“My Aunt Imogene said the same thing of you, but…” The lady tucked her hands deep into her cloak and nibbled on her lip with a furrowed brow. “…but you seem to have a great many worries plaguing you.”
Finch’s brows rose at that, and he shifted from one foot to the other. His throat felt dry, but there was no relief to be found.
“I am surprised you feel that way. I wonder what gave you that impression.”
Miss Barrows continued to nibble on her lip, her gaze traveling the landscape ahead of them. “Call it a preternatural ability to sense sadness.”
Finch huffed, sending a puff of vapor out into the crisp air. “That sounds like a dreadful gift to have.”
The lady gave him an assessing glance. “It is handy at times.”
Though he did not turn to meet her gaze, Finch felt it. Miss Barrows watched him in a manner that made him shift his jacket and pull it closer, as though it might cover his exposed thoughts.
“I would think that someone in your position would have more to worry about than some random gentleman you met not twenty-four hours ago,” he replied, giving her a hint of a smirk.
“My position?”
“A lady does not become a companion of her own volition.”
The winter air had colored Miss Barrows cheeks to a bright pink, but there was a new hint of red that entered her complexion as she grasped his meaning, and Finch felt a twist of guilt at having pointed out her reduced circumstances.
“If you do not wish to speak of your troubles, I do not blame you,” she said. “But there is some comfort to be had in speaking—even with a stranger.”
“There is nothing to speak about.”
Miss Barrows turned to give him an arched brow at that lie but did not press the matter.
“Why do you care so much about helping this stranger?” he asked.
Coming to a halt, Miss Barrows turned to him with a pensive smile. “I suppose if I am asking for honesty, I ought to give it.”
Her bright brows pulled together, her gaze shifting to the side. With a swing, she turned back down the road, and the pair continued their journey.
“My mother named me Felicity because I was her felicity,” she said.
“I see where you gained your love of wordplay.”
Miss Barrows grinned at that. “My mother loved to laugh and took immense joy in making others do so. Though many of my memories of her have faded with time, I still recall the picnics where she would entertain us with stories that had us in stitches.”
There was something in her tone and the way she described her mother that made Finch fear the worst. Of course, as the lady was destitute and living off the charity of her great-aunt, her story wasn’t bound to have a happy resolution.
“She died bringing my brother into the world, and my father was never the same after that,” she said. “It became my duty to bring laughter into his life as my mother had, and I embraced that role in the family. I learned to recognize his moods, no matter how much he tried to hide them from my brother and me.”
Miss Barrows sent him a slanted grin. “I suppose it became a bit of a compulsion. I cannot stand to see someone unhappy when I have the power to make them smile.”
Finch tucked his hands behind him, his gaze lowered to the ground ahead of them as his boots crunched against the snow and ice crystals.
“A father ought not to put such a burden on his child,” he said, and Miss Barrows’ smile grew.
“Do not think me hurt by it. I am no young miss and have learned in my thirty years of life that parents are as fallible as the rest of humanity,” she replied. “Though I wish my efforts had mended my father’s heart, I know he did the best he could. When his grief became too great, and he struggled to care for us and maintain his vocation, he surrendered his pride and brought us to live with my Uncle George. Many a man wouldn’t have done so, and it would’ve been far worse for William and me. When smallpox struck Plymouth, he tried to fight through for us, but when it took my brother, his heart broke beyond repair.”
“Is that when you received your scars?” he asked, nodding at her face.
Chapter 10
For a brief moment, Felicity could not form words. Her brain seized at hearing someone speak of the marks on her face so boldly. And even as her first instincts wanted to recoil at the bluntness with which he spoke, Felicity felt an odd lightness enter her heart.
No one ever referenced her scars. Not directly. Her wealth and position made few willing to insult her directly, so they feigned indifference to her complexion and whispered behind their fans, recoiling at the imperfections as though they still carried the dreaded disease.
