“I had planned on traveling after my studies concluded, but an opportunity arose that I could not delay, so I remain in England for the sake of my position,” replied Mr. Haskett. “But I should very much like to see it for myself one day.”
“I am certain you will.”
The exchange settled there for a moment before he asked yet another question that required little consideration and even fewer words to answer. They were the same ones Nora had been asked dozens of times in drawing rooms and at dinner tables. Even those queries that had required some thought once upon a time held no interest after having answered them so many times before.
Which cities and countries had she visited? Which were her favorites? Where did she suggest they visit when they inevitably followed in her footsteps? No doubt Mr. Haskett thought his questions unique (just as everyone had before him), yet they were so similar that Nora could guess what was to be asked before the words were spoken.
The final notes of the waltz rose and fell, and Mr. Haskett brought them to a smooth halt, releasing her with a polite bow before escorting her toward the edge of the floor. Almost immediately, a small circle formed about her, drawing her into conversation.
The topics shifted with little effort. The ball. The season. Who had arrived, who had not, what might be expected in the coming weeks. It was all familiar ground, navigated without thought. Nora received it all with the same composed attention, her responses measured and her smile appropriate when required, allowing the current to carry her along.
“I hear there is to be a number of new ventures this spring,” said Mr. Carlisle, his tone turning more intent. “Severalpromising speculations are already being whispered about. It is to be a profitable year, it seems.”
“That is always the case at the start of the Season when everyone descends upon Town,” replied Mr. Haskett. “For all that men like to hold themselves up as paragons, far too high and mighty to resort to gossip, we are eager to titter over every possibility, guessing who among our ranks will succeed and who will be ruined.”
A soft laugh passed through the group. And Nora waited for the inevitable shift that was to come. Everyone thought themselves so clever when attempting to wheedle secrets from her, completely unaware of how uninspired their efforts were.
“There is a certain gentleman who never struggles with such matters,” said Mr. Pembroke, with a knowing lift of his brow.
“Indeed,” added Mrs. Carlisle, her fan moving in a slow, thoughtful arc. “There is scarcely an investment in London worth making that does not pass beneath his notice first.”
The tone shifted as they discussed the successes afforded to the clients of Eden & Co and the remarkable way in which Mr. Virgil Eden anticipated movements others failed to see. His reputation was spoken of with admiration, though touched at the edges with envy (even if no one allowed the sentiment to fully breach the conversation).
Nora inclined her head where appropriate, offering the occasional word when expected, though her attention waned. The praise did not surprise her. Nor did the undercurrent beneath it. She had heard it all before, in one form or another, the admiration, the speculation, the careful avoidance of anything that might sound like censure. The conversation carried on, bright and unbroken, and she remained beside it.
“Miss Eden,” said Mr. Carlisle, leaning in just enough to mark the shift from general observation to something moreparticular, “you must have some sense of which ventures your father finds most promising.”
“I fear I am of little use to you, sir,” replied Nora, forcing her attention to him.
“Come now,” Mr. Carlisle pressed lightly. “Surely he has let some hint fall. A passing remark. A preference.”
“Or a warning,” added Mr. Pembroke with a faint smile. “I should be equally obliged for either.”
Mr. Haskett, standing just to her right, inclined his head. “It would be a rare advantage, Miss Eden. Most of us stumble about in the dark whilst your father runs ahead, avoiding all the traps and pitfalls.”
“The man is a genius,” murmured Mr. Carlisle.
Their tone remained easy, even playful, but it was all so very disappointing.
“Does your father make it a habit of discussing his financial decisions with his daughters? Mine certainly does not,” Nora replied with a wry smile. “You are better off petitioning him directly or begging for hints from my brother. I cannot speak for his business, and I would not pretend to do so.”
“You are better off avoiding him altogether,” murmured Mrs. Windsor as she took a sip from her glass.
The easy rhythm of the conversation faltered, and they paused as though waiting for someone to restore what had just been disrupted. No one did.
“If you have something to say, madam, then say it,” said Nora, brushing a hand down her skirts. “Honest and direct conversation is far more appealing than petulant asides muttered just loud enough for others to hear.”
Lowering her drink, Mrs. Windsor’s head rose, her stubby nose lifting. “I simply think the gentlemen would be better suited investing their money with someone other than Eden & Co.”
Something tightened beneath Nora’s ribs, a sharp pull that drew her shoulders back and stilled her hands. The remark lingered in the space between them, and her gaze fixed upon Mrs. Windsor with a steadiness that allowed no retreat, her chin lifting a fraction more.
Why did people think she cared to hear her father criticized? What made them dare to say words they would never speak within his hearing? Living in the public eye, Nora knew Papa had his detractors, for no one was universally beloved; she simply wished they weren’t so keen to dump their dissatisfaction upon her.
Mr. Haskett huffed. “And where would that be? Everyone knows Mr. Eden is one of the best private bankers in the country. If not the best of his kind. Having him manage your investments is like printing your own money.”
“Quite right,” said Mr. Carlisle at once, recovering himself. “Any man of sense would eagerly entrust his fortune to Mr. Eden if given the opportunity.”
“I should think so,” added Mr. Pembroke. “The results speak for themselves.”
