“Of course I wish you to stay,” said Simon, turning an incredulous look in Finch’s direction. “If anything, your arrival is quite providential, for I require your advice.”
Finch laughed. “What advice could I give you?”
Simon frowned at that. “You do not give yourself proper credit, sir. There are few whose opinions I value more than yours. If not for your input, I wouldn’t have married Mina.”
The music stumbled once more, coming to a stop, and Finch gaped at Simon. “I gave you a warning against marrying for convenience’s sake, and you married against my advice, though I’m pleased to see it has fared well for you.”
That soppy smile of Simon’s grew, his eyes brightening. “It has fared more than ‘well,’ Finch. Mina is a treasure. I couldn’t have found a better wife, and if not for you bringing her to my attention, I wouldn’t have thought to pursue her.”
Finch had no response to that, for he hadn’t been in earnest in pointing Mina out at that fateful ball. True, he’d always harbored respect for the lady, but he’d never thought Simon would marry her.
“But we are drifting from the subject at hand,” said Simon. “I have often found your opinions on finance and investments to be quite sound. As much as I value Mina’s input on matters of the estate, she knows so little about the nuances of economy, and I am in desperate need of guidance.”
Nodding towards a pair of chairs sitting beside the pianoforte, Finch abandoned the instrument while making plans to return and sift through Mina’s music at a later time.
“My steward insists we invest some of our income into other ventures,” said Simon. “And while his reasons are logical, I cannot help but feel as though it would be detrimental to siphon funds away from the estate. The weather has been so temperamental of late, and I fear we are bound for some difficult harvests ahead. With our financial reserves tied up in investments, there will be nothing to keep the estate afloat, and I cannot abide the thought of taking on debt.”
Simon pinched his nose. “Mr. Thorne has been most vocal on the subject, but I cannot see my way to a solution.”
This was a familiar subject and one that Finch did not understand. Why were those with money always seemingly so ignorant about it? But he supposed it was easy to take a fortune for granted when one had never known poverty. Simon was a good master, but the financial practices of the past were no longer viable in their modern world. And Finch told him so.
“It is not enough for estates to merely sit on their capital, Simon. While you ought to keep aside some funds for emergencies, take the rest and invest. That will give your estate other revenues during desperate times. You must expand but be prudent while doing so.”
This was the sort of thing he would miss when Simon grew too busy with his new wife and the forthcoming brood of children. Even as they spoke about possible ventures to undertake, Finch found an odd sort of humor in the idea that a gentleman with a measly income was advising another with fifty times his fortune. Only Simon Kingsley would turn to Lewis Finch for advice on such matters.
But that was one of the many reasons Finch liked him. Unlike so many of his station, Simon Kingsley had no pretension, and though Finch could not understand why the fellow valued his opinion, he was glad to give it.
Chapter 9
Uncle George had preferred the city, and thus, Felicity had spent many of her thirty years surrounded by townhouses and buildings that were lovely but had not the splendor of their country cousins. Buxby Hall was a prime example of such estates. The Lovells had the wealth and status to own a very large and grand property, and it was a place of opulence, which existed to be a sign of wealth more than a true home.
Though appreciative of the refuge it offered from the toils and troubles of the city, Felicity did not feel wholly comfortable within it. She preferred simpler designs, which was no doubt a byproduct of Uncle George’s influence.
Her newly inherited Farleigh Manor was a beautiful property, and Uncle George had purchased it for the estate’s potential to turn a healthy profit, given the right management. Most of their class viewed the house as humble, which was laughable when compared to the truly humble dwellings of the poor, but Farleigh Manor favored economy over opulence, and Felicity loved it all the more for it.
Avebury Park, on the other hand, was a blend of the two. It shared Buxby Hall’s grander scale, but eschewed the embellishments and focused on clean lines and economy of design. The building focused on space and light, giving an airiness to the interior that was too often lacking in many homes.
Standing in the entryway, Felicity clutched a basket in her hands and stared unabashedly at her surroundings. She couldn’t recall ever stepping foot inside Avebury Park before (as she’d never had cause to visit), but she liked it and wondered if she might borrow the design for the staircase in Farleigh Manor. It would have to be scaled down, but the sweep of the banister drew the eye in such a delightful manner.
“Mr. Finch will see you in the library, miss.” The footman’s voice drew her from her musings, and Felicity followed the fellow as he led her through the building.
Felicity shifted the basket from one hand to the other and allowed her eyes to wander. The halls were darker, which was to be expected as they had less access to windows, but the doors to the adjacent rooms were all open, allowing a flood of afternoon light to chase away much of the shadows.
The footman stopped at one of the doors and motioned for her to enter, and Felicity found Mr. Finch standing in front of an armchair with his hands tucked behind him.
“Miss Barrows,” Mr. Finch said with a bow, and Felicity wondered what she’d been thinking coming here.
This trip to Bristow was meant to be free of gentlemen, yet she was seeking one out. Had she taken leave of her senses? Felicity cast a glance at the bundle she carried and cursed herself doubly for the silly impulse. But there was nothing wrong with bestowing a kindness, and her status as a companion gave her the anonymity she craved.
“Am I interrupting you?” she asked, nodding towards the book he’d abandoned on the side table. “Were you reading anything of interest?”
“No.” His expression held mild curiosity, glancing between her and the basket in her hands. “Are you feeling better today, Miss Barrows? I didn’t expect you to be walking the neighborhood yet.”
“I am well enough,” she replied, and apart from a few bruises, she was. Stepping forward, Felicity pulled back the fabric covering her bundle, and the scent of molasses, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg filled the room, drawing Mr. Finch closer. “I brought you a gift.”
“Gingerbread cake?”
Felicity smiled. “Aunt Imogene assured me it was your favorite and that you pilfer her reserve whenever you are about.”
