With each word, Simon’s tone tensed, his words coming faster. His grip on her hand tightened, his eyes pleading with her to trust him. There was such an edge of fear to his expression and tone that Mina wished her words recalled. Yes, the present situation brought with it unpleasant memories, but Simon had spent the last three months atoning for those sins, and Mina had no desire to flog him any further.
“Of course not, Simon,” said Mina, mustering a smile for him.
*
Never had Simon paid such strict heed to details. His gaze scoured Mina’s expression and posture, looking for all the little signs of her heart. Her shoulders tensed as she spoke. Though her free hand was no longer clenched in her skirts, it had left many wrinkles behind. There was a tightness around her eyes and a twist to the corner of her lips.
Was she speaking the absolute truth? Not that Mina was a liar, but he knew how often she shunted aside her feelings for the benefit of others. Was she doing so again?
After the beauty of their morning drive, this moment felt all the more painful. For that alone, Simon was ready to toss Finch out into the snow.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his eyes scouring for all those little hints of her feelings. Mina usually had such an open expression, but in such moments, Simon wasn’t sure he trusted himself to understand his wife. His inability to read her moods had nearly cost him his marriage three months ago.
Mina wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “Do not fret, my love.”
Simon buried his face into her neck, breathing in her scent that held a hint of the lilies she adored so much.
“Finch is a fine fellow, truly,” he murmured. “He does not always think before he speaks—”
“I am well aware of that.” A hint of a smile colored her tone.
“But he has a good heart, Mina. I do think you’ll like him when you come to know him better.” Leaning back to meet her gaze, Simon pressed a kiss to her nose. “And should you wish to at any time, simply tell me, and I will heave him out the nearest window.”
Mina laughed, a smile lighting her eyes, but Simon did not join in. Giving her a squeeze, he watched her with all the determination of his heart.
“I am in earnest, my love,” he said. “You are my heart and soul, and I will not allow you to be mistreated again. If you are in any way unhappy, you need only mention it, and I will do what I can to fix it.”
“You sound like a knight of old swearing his fealty to his lady love,” she said with a hint of mirth.
Simon squeezed her. “I am. And I swear it. You are everything to me.”
Mina’s eyes brightened, her hand coming up to brush her favorite spot on his cheek as she always did when particularly moved, and then she closed the distance once more, and all thoughts of Finch and past heartaches faded into nothing.
Chapter 5
Considering his family’s pretensions, Finch wondered if his father would suffer apoplexy at the sight of his youngest son tying his own cravat. His fingers moved with the speed and dexterity of one well used to performing such a task, and they flew through the motions with little prompting from their master. No doubt, the Kingsleys’ staff thought him odd for refusing the ministrations of their footman, but having forgone a valet long ago, he saw no need to use one at Avebury Park.
Finch examined himself in the mirror, turning this way and that. A stray thread hung from the seam on his sleeve, so he retrieved his sewing scissors and snipped the dreadful thing off, making doubly certain that no imperfection was to be seen.
Striding from his bedchamber, he wished he could banish thoughts of his father’s edicts as easily as that. Money was a useful thing, but when one had little, it became an all-consuming presence in one’s life. Like a squalling babe, it demanded constant attention but without the promise that such tantrums would fade with time. If anything, the foul thing became more incessant as the years sped by.
Finch paused in the hallway. Was he going to allow this to ruin his holiday? Visiting Simon was his favorite time of year, and yet his mind was determined to spend the entirety of it fretting about that which he could not change.
Shaking aside those worries, Finch focused on his friend. Surely Simon had finished the task that had occupied the majority of his morning, and they could pass the rest of it in their usual pursuits—like a proper ride. His brothers’ stables lacked any remarkable mounts, but Simon had quite the collection. Sheba was a pretty filly always game for daring antics across the Essex countryside. The nip in the air was worth braving if he could spend a few moments astride that superb beast.
Lost in his thoughts, Finch did not notice the dining room’s sole occupant until he was standing beside her. Halting in his tracks, he stared at the lady, and she stared right back with a piece of dry toast lifted to her lips.
“Mr. Finch,” she said in greeting, dropping her gaze away from him. Her muscles tensed, her cheeks pinking ever-so-slightly.
“Mrs. Kingsley,” he replied with a nod, thanking his luck that he did not trip over her name. It seemed odd to refer to Simon’s wife in such a manner. Of course, it seemed odd that Simon had a wife at all, but to stand on ceremony in a home more beloved than his own was ludicrous. Yet with every look and tone, Mrs. Kingsley made it clear she did not welcome familiarity with Finch.
Sweeping his gaze over the lady, Finch gave her a winning smile. “That is a fetching gown, Mrs. Kingsley.”
The lady stiffened at the compliment, yet somehow also shrank before his gaze. For the life of him, Finch did not know why she found him so offensive, yet over the course of the last day, every time he so much as looked in her direction, Mina Kingsley blushed, stammered, and generally seemed ill at ease in his presence.
Serving himself a plate from the sideboard, Finch took the seat opposite Mrs. Kingsley. He’d hidden in his bedchamber to avoid such interludes, and now they were forced together. The silverware clinked against the china, serving as the only sound in the room.
“Lovely weather we’re having,” said Finch.
