But Mr. Finch spoke without judgment or fear. Felicity scoured his expression, looking for any hint of duplicity in his question, but instinct told her he was asking out of honest curiosity. Though his question was blunt, Felicity could not feel offended at his asking it. If anything, it was refreshing to face such an honest query.
“I was ten when the illness swept through our home. All three of us were struck down with it, and only I survived.” Though her hand was gloved, Felicity brushed a touch against the bumpy edge of her cheek that stood as a testament to that time of her life.
“I am sorry for your loss,” said Mr. Finch, his light brows pulled together. “That must have been quite the blow.”
“I consider myself quite blessed, Mr. Finch. Uncle George was untouched by it, and my life was spared. Many were scarred far worse than I or left without any family. There was a time when I was bitter, but I have come to see the joys amidst the pain.”
“Felicity, indeed,” he mumbled.
She smiled and chuckled. “I cannot seem to help myself, sir.”
Mr. Finch’s gaze remained on the ground, and Felicity wished she could see more of his face. There was so much to be gleaned from a person’s expression and eyes.
Turning her gaze to the distance, Felicity found her thoughts cast back to that past; there was little good to be had in bemoaning how her life had shifted and altered from those bright days of her youth, but at times, there was no ignoring the hole in her heart.
“That was a heavy sigh,” said Mr. Finch.
Felicity’s face warmed, despite the cold air, and she grimaced. “I suppose I was trapped in my memories and thinking of things best left alone. There are times when I miss my family. It is not the overpowering melancholy that gripped my father, but I do long for their support and love. I have learned to do things for myself, but it is exhausting always having to stand on one’s own without aid or assistance.”
Shifting her cloak, Felicity flexed her fingers beneath it. The gloves were helping to stave off the chill, but it was not enough. Mr. Finch stilled beside her, and Felicity cast a glance in his direction. Standing there with his hands behind him, he met her gaze with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t know if I have ever had that sort of support,” he murmured.
*
What possessed him to say such a thing? Finch wondered when he’d taken leave of his senses, but the words were spoken and sent out into the world before he thought the better of it. There was something about Miss Barrows that invited honesty.
Finch shifted from side to side before turning to continue down the path, but Miss Barrows stopped him with a touch.
“From what you’ve said of your family, it sounds as though you are quite close to them,” she said.
Giving her a temperate smile, Finch continued down the path. “Forget what I said. It was a slip of the tongue.”
“I would hazard a guess that it was entirely honest as well.”
“That may be, however—careful,” he said, holding out a hand to steady Miss Barrows as her feet slid beneath her. Eyes wide, she wobbled on the ice, but Finch held her firm, keeping her from taking another tumble.
Miss Barrows laughed, her breath swirling into vapor as a broad grin stretched across her face. “It is a good thing I brought your strong arm along, even if it can only carry a lady a few feet before fatiguing.”
“It is a rum business to follow a compliment with a criticism after that very limb saved you from yet another disaster,” said Finch, giving her a playful scowl.
“That is all it deserves when its owner complains like an old mule about his ‘exceptionally heavy’ burdens,” said Miss Barrows, her voice dropping to a masculine register at those last words.
All reserve was lost at the haughty raise of her chin and the ridiculous attempt to mimic his voice, and Finch laughed.
“You truly are an odd lady,” he said, turning to continue down the path while keeping a firm hand on Miss Barrows’ arm as they crossed the icy way.
“And again, I take that as a compliment,” she replied as they passed the danger. “Better to be viewed as ridiculous than dour.”
Finch shook his head. “I doubt anyone has ever called you dour—”
His boot met the ground, and it took Finch half a heartbeat to recognize his foot had no purchase. Letting out a yelp, he released Miss Barrows and tried to shift his weight, but his balance was thrown faster than he could compensate, and gravity pulled him down. Pain shot from his side and hip at the impact, and it was only by pure luck that his head did not follow suit. With a groan, he rolled onto his back and rested against the frozen path, well aware that once the agony ebbed, his pride would be equally bruised by the display.
Miss Barrows appeared above him with wide eyes, her hands pressed to her mouth. And while there was a definite flash of worry in her gaze, it faded as her shoulders began to shake.
“You would laugh at an injured man?” he murmured.
“I suppose I ought to feel guilty about it, but your hat went flying in one direction and you, the other. And then there was this flapping motion you did…” Miss Barrows grimaced, though her gaze lost none of its mirth. “It was rather comical.”
