Mr. Finch’s brown eyes rose to meet hers, his fair brows drawing together. “And what have I done to deserve such a grand reward?”
Handing the basket to the gentleman, Felicity waved an airy hand. “After the service you rendered me yesterday, I would think it obvious.”
“And I would think it obvious that such a service needs no reward,” he replied, though it did not stop him from breaking off a small bit of cake and popping it into his mouth. “If I had left you there, I would’ve deserved a flogging.”
Felicity gave another vague wave and smile. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley not around?”
“They keep to themselves in the morning,” said Mr. Finch, his attention on the basket as he breathed in the spicy scent of the gingerbread.
“And you are left to yourself?” Felicity cast a glance at the empty room and wondered how often he was alone.
Mr. Finch shrugged. “They usually invite me to join them, but I prefer not being the awkward addition to their activities. Though I do not begrudge my friend’s happiness, there is only so much romance one can stomach.”
The gentleman smiled in a manner that was more of a good-natured grimace, and Felicity laughed, as she knew he meant her to, but it was as hollow as Mr. Finch’s feigned humor. Casting her thoughts to the world around her, Felicity scoured for a way in which to bring a true smile to his face.
“Would you accompany me about the grounds, Mr. Finch?” The air was as brisk as ever, but it was better than allowing him to sit about in this great empty house alone.
Mr. Finch’s head cocked to one side. “After our last stroll, I would say you are a glutton for punishment.”
“Yes, but I met with disasterbeforeyou came across me in my prone state. I would love to explore some more, but I need a strong arm to keep me from ruin.”
Mr. Finch’s eyes brightened, and he watched her with a narrowed gaze. “Then you might wish to seek out someone with a stronger arm than mine, for you are exceptionally heavy, Miss Barrows.”
“I suppose if I need assistance, you shall have to run and find me a more strapping gentleman to lend me his arm,” she said with an innocent smile before turning to the library door.
The gentleman followed, and soon the pair were bundled up and on their way (though not before Mr. Finch pilfered another piece of gingerbread). He offered up a bit to Felicity, but she declined, and they made their way out into the world.
The sky was the clearest and lightest of blues she’d ever seen, and the sun shone bright, casting the world in a golden glow that was amplified by the ice crystals clinging to every still surface. The air was quiet, as though no one else stirred this glorious morning. Puffs of smoke curled upwards into the distance, marking the locations of the cottages in the area, and though the cold was already nipping at Felicity’s cheeks, she could not think of a better way to pass a morning.
“I heard a lady say she was forty, and when it was questioned, she called upon another for his opinion on the matter,” she said, infusing her tone with a casual air. “She asked him, ‘Do you believe me when I say I am forty?’ And he replied, ‘I ought not to dispute it, madam, for I have heard you say so these ten years.’”
Mr. Finch’s expression scrunched, and he cast her a side glance. Felicity pretended not to notice, simply walking along as though she’d said nothing out of the ordinary. And then the fellow began to chuckle. It was not a deep laugh, but he shook his head with a smile.
“My father adored publications like theCovent Garden Jester, and I was raised with an appreciation for wordplay and jests,” Felicity said with a smile.
“You are a strange lady, Miss Barrows.”
“I will take that as a compliment, Mr. Finch.”
His smile quirked up to one side, his brown eyes lightening. “As you should. The world is overpopulated with normal ladies.”
“And isn’t it so much better to embrace the ridiculous?” she said, examining his profile. “I prefer to see people laughing.”
*
If Finch wanted to lie to himself, he would claim ignorance as to why he’d accepted Miss Barrows’ invitation. Or he may say it was his gentlemanly duty. But in the confines of his thoughts, he could admit the truth. Even though the lady at his side was decidedly odd, spending time with her was far preferable to spending another hour on his own at Avebury Park.
Another friend lost to matrimony.
His feet trudged along, each step plodding across the countryside as Miss Barrows regaled him with jokes and other silliness, and Finch couldn’t say he was unhappy with the company. The lady’s lightness of spirit radiated out of her and spread to those around her, and however fleeting, it was good to set aside his troubles and simply chat with someone who seemed keen for his company.
And that gave Finch pause. Slanting a glance in her direction, he mused over the possibility that she was pursuing him. The thought was so ridiculous that Finch felt like laughing out loud. Even if Miss Barrows were desperate for a husband to rescue her from servitude, Finch was not the fellow to for her: his income would leave her worse off than if she stayed in Lady Lovell’s household.
But Miss Barrows was not flirtatious. Certainly, she was cheery and animated, and as their conversation evolved from the mundane into something more engaging, Finch was rather pleased to have been pressed into playing her escort.
“I do like to see you smile, Mr. Finch,” said Miss Barrows, and Finch shot her a puzzled look.
“I smile quite often, Miss Barrows.”
