considerate in many ways but far less observant.
