Nora had once looked at him that way.
The realization hollowed her out all over again. If she could be wrong about Papa, if she could sit at his table for thirty years and never see what lay beneath the surface until the evidence was forced into her hands, then how could she trust her instincts at all? The music swept onward around them, bright and lively and utterly indifferent to the awful spiraling of her thoughts.
Papa laughed, one hand resting easily upon another gentleman’s shoulder. Was that another potential client? Or one he had already lied to? How many in this room believed their futures were secure because Eden & Co. reported that their investments were all thriving? How many families would discover too late that those documents were naught but paper and ink?
So many futures rested in Papa’s hands whilst they toasted his generosity and praised his wisdom. If the report meant what Nora believed it did, then the ruin waiting beneath all this polished elegance stretched far beyond the Eden family alone. It would spread outward through drawing rooms and businesses and nurseries alike.
The thought sent a tremor through her so sharp that she missed a step. Mr. Hatcher steadied her, his hand tightening instinctively at her back, but that small kindness deepened the awful pressure building inside her.
Remain silent and allow others to suffer? Or speak and destroy everyone she loved? Must she sacrifice her family on the altar of honesty? Music and smiling faces enveloped them,and Papa’s warm laugh carried across the ballroom whilst those questions twisted tighter and tighter around Nora’s heart.
But no answer came.
*
The whole thing seemed impossible. Such deceptions belonged in penny dreadfuls and scandal sheets, not glittering ballrooms where respectable people praised the man’s generosity and powerful people vied for his attention. There must be some missing piece to bridge the gap between Miss Eden’s accusations and the truth.
“Popularity is not proof of character.”
Father’s warning rose to mind, threading through the cracks Miss Eden’s fears had opened. The words had seemed overly suspicious in Jonathan’s office, but beneath the glow of chandeliers and surrounded by gentlemen desperate for Mr. Eden’s approval, he could not dismiss them so easily.
Then Miss Eden’s hand shifted upon his shoulder, and that silent argument faltered. Every turn drew her nearer, and Jonathan became acutely aware that he was adjusting the dance almost unconsciously to prolong those moments when she was tucked so close against him. Or how lovely her eyes looked beneath the glow of the lamplight.
With her so near, only a fool would be thinking of her father. Or his.
Warmth spread steadily through Jonathan, and her skirts brushed softly against his legs as they moved, the sweet scent of her perfume surrounding him, and he found himself absurdly aware of the feel of her back beneath his hand—
“You two make a handsome couple,” said a lady as her partner drew up beside them.
Jonathan wasn’t certain he had heard them correctly, but the flush in Miss Eden’s cheeks testified that he had. However, he didn’t know how to respond.
“We are friends, Mrs. Bouchard. Nothing more,” said Miss Eden, and Jonathan forced himself not to frown at the very swift and firm denial.
Mrs. Bouchard straightened, her gaze darting between Jonathan and his partner. “But you have been courting for some weeks—”
But her partner covered that with a cough before steering her away, though Miss Eden tried to call after Mrs. Bouchard to explain. Casting her eyes to Jonathan, Miss Eden winced.
“I apologize,” she whispered. “There are far too many in Town who leap to conclusions. They cannot fathom that a lady and a gentleman can merely enjoy one another’s company without wishing to exchange wedding vows.”
A dull heaviness settled low in his chest whilst they continued to turn about the ballroom, and Jonathan found himself absurdly bothered.
“Nothing more.”The words echoed sharply in his thoughts despite every effort to dismiss them. Of course Miss Eden had corrected the assumption. What else ought she to have done? No understanding existed between them.
Yet Jonathan yearned to draw her closer. Not simply because she looked lovely beneath the chandeliers with her cheeks faintly flushed from the dance and her dark eyes lifting to his whenever the polka brought them together. It was the ease of her company. The sharpness of her mind. The way she unsettled him and steadied him in equal measure.
Somewhere along the way, Miss Eden had ceased to be an advantageous acquaintance or merely a cherished friend. Her happiness mattered greatly to him.
The final notes of the song faded, and the dancers around them dissolved into the surrounding crowd. Jonathan offered Miss Eden his arm to escort her from the floor, acutely aware that the comfort that had eased into their relationship over the past weeks had vanished, leaving behind a void.
And that wouldn’t do.
“I need some air,” Miss Eden admitted softly once they ventured past the thickest part of the crush.
“Of course,” said Jonathan, grateful for an excuse to leave, and he guided her through the adjoining drawing room to a set of tall glass doors, which stood partly open. Cool evening air drifted inward between the curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of damp stone and blooming flowers that cut pleasantly through the heavy warmth of people and gaslight inside the house.
Yet even as they walked, Jonathan found himself returning again and again to the same miserable phrase.“Nothing more.”And each repetition only made the denial inside him grow stronger.
Was friendship sufficient? Not when her smile could alter the course of his entire evening. Not when her distress unsettled him more than the possible collapse of his business. Not when the mere thought of another gentleman at her side made his ribs constrict around his heart like a fist.
