Nora’s pulse fluttered unpleasantly fast. It would have been wiser to dismiss the remark lightly. To tease him. To turn the conversation aside before the strange fullness inside her could grow any larger or more difficult to ignore. Instead she found herself looking up at him rather helplessly.
“That is a remarkably kind thing to say to a lady, Mr. Hatcher.”
The gentleman’s brows rose at that, surprise clear in his expression. “It is only the truth.”
“Believe it or not, sir, ladies enjoy the truth a good deal,” she replied, stifling a chuckle at his puzzlement.
The dance carried them on whilst conversation flowed with the same growing ease that had steadily settled between them over the past month. Somewhere amidst confectionary shops, bookshops, parks, carriage rides, musicales, and long meandering discussions that seemed incapable of remaining upon any single subject for more than a few minutes at a time, they had slipped quietly beyond the stiffness of new acquaintance into something far more comfortable.
Nora scarcely knew when it had happened, only that she had grown accustomed to searching crowded rooms for his broad figure before deciding whether an evening might prove tolerable after all. Grown accustomed to storing up observations and subjects for when they would next meet simply because she knew he would appreciate them. Grown accustomed to his thoughtful silences, his distracted habits, and dry humor.
Mr. Hatcher boasted opinions about nearly everything, particularly where business, architecture, city planning, and public works were concerned, and Nora found particular delight in challenging those conclusions and watching him grow increasingly animated whilst defending them. The gentleman thought carefully, argued intelligently, and truly listened when she spoke, even if he did not agree. It was impossible not to be drawn to him.
At length the music drew to its close, the dancers gradually easing apart beneath the final sweeping notes of the waltz whilst applause skittered lightly throughout the ballroom. Mr. Hatcher guided Nora away before the crowd thickened around them, yettheir conversation swept along as naturally as their waltz. Nora scarcely noticed where he led her. She only knew that she felt lighter in his company than she had in years.
Unfortunately, before they had progressed more than halfway across the ballroom, a cheerful voice called out, and Nora found herself intercepted by one of the Bexley cousins and her companions. Greetings followed at once, and to his credit, Mr. Hatcher bore the interruption with surprising grace despite the faint tightening about his expression, but she gave him a commiserating look, and they settled in for a bit of chatter.
Just a few minutes and they could excuse themselves without causing any offense.
The conversation drifted rapidly between subjects in the usual manner, scarcely remaining upon one topic long enough to be meaningful before leaping toward another entirely. There were discussions of the goings-on of their mutual acquaintances and upcoming events and festivities, and Nora did her best to appear as though she cared about the polite nothings.
If she were able to secure just one or two of them at a time, Nora knew they would find a good many things of substance to discuss, but with a group, conversation meandered along like a country road that led nowhere.
“Miss Eden, I do not believe you have yet met Mr. and Mrs. Lyndon,” said Mrs. Halbard, motioning to a passing pair.
Everything inside Nora seized, and the lady ushered forward the couple before either she or Mr. Lyndon could make their escape, though the slight widening of his eyes testified that he wished to do so. Beside her, Mr. Hatcher stiffened, and though Nora couldn’t turn her gaze to him, she felt his attention fix upon Mr. Lyndon—and she could well imagine that was yet another reason why Mr. Lyndon paled.
“Actually, madam,” said Nora, and she was pleased with the even tone with which she spoke, “Mr. Lyndon and I are acquainted, though it has been many years since last we met.”
Mrs. Lyndon glanced between her husband and Nora, and Mr. Lyndon threaded his wife’s arm through his, the movement drawing Nora’s attention down to his wife’s swollen waist. Though the lady was still at a stage where her condition could be dismissed as an unflattering cut of her gown, Nora was certain the lady was expecting.
Married and a child on the way.
“Yes,” said Mr. Lyndon, clearing his throat as he glanced at his wife. “Her brother was an old school chum, and we met when I came to visit one summer some years ago.”
Despite her mother’s insistence, Nora didn’t favor tight cinching, yet her corset pressed so close that she could not breathe. Was that why the world seemed to tilt around her?
It wasn’t as though she expected him to announce to all and sundry that he had broken her heart years ago, but to make it sound as though their acquaintance was incidental? As if they hadn’t spent every free moment together until her own brother complained about Mr. Lyndon’s distraction? Before any thoughts of romance, the gentleman had been her dearest friend. Yet now, she wasn’t even a footnote in his history.
Nora knew it was merely an act of self-preservation—never mind that his wife was now so thoroughly trapped that there was no freeing herself from the bounder. Mr. Lyndon wouldn’t wish to look foolish or mercenary, and she knew better than to expect honesty from such a coward, yet still, his dismissal had her heart stuttering to a halt.
“I do hate to interrupt this reunion,” said Mr. Hatcher, stepping in before the silence grew pronounced. “However, I am desperate for some air. Do excuse us.”
Giving the group a nod of dismissal, Mr. Hatcher offered his arm, and Nora took it, clinging fast as he turned them away.
Chapter 20
The gentleman was not one for dawdling at the best of times, and with quiet efficiency Mr. Hatcher guided her neatly from the circle before anyone could delay them, weaving them back into the moving currents of the ballroom. Nora concentrated on putting one foot before the other as the chandeliers overhead blurred, and the noises rose and fell around her in a meaningless roar that pressed against her ears.
Leaning closer, Mr. Hatcher murmured in her ear, “We are nearly there. Just a bit farther.”
The steady warmth of his arm beneath her gloved hand and the calm certainty in his voice kept her on steady ground until cool night air finally brushed against Nora’s face. Rather than lingering near the doors where couples and restless guests drifted in and out beneath the lantern light, Mr. Hatcher guided her toward the quieter edges of the courtyard where the music was little more than a distant pulse in the night air, not slowing until they reached a bench tucked beneath a hedge of climbing roses.
Nora moved with considerably less grace as he helped her to sit, her hands tightening together in her lap whilst she fought desperately for composure. The cool air ought to have helped, yet without the distraction of the ballroom and all those pryingeyes to hold it at bay, the ache in her chest expanded, growing in strength as it swallowed her whole.
Silently, Mr. Hatcher hovered. The gentleman looked painfully out of his depth, his broad shoulders tense beneath his evening coat whilst his gaze darted between her and the world around, as though searching for some practical solution to a problem he could not fix with effort or determination alone.
The sight nearly undid her.