“Thank you, Mr. Vane. Please show him in.”
The clerk withdrew, and Jonathan rose from behind his desk, smoothing one hand down the front of his coat as though the gesture might smooth the disquiet beneath it as well.
“Mr. Hatcher,” greeted Mr. Eden as he swept into the office. Giving Jonathan a hearty shake of the hand, he took the seat opposite the desk. “I was sorry that we did not have the opportunity to speak last night. I looked for you, but I suppose you were too occupied with my daughter to notice.”
There was a good-natured spark in the gentleman’s gaze as Mr. Eden sent him a knowing look, but Jonathan did not respond. There was no reason to broach that subject at present.
“If you have come for news concerning my uncle, I fear he isn’t ready to make a firm commitment,” began Jonathan, though he wasn’t certain what he would say to Uncle Oliver in his next message.
But as he considered the figures he’d passed on, Jonathan finally allowed himself to wonder how any private banker could guarantee such high returns. If he removed all the dazzle of Mr. Virgil Eden’s reputation and considered the proposal on its ownmerits, many of his promises were of the “too good to be true” variety.
Mr. Eden’s voice entered Jonathan’s thoughts with all his usual excuses about flighty investors and the need to assure them by whatever means necessary, but that did more to sour Jonathan’s confidence than restore it.
Little signs. So tiny they were easy to ignore. But when one considered them altogether—
“Have no fear, Mr. Hatcher,” said Mr. Eden, raising his hands in placation before resting them on the arms of his chair. “That is not what I wished to speak with you about—though I do hope you remind your uncle of my deadline. I have enough skittish clients and do not wish to take on another. There are people aplenty who wish to invest with my company.”
Excuses rose to Jonathan’s lips, but he held them fast. Those words, spoken in Mr. Eden’s jovial manner, prompted one to beg and apologize, and Jonathan fought against the frown that now threatened to pull at his features.
“No, my boy,” continued Mr. Eden, banging a hand on his chair, “I thought it time to invest in you.”
Straightening, Jonathan watched the fellow. “You wish to invest in Hatcher & Byrnes?”
Mr. Eden warded that off with raised hands. “No, but I have given your situation much thought and want to do something to help you. It is clear that you and my daughter have a future together, and I wish to ensure that you are in a good position to provide for her.”
“Miss Eden and I have parted ways,” said Jonathan, unable to keep that secret any longer. “We remain on friendly terms, but she does not wish to pursue a courtship—”
“Utter nonsense,” said Mr. Eden, waving that away with a scoff. “Nora is a flighty girl who doesn’t know what she wants.”
Straightening, Jonathan frowned. “I have always found her to be a lady of good sense and intelligence, and I greatly admire her strong convictions.”
“I meant no disrespect, but I know my daughter a good deal better than you, and I assure you that though her lips say one thing, her eyes always tell the truth, and I see the way she looks at you.” Relaxing into his seat, Mr. Eden continued, “Regardless, I wish it to be a gift. My life was forever altered when I crossed paths with Lord Ainsworth, and I believe you have an equally great future ahead of you, Mr. Hatcher. I wish to be a part of it.”
Mr. Eden smiled as he spoke, expansive and affectionate, and Jonathan suddenly understood how easily one might accept such a thing before realizing that gratitude and obligation forged unbreakable chains. No demand was made. No condition stated. And that was precisely what made it so difficult to see it for what it was.
Even twenty-four hours before, this would’ve seemed a miracle. A gift from Heaven. Now, Mr. Eden’s voice hissed like a snake, insisting that a little bite of apple was harmless, and for one terrible moment, Jonathan felt the temptation through every weary inch of him. The figures waiting upon his desk rose before him with dreadful clarity: delayed returns, cautious investors, obligations crowding too close together to permit easy breathing.
This gift would give him room. Time. Strength enough to seal up the cracks forming around him. With a single nod, he would set the worst of his burdens down at last.
“The way of things.”A justification that rose so easily to his mind. It was easy to believe his situation was special. Unique. Residing outside the rules of good behavior. One did not have to choose to do something one knew to be wrong; one simply needed to be a victim of one’s circumstances and allow others to choose.
No.
The refusal formed first in the tightening of his shoulders. Then the firmness in his chest. It felt as though he relaxed and tensed at the same time, determination and peace settling into a confusing blend.
For months, the desperate need to save the company had consumed him, narrowing his world to figures, deadlines, and the relentless pursuit of a solution. Though every strained, exhausted part of him wanted relief so badly that Jonathan could almost taste it, he felt in his bones that accepting Mr. Eden’s “gift” was the first step down a road he didn’t want to travel.
Perhaps the gentleman was innocent. But if not, Jonathan would be selling his heart and soul, and no amount of success or money was worth that. And that realization was freeing, though failure and ruin remained close enough to touch.
Rising to his feet, Mr. Eden held out a hand as though everything was agreed upon, and Jonathan moved slowly, his joints feeling as though they belonged to a man with far more than three and thirty years to his credit.
“That is generous of you, Mr. Eden. But I must decline.”
Chapter 37
For the first time since entering the office, Mr. Eden’s expression faltered—a faint break in the polished warmth that vanished almost before Jonathan was certain he’d seen it. Then the gentleman’s hand lowered to his side as his smile thinned.
“I am not one to give second chances, my boy. I fear you do not understand what I am offering.”
