“You should know better than to say such a thing to a lady,” she replied lightly, as though attempting a jest, though it lacked her airy laughter. “I assure you, I am perfectly recovered. Some time alone with a ridiculous novel has restored me entirely.”
Jonathan searched her face as his ribs tightened. “Father said you were greatly distressed.”
Something flickered briefly across her expression at that before vanishing beneath another practiced smile.
“I was, but I am not so delicate that I fall to pieces at the slightest upset. I am quite capable of rousing my spirits.”
Jonathan shifted closer and lowered his voice despite the empty corridor. “Miss Eden.”
The lady finally looked at him properly, and though a smile remained fixed neatly in place, there was a distance in that expression. Over these past weeks he had grown accustomed to her openness. Her teasing observations. The easy warmth thatslipped so naturally between them now. This felt like a door slammed in his face.
“You needn’t look so concerned, Mr. Hatcher. I promise I wasn’t weeping uncontrollably over some past heartbreak.”
For one strained moment neither of them spoke. The muffled music drifting from the ballroom below filled the silence whilst Miss Eden kept that careful smile fixed into place with such obvious determination that Jonathan’s chest tightened all the more. Something had altered between them. He could feel it, even if he did not understand it.
But before he could decide whether pressing her further would help or worsen matters, she spoke.
“I ought to speak to Papa, else he will claim I neglected him all evening.”
The words landed with such abrupt force that for half a beat Jonathan wondered whether he had misunderstood her. Miss Eden’s gaze had drifted away from him now, fixed instead upon some indistinct point farther down the corridor.
“You needn’t look so startled,” she said with another attempt at lightness. “Papa cuts an imposing figure, but I daresay half the men in this city would give anything to be introduced to Mr. Virgil Eden.”
Jonathan’s ribs tightened sharply. Not because she was wrong, but standing there beneath the corridor lamps whilst Miss Eden held herself together with such visible effort, he hadn’t the slightest inclination to do so.
Before he could gather any sensible response, Miss Eden turned away with brisk determination, forcing him to follow. The ballroom sounds swelled steadily louder as they drew nearer, but Miss Eden didn’t speak. Her pace never faltered. And Jonathan found himself watching her more closely with every step, unease settling heavier the farther they walked.
At last she guided him toward one of the adjoining rooms branching off from the ballroom proper. Warm light spilled through the open doorway alongside the low murmur of masculine voices and the unmistakable scent of cigar smoke.
Virgil Eden stood at the center of it all, occupying the space like a king in his court, with gentlemen clustered loosely around him with drinks in hand as they hung on his every word. Lord Ainsworth stood nearest the hearth, deep in conversation with a ruddy-faced shipping magnate Jonathan recognized as Mr. Weatherby, whilst another older fellow from railway circles listened attentively beside them all.
“Papa,” said Miss Eden smoothly as they entered.
Mr. Eden turned immediately, and though his broad smile grew at the sight of his daughter, there was a sharp glint in his eyes when they settled on her companion.
“Good evening, my girl,” said Mr. Eden. “And who is this gentleman?”
The attention of the room shifted toward Jonathan at once.
“You have been lurking about my daughter these past weeks,” said Mr. Eden, amusement weaving through his tone, though his gaze assessed him. “Mr. Jonathan Hatcher, is it not?”
Jonathan nodded, forcing himself not to think too hard about the strange tightness still lingering in Miss Eden’s posture beside him. “Yes, sir.”
“Hatcher…” Mr. Eden nodded once as though sorting through memory. “As in Hatcher & Byrnes, yes? You took over the company for your father not long ago.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah!” Lord Ainsworth shifted immediately, his drink sloshing slightly as recognition crossed his features. “You are the fellow behind the Southwark development. I heard someone grumbling last week that you intend proper drainage and wider streets throughout the entire project. A mad extravagance.”
“Only according to men who have never walked those streets after a hard rain,” replied Jonathan, the words slipping free before he considered the wisdom in disagreeing with someone of his rank and power. But it drew a low ripple of amusement from the circle.
In a flash, the conversation absorbed him into its current, drawing him along as questions flowed regarding housing developments, rail and telegraph expansions, canals, and the endless frustrations that followed such projects. To Jonathan’s surprise, no one treated him as some young upstart fortunate enough to have stumbled into their company. The gentlemen questioned him seriously and listened attentively when he answered, and more than once, Mr. Eden himself prompted Jonathan to elaborate upon some point rather than allowing another voice to overtake him.
It was a triumph, yet somewhere amidst a discussion regarding railway expansions north of Birmingham, Jonathan realized that Miss Eden had disappeared. His gaze drifted over the room, half expecting her to appear from some hidden nook with a wry observation, but she was nowhere to be found.
Forcing his attention back to Mr. Weatherby, who was lamenting council interference in private contracts with enough enthusiasm to fill the room twice over, Jonathan knew he needed to listen carefully to every word rather than allow his mind to wander after the lady: a favorable impression here might open doors that otherwise remained barred.
Yet the effort grew more difficult with every passing minute. Miss Eden had already suffered through an unpleasant encounter with Mr. Lyndon earlier that evening—enough so that Father had given her his favorite seat—and despite her attempts to pretend otherwise, the lady was clearly distraught. The thought of her wandering about alone sat poorly with him.
