by Joanna Shupe
Chapter Eighteen
The next few days passed slowly. Through sheer force of will, Nora resumed her morning walks through the city. They helped to clear her head now that the whirlwind of her engagement had ended.
A fake engagement, yes. But at some points, near the end, it had begun to feel quite real.
She drew in a shuddering breath, the cold stinging her lungs. The large buildings dwarfed her, ostentatious limestone exteriors that reminded her of how new everything was here. Not like London, a city that had been the center of the globe for hundreds and hundreds of years, now dirty and grimy. New York was fresh and vibrant, a city of hope and new beginnings. It truly did feel as though anything was possible here.
She would be sad to leave it.
People rushed by her but she hardly noticed, so despondent over the mess she’d made of things. She certainly hadn’t expected Robert to come here. The conversation at the menagerie had been painful and heart-wrenching. His anger, while surprising from such a normally gentle soul, had been well justified. He’d traveled to New York expecting a reunion and found her engaged—albeit falsely—to another man. A cruel blow, and one she would have spared him, if at all possible.
As if that hadn’t been enough, Julius had arrived. What had you expected, Nora? A declaration of undying love? Julius Hatcher preferred solitude, a man perfectly happy in his huge castle, overseeing an empire without interference. He had no intention of ever changing. Ironic, for someone so enamored with the ever-shifting stock market.
“We all change based on our daily experiences . . . Nothing remains constant—and that is a good thing.”
A good thing except, it seemed, when change pertained to himself. All she could do was move on.
After wallowing in her own grief for a while, she finally returned to her uncle’s home. A large carriage sat just down the block. As she passed, the door swung open and she heard a male voice call, “Lady Nora.”
Glancing over, she found a man she’d never met headed straight for her. One of her uncle’s footmen had been following at a discreet distance, and Nora now waited for him to catch up before addressing the stranger.
The man was fairly young and handsome, and dressed like a gentleman. He tipped his bowler at her. “Lady Nora, forgive my rudeness but I wish to speak with you.”
“And who are you, exactly?”
“I am Frank Tripp, Esquire. Attorney at law and good friend to Julius Hatcher.”
The last two words caused her stomach to turn over. She didn’t want to hear whatever this man had to say. Lifting her skirts, she made to move around him. “I really must be getting back. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Tripp.”
“I know you’d probably rather ignore me but I’m begging for five minutes of your time.” He seemed quite earnest but she wasn’t certain her heart could take news of Julius right now. While she thought it over, he said, “Please, my lady. Hear me out.”
Had something happened? Was Julius all right? Had he learned the identity of his father’s investors or who started the fire in the stables? Questions burned on Nora’s tongue, yet she didn’t voice them.
“Milady?” the footman asked. “Would you care to return home now?”
Curiosity won out. “No, Patrick. I’ll just be a moment.” She then allowed Mr. Tripp to lead her to his carriage.
They climbed inside and he closed them in, taking the seat opposite her. “Thank you,” he said. “I know this seems a strange request, considering we’ve never met, but I had to speak with you.”
Might as well come straight to the point. “Is Julius unwell?”
“To put it mildly. I’ve never quite seen him like this, actually.”
“Like how?” She didn’t want to care but couldn’t stop herself from asking, apparently.
“He’s . . . Well, I thought there had been a death in the family until I pressed him and he admitted the truth. Your ladyship broke off the engagement.”
“Fake engagement,” she corrected. “We were never truly betrothed.”
Mr. Tripp’s handsome features softened as he smiled at her. “I have known Julius a long time. One thing about him, he’s incapable of telling a lie. He cannot do it. Me, I lie for a living. It’s in my blood. But Julius is different. He never pretends to be something he isn’t. Ever. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Are you saying he wasn’t pretending to be my fiancé?”
“I’m saying that whatever happened between the two of you was real. That his acting skills could not begin to convince anyone he felt something for you if he truly didn’t.”
“It hardly matters what he feels. As he himself once said, words mean little if they are not backed up by actions.”
“True, but sometimes it takes a man’s brain a few minutes to catch up. To make matters worse, Julius’s father did everything he could to ensure his son wouldn’t marry.” Nora must’ve shown her confusion because he said, “Has he told you about his father?”
“About the investment going under and taking his own life, yes.”
He settled back in the seat. “That’s just the tip of it, I’m afraid. You see, Julius’s mother turned her back on her husband when everything fell apart, made Julius sit with the old man during his drunken ramblings. He was thirteen, forced to listen to his father rant and rave for days about the perils of having a family and the weight of responsibilities. And the instant he left the old man for a minute, his father killed himself.”
“That’s awful.” She could only imagine the guilt Julius must carry.
“Lost his mother as well, for all intents and purposes. She closed herself off after that, struggling to keep the family afloat. To Julius, family means failure. And his mother reinforces that notion every time he sees her.”
Nora disliked Mrs. Hatcher even more now. Her heart ached for his loss, for the poisoning of his future happiness. How could a mother be so cruel to her children? At least Nora had never had her father’s approval and affection. You couldn’t miss what you’d never had. “I still don’t see what this has to do with me. He doesn’t return my affections.”
“That’s where you are wrong, my lady. He is besotted by you. Completely over the moon. In short, he’s in love with you.”
“You’re wrong. He thinks whatever is between us is merely a phase, an ailment to work out of our systems.”
Mr. Tripp was already shaking his head. “He braved his mother for you. He allowed himself to be humiliated, blackmailed, and insulted by these society types to keep up your ruse. He risked his seat on the exchange for you.”
While some of Mr. Tripp’s logic made sense, it didn’t erase the fact that Julius had let her walk away. As he’d said many times, if he cared for a woman he would never allow her to walk away.
Not to mention Julius had endured those society types because he’d needed the ruse to continue every bit as much as she had.
“I’m sorry. I appreciate you coming this morning but—”
“I’d like for you to come to the theater with me on Friday night.”
She frowned at him. Was Mr. Tripp attempting to make Julius jealous? If so, he shouldn’t waste his time. “Why?”
“Julius has purchased a failing theater. There’s a grand reopening performance Friday night and all of society will be there. I think you should also attend.”
Julius had purchased a theater? That was unexpected—but then this was the man who had hosted a dinner party on horseback and built a French castle. The only time he hadn’t acted outrageously was when they’d pretended to be engaged, apparently. “Thank you for the invitation but I must decline.”
“Hiding away and cowering hardly seems your style, Lady Nora.”
She bristled at the insult. “Are you trying to anger me into accepting? If so, I should tell you it will not work.”
He brushed imaginary dirt from his trousers. “Of course. It was silly of me to try. It’s probably for the best. Miss Desmond will undoubtedly
prefer to have him all to herself anyway.”
Poppy Desmond? Nora’s stomach clenched at the mention of Julius’s former mistress. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I thought you knew. He bought this theater to give Poppy a place to perform.”
Nora inhaled sharply, the news like a swift blow. He bought that woman a theater? Why in God’s name would he have done something like that? Furthermore, he’d done it without even mentioning it to Nora. How dare he . . .
Anger and hurt twisted in her veins, growing, until she knew what she had to do. Sit home while he romanced his mistress in front of all society? Then everyone would assume Nora was a heartbroken fool, sitting at home and crying over him.
Absolutely not—not even if it killed her.
Looking up at Mr. Tripp, she nodded. “I changed my mind. I would very much like to attend the theater on Friday.”
One of the things Julius had always loved about his large home was the quiet after dark. No dogs running about. No babies squalling or nannies scrambling. Just quiet. He could wander the halls and long rooms, never seeing another soul. The servants knew to give him his space and he paid them well for it.
The tranquility was hardly soothing on this particular evening, however. He was restless, sitting in his dark office and drinking his favorite whiskey. Only a sliver of lamplight from the street peeked through a far curtain, the rest of the room cloaked in gloom.
A gloom that perfectly matched his mood.
Hard to pinpoint each of the emotions churning inside him. He was furious at that ridiculous artist for showing up and ruining everything. Then there was the shock over Nora’s admission. Disappointment in himself that he hadn’t handled it better.
Most of all, he regretted the end of his fake engagement.
He drained the rest of the whiskey in his glass and poured another. He’d grown quite attached to Nora. Had anticipated seeing her, even if just to talk to her.
“I cannot pretend I do not want more and your feelings on the matter have been made perfectly clear.”
What exactly were his feelings on the matter?
Damned if he knew. Yes, he had thought the attraction was something to be worked through. He usually tired of a woman after about three or four months. Why should Nora be any different?
Yet she was different. He felt it down to his soul. She was no selfish jezebel or scheming dance hall girl. Nor was she an actress who wanted him for his name and bank account. Nora had fallen in love with him—a man with a terrible family history far from the elite types she normally associated with. Never once had she treated him as being from a lower station, though he was indeed that.
And brave. God, was she brave. She never shied away or backed down, not even when admitting her love for him. She easily could have lied or made up a story to appease Julius’s curiosity. Yet she’d done neither; she had admitted the truth without shame.
Though he hadn’t been ready to hear it, he respected the hell out of the admission.
The question was, what was he going to do about it all? The idea of giving her up for good made him want to punch something. The alternative, however, was to really marry her . . . and he couldn’t very well do that. If her father hadn’t approved of the weak and banal Robert, then he certainly would not approve of a man with Julius’s reputation.
“Never marry, my boy. You shall hurt everyone you love.”
It was better to be alone. That was how Julius had always lived his life, free of familial responsibilities. Yes, he provided for his mother and sister—and neither could stand him. They snubbed their noses at his career, his home, his bank account . . . His mother had never approved of anything Julius had done. Somehow he’d managed to disappoint the one woman who should love him unconditionally.
A noise suddenly caught his attention. He paused and listened for it again. There, a soft thump. The staff had long gone to bed. No one else was in this part of the house. Who was here?
He remained still, waiting. A scratching sounded in the keyhole. He’d locked the door earlier for privacy and never bothered to unlock it. Someone was now trying to open the tumbler with a pair of lock picks. He could hear the pins working to find the right position to disengage the lock.
Anticipation surged through his veins, his heart beginning to pump furiously. Oh, how he longed to pummel someone tonight.
Without making a sound, he stood and crept behind a large curtain near the window, completely concealing himself. It only took a few minutes for the intruder to find the correct combination for the pins and the lock tumbled open. The latch turned slowly, quietly, and soft footsteps fell on the carpets.
Shutting the door, the intruder lit a lamp he must have brought with him. Julius could see the dull yellow bouncing off the walls as the person moved toward the desk. He did not move, breathing evenly and silently, curious as to the intruder’s intent. Was this the same person who had destroyed his office the night of the fire? It could very well be one of his father’s investors, hoping to steal the fictional stock certificates.
The drawer in Julius’s desk slid open. Papers crinkled as hands swept over them, searching. Another drawer, more rustling. Blood rushed in Julius’s ears, the irritation and frustration at this violation building until he could not tolerate one second more. This had gone on long enough.
Throwing back the curtain, he stepped away from the window . . . and came face-to-face with William Pendleton.
Pendleton’s eyes went wide with alarm, his body freezing as he reached into the bottom desk drawer. “Hatcher.”
Julius put his hands on his hips and glared at the older man. “You had better have a good goddamn reason for what you are doing right now, Pendleton, or I’ll be calling the roundsman.”
“I . . .” Pendleton glanced around, likely looking for an escape route.
“Don’t even try to run. You’ve got twenty years and fifteen pounds on me at least—and I know every square inch of this property. You’ll never make it.”
Sweat beaded on Pendleton’s forehead. He cleared his throat and straightened, giving a lame attempt at a smile. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding here. I left something the other day during our visit and merely came back to retrieve it.”
“In the middle of the night? Using lock picks? Uninvited? You don’t really expect anyone to buy that tale, do you?”
“It’s the story I’ll tell, regardless.” A sneer twisted the other man’s lips. “Now who do you think they’ll believe? Me, an upstanding member of New York society and president of the Gotham Club—or the new-monied banker one step up from the gutter?”
“They’ll believe me when they find the lock picks in your pocket.”
He lifted his hands in the air as if innocent. “Those were planted on me. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
Fury colored Julius’s vision like a mist. He clenched his fists and stalked forward. “Then I suppose I shall merely need to take matters into my own hands. After all, this is my home and you are trespassing.”
Pendleton began backing up, real fear flashing in his eyes. “You cannot touch me. I’ll see everything you care about stripped away.”
“Nice try, Knickerbocker. You don’t have even close to that sort of power over me.”
Pendleton lunged for the door, as Julius expected he might. Julius pounced and caught Pendleton’s shoulder, pushing the older man against the wall. Before Pendleton could escape, Julius wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed. Pendleton gasped and clawed at Julius’s grip, trying to loosen it to no avail.
“I should squeeze the life out of you right here.”
“No!” Pendleton wheezed. “Stop.”
“Why should I?” He tightened his fist and bumped the other man’s head into the plaster. “Tell me what you were looking for.”
Airway further restricted, Pendleton’s eyes began to bulge. He shook his head.
“Fine. If you are that eager to die . . .” He watched as Pendleton’s mouth t
ried to form words. Julius eased up his grip. “Something to say?”
“I’ll tell you. Just let me go.”
“You get one chance, Pendleton. Best make it count.” He let go of the other man and stepped back, allowing Pendleton to collect himself momentarily.
Pendleton leaned over, dragging air into his lungs, his hand on his throat. As Julius watched him, something nagged at the back of his brain, something familiar.
“We gentlemen must look out for one another.”
Pendleton’s words from the other day . . . Julius hadn’t remembered at the time, but now he knew where he’d heard that expression before. His father had said it before he’d taken his own life. It hadn’t made any sense to Julius then but Warren Hatcher must have fixated on that expression he’d overheard from Pendleton.
“It was you,” Julius snarled. “You’re here searching for the stock because you were one of the investors that ruined my father. Goddamn you!”
Julius moved to wrap his hands around Pendleton’s throat once more, but the other man put his hands up. “Wait, don’t.”
“Why in hell should I let you live when you are responsible for my father’s death?”
“Your father was an inept fool,” Pendleton spat. “He offered up collateral to the bank and signed that demand note without thinking it through. Always eager to make a quick buck.”
“And you left him to face the creditors alone, never paying your share—a share that might have saved my family from losing everything.”
“That was not my problem. I never signed anything.”
“No, you merely shook his hand and promised you were good for the money—except when it counted, apparently.”
“There was no point in paying money for a deal that had fallen through!” Pendleton shouted. “Why should we all lose out to help the bank recover their losses?”
“Because you could afford it,” Julius gritted out. “And my family could not.”
Pendleton laughed, almost a sneer. “Your father was nothing more than a charlatan. He talked a good game but he was greedy.”
“Greedy!” Julius’s muscles clenched, ready to strangle Pendleton once more. He shoved the other man into the wall and leaned in his face. “You have now broken into my office twice looking for stock that does not belong to you and you have the fucking audacity to talk about greed?”