Finch had little experience with smallpox, as his family had been spared that scourge, but even his uneducated eyes recognized the signs its survivors bore. The state of her scars was such that he suspected it had been some years since she’d been afflicted, but there was no ignoring the uneven marks marring her face. The lady was not one to command a man’s attention, let alone inspire love at first sight.
“I assure you, I have no designs on you no matter how highly you prize yourself,” he said with narrowed eyes.
The lady had the gall to stare at him with wide eyes, her brows rising so high up her blasted forehead that they disappeared beneath the curls. Honestly, the gentlemen of Bristow must suffer from poor vision, but he had ample evidence of their odd proclivities: Simon called Mina beautiful at regular intervals.
Though the lady was a good, kindhearted sort of person, Mina was more than plump and her features were too bland to be anything but plain. Her hair was more a muddy brown than a lovely chestnut. And Finch was certain that Simon was the only gentleman in existence to find Mina Kingsley attractive.
Was it feigned, or did Simon truly see his wife in such a light? But that was not a quandary to dredge through when he was staring down a feisty lady in need.
Finch returned to his examination, feeling her lower legs through her skirts. Though it was difficult to tell with so many layers muting his touch, Finch doubted the lady was severely injured: she was complaining too vehemently.
But when she spoke again, the lady’s tone was far more calm and sedate. “I apologize for being so beastly to you. I can only say that my fall has me out of sorts, and I fear I’ve unleashed my temper on you, which is monstrously unfair of me.”
“I accept,” he said, releasing her legs. “And you appear to be whole and unscathed.”
“Except for my backside,” she muttered in a low voice clearly not intended for him to hear, and so Finch ignored it.
Reaching forward, Finch assisted her to her feet, though she groaned like an octogenarian as she did so. Locks of her hair tumbled free, and she patted at it for a moment before giving up on the hopeless cause, but it drew Finch’s attention to her missing bonnet. Glancing around the area, he spied a bit of brown and green resting amidst the white, and Finch fetched it for her. The lady looked at the snow-covered thing and grimaced, wiping at the flakes clinging to the fabric, before placing it on her head.
“Might I offer you my mount, Mrs…” Finch blinked at the lady, realizing he had no thought as to her surname.
“Miss Felicity Barrows,” she said, brushing off her skirts. “And though I appreciate your generosity, I am not much of a rider.”
Finch gave his name and a bow. “I thought every country lady was fond of horses.”
Miss Barrows straightened. “I am a city dweller, Mr. Finch, and have spent little time on horseback.”
“Then allow me to escort you,” he said, offering his arm, though he had no idea why he was bothering to do so. Of course, a lifetime of training had taught him to never abandon a woman in distress, but he supposed it had more to do with the fact that it was something to fill his time.
Miss Barrows looked at his arm, her expression pinching in a manner that made him think she was unwilling, but the lady sloughed off her trepidation and took hold of it. The ground was not terribly slick, but there were enough worrisome patches that Finch had not allowed Sheba to gallop as they’d both longed to; he gave the beast a quick rub of her nose before retrieving her reins and leading her behind them.
“And where are we headed, Miss Barrows?” Finch was pleased to feel the lady holding tight to his arm, giving him more of her weight as she limped along.
She slanted him a glance. “Buxby Hall.”
“You are staying with Lady Lovell?”
*
Mr. Finch’s tone was warm and bright as he spoke that grand lady’s name, but Felicity flinched at it. Playing it over in her head, she tried to discern some deeper meaning behind the question. Such things may seem innocent enough, but minor questions can lead to major annoyances.
“I am, sir,” she said.
“Then you are a friend of the family?”
Surely she had no reason to be suspicious; she didn’t even know if Mr. Finch was married or not. And until now, he had been pleasantly distant, showing the care and assistance any gentleman would offer. But if she admitted the connection, would he guess her situation? Assume more of her? Seek out a closer acquaintance?
However, there was little point in avoiding the truth, for too many knew her connection to Lady Lovell.
“She is my great-aunt.” Then a thought struck like proverbial lightning from above, presenting Felicity with the perfect solution, and the words were out before she had time to think the better of it. “She’s invited me to stay as her companion.”
Chapter 7
No matter how little the lie seemed, it was impossible to speak it without her stomach giving a sour twist, but Felicity could not say she was sorry for the deception. It was near enough to the truth, as she would be serving as a companion of sorts during her stay; yet it made distinct inferences that shielded her from unwanted attention.
Only a poor relation lived as a companion, and Felicity was more than willing to embrace that role at present. Being free of proposals and feigned declarations of love was the precise reason she’d come to Bristow in the first place. A little lie was not such a terrible thing. Not if it brought her the solace she so desperately needed.
“Well, I am happy for that,” said Mr. Finch. “Lady Lovell is delightful, and I’ve often worried about her living all alone. I gather her son and his family do not visit the estate often, and she ought to have company.”
