Nora opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was no answer she could give with four other people listening from across the table. Mr. Hatcher seemed to understand, for he set down his cards and murmured some polite excuse to the others, and a moment later, Nora found herself on his arm, moving with him along the edge of the drawing room.
“What is bothering you?” he asked again as they pretended to study a series of rather generic and uninspired paintings hanging on the wall. “I can clearly see that something is on your mind, so do not pretend otherwise.”
A faint smile curled the edges of Nora’s lips. “Am I so easy to read?”
Mr. Hatcher considered that. “At times. But your silence is telling.”
“I suppose I am a bit preoccupied with a question,” she admitted, glancing over her shoulder, though Papa was well outof hearing. “Did your father restrict you from parts of Hatcher & Byrnes before he retired?”
Straightening, Mr. Hatcher’s brows furrowed. “No. Why would he? If a man is to train his successor properly, every aspect of the business must be known.”
Nora’s heart thumped in her chest, her pulse quickening as she tried to draw in breath.
“I suppose,” he added, his tone considering, “Father did portion out my responsibilities in the beginning, but he kept nothing from me—”
“Mr. Hatcher!” called Papa, and Nora jerked around to face him, nearly toppling Mr. Hatcher. Brows raised, Papa’s laughter was thick in his tone as he added, “I didn’t mean to startle you, and I do hate to interrupt this tête-à-tête, but I fear I must borrow your escort, my dear.”
Before Nora could gather her thoughts, Papa swept them into his orbit, thrusting Mr. Hatcher into a debate concerning council contracts whilst the card tables behind them dissolved into fresh rounds of play and laughter.
But Nora’s thoughts couldn’t stray beyond Mr. Hatcher’s words. If a man intended his son to inherit a business, why would he wall off entire sections and surround himself with clerks who answered to no one else? Surely there was a sensible answer. As a private banker, Papa managed enormous sums of money and dealt with powerful men whose affairs demanded privacy, and perhaps Lionel simply lacked patience. Or skill.
Yet why the secrecy?
Mr. Hatcher glanced at her, the faintest of concern pulling at his brows, despite her attempts to smile and nod as though her attention were fixed upon the conversation. But soon, discussions of housing projects and infrastructure drew Mr. Hatcher fully into the fray, his words growing more animated.
Papa watched on, a faint smile on his lips as he listened, offering up a word here or there as he led the conversation. Gentlemen drifted in and out of the circle as topics shuffled as quickly as the cards, and Papa guided it all with the skill of a professional gambler—never forceful enough for anyone to notice the direction had changed until they arrived exactly where he intended.
But even the best of card sharps couldn’t predict everything, and Nora saw the flash of heat that burned in her father’s gaze when Mr. Sampson spoke.
“Yes, I am considering moving a portion of our holdings elsewhere,” the gentleman admitted, swirling the drink in his hand. “Nothing dramatic, mind you. Merely spreading matters out. It is prudent.”
Beside him, Mrs. Sampson looked almost distressed. “Henry, we have done exceedingly well with Eden & Co.”
“And I hope we shall continue to do so,” replied her husband quickly. “But recent years have taught me not to place too much reliance upon a single institution, no matter how respectable. It is risky.”
Something in the room shifted. Not outwardly, for other conversations still hummed pleasantly and cards still snapped softly against polished tables, yet Nora felt the change all the same, subtle as the tightening of a wire.
Papa smiled, and with a tone like warmed honey, he said, “My dear fellow, I am sorry to hear that you have so little faith in me.”
Chapter 27
Mr. Sampson’s grip tightened on his glass. “I trust your judgment more than most, but one hears troubling things often enough these days, and I wish to invest in my son’s company—”
“Of course. Of course.” Papa gave a small thoughtful nod as though the matter scarcely concerned him in the slightest. “Naturally, I regret losing your business, but if you no longer feel confident in Eden & Co., I would never wish you to remain from obligation alone.”
“Oh no,” said Mrs. Sampson quickly. “That is not what Henry means at all.”
Mr. Sampson shifted slightly. “Nor was I suggesting that I remove all my funds.”
“Then perhaps I misunderstood,” said Papa, a sharp edge to his smile. “For you clearly said you wish to remove funds invested with Eden & Co. in case it fails, and thus, your income shan’t be wholly lost.”
The gentleman said nothing.
“He only worries because everyone has been so nervous of late,” Mrs. Sampson hurried to add. “But truly, Mr. Eden, your guidance has always served us extraordinarily well.”
Papa’s expression softened at once, all easy charm and reassurance again. “And I take that trust very seriously, Mrs. Sampson. But if you cannot trust me wholly, I do not feel comfortable managing any part of your funds. I have many who wish to invest with my company and trust me without caveat, and I hate for you to feel as though your money is at risk in my hands.”
“And you must consider, Mr. Sampson,” added Mr. Hatcher, stepping into the conversation with ease. “Diversification is sensible, but I have seen gentlemen spread themselves across too many ventures, and it leaves each of their investments too thin to grant good returns. You need large, steady investments to offset those that fail. Panic leads to terrible decisions.”
