Nora knew she ought to ignore them, but she couldn’t help leaning forward as the pair halted on the other side of the bookshelf that blocked her from sight.
“What do you mean ‘shocked?’”
“Haven’t you heard?” asked the first lady with the unrestrained glee of someone who had news to impart. “She is the daughter of atradesman.”
“No,” gasped the second as though it were akin to being a criminal.
“A tailor of all things!” said the first through a laugh.
Nora’s fingers tightened so violently against the edges of her book that the cheap paper cover bent. A tailor?
For one wild impossible instant Nora wondered whether she had somehow misheard them, whether the ladies beyond the alcove had meant some other Mrs. Lyndon entirely. But there was no mistaking their meaning.
A tailor’s daughter? Not some wealthy merchant looking to increase his social standing by marrying her into an old family. Not the niece of an heiress. Not even the well-dowered offspring of a successful solicitor or manufacturer. The fortune hunter had married a woman who couldn’t have brought more than a few hundred pounds into the marriage?
Nora stared blindly at the book crumpling in her hands whilst something cold and sharp twisted violently beneath her ribs. Her thoughts tangled so violently together that she could scarcely seize hold of one long enough to examine it properly before another tore through.
Papa had called Mr. Lyndon a fortune hunter, and Mr. Lyndon had done nothing whatsoever to defend himself. She had stood on his doorstep, had seen the man who claimed to love her turn his back and leave her there; Nora shut her eyes tightly, though it could not keep her from reliving the memory. Papa had to be right, for no man in love behaved so cruelly.
Yet Mr. Lyndon had married a tailor’s daughter?
The question circled mercilessly through her thoughts. Nothing aligned. Nothing fit together properly anymore. If Mr. Lyndon had cared only for wealth, why marry for affection now? If he had once genuinely loved her, why vanish so completely from her life?
Nora stared blindly at the crumpled yellowback. Where was Mr. Hatcher? Surely he could make sense of this tangled mess. At the very least, the sound of his voice might bring some comfort—
And the very instant the thought formed, unease twisted sharply through her stomach.
Once upon a time, the mere sight of Mr. Lyndon had steadied her. His attention had felt precious. Singular. Safe. Nora had trusted that feeling so completely that she’d never questioned it even as the world shattered beneath her feet. Now here she sat once again with her heart reaching instinctively toward a gentleman whose intentions weren’t entirely pure, yearning to ignore truth in favor of a fairy tale.
Nora squeezed the yellowback in her lap as past and present foolishness scraped painfully through her mind. What sort of halfwit stood upon the edge of the same cliff twice and expected not to fall again?
Three times. Not twice. She mustn’t forget Mr. Eddington.
Mr. Hatcher might be kinder than either him or Mr. Lyndon. More thoughtful. More awkward and earnest in ways that now made her chest ache unpleasantly to remember. Yet none of that altered the simple truth that Nora had often mistaken warmth for honesty and flirtation for permanence. Or that Mr. Hatcher wanted the same thing as those other men.
At length the voices beyond the alcove faded away entirely, leaving the library wrapped once more in a deep silence. Nora remained seated a while longer, staring blindly at the same page without absorbing a single word before finally forcing herself upright.
Enough.
This foolishness had gone on for too long. Mr. Hatcher’s company was pleasant. Comforting, even. He made otherwise intolerable evenings bearable through conversation and companionship, but her heart was clearly incapable of exercising sound judgment where gentlemen were concerned, and Nora had no intention of allowing it to drag her into another humiliation.
Squaring her shoulders, she tucked away her book, gathered her skirts, and slipped quietly from the alcove before makingher way through the library doors—only to find Mr. Hatcher standing in the corridor. He was waiting for her? One glance at him standing there so patiently after she had hidden herself away for heaven knew how long sent that traitorous yearning unfurling inside her chest all over again.
Blast the man.
“I hope you were not waiting long,” Nora said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
“It is of no consequence,” he replied. “I didn’t wish to intrude.”
There it was again. That dreadful thoughtfulness that kept slipping past Nora’s defenses no matter how firmly she attempted to rebuild them. She was a weak woman who couldn’t be trusted to learn from her mistakes.
It was time for this game to end. And Mr. Hatcher had earned his prize.
Chapter 22
Miss Eden’s face lost all color. Only her eyes seemed alive, dark and bright and fixed upon some point beyond him. She remained upright, perfectly so, but there was nothing easy in it. Her composure was stiff as though bracing for a blow.
And Jonathan couldn’t help saying, “You look unwell.”
