“Of course not, Simon.” Perhaps not the entire truth, but it was true enough that she felt no twinge of guilt for speaking it. Simon was happy with Mr. Finch around, which made Mina happy in turn. She simply needed to recall that when Mr. Finch was near.
“You would tell me if you were?”
“Of course,” she said, pressing a kiss to Simon’s jaw. He turned and met her lips, and Mina reveled in that touch, for it spoke more than his words.
“I love you, Mina. Body and soul.” His words echoed the sentiments he’d given her that first time he declared his love, and Mina clung to them.
“I know, Simon, and I love you, too.” But before Mina could say another word, he kissed her so soundly that she could not form another coherent thought.
Chapter 12
There were few greater joys in this world than passing a few hours with a friend. Refreshment, a plush armchair, and a blazing fire on a cold winter’s day added exponentially to that felicity, and Finch found himself in possession of all four.
Legs outstretched, Finch picked at the remnant sweets and found himself wishing for a bit of Lady Lovell’s gingerbread. He’d rationed out Miss Barrows’ gift over the past fortnight, but now he’d be forced to go begging from Buxby Hall when he wanted more. The cook outright refused to share her recipe with the Kingsleys’; some nonsense about demanding a biscuit recipe in return, which was soundly rejected despite his attempts to broker a negotiation.
The fire sent out a wave of heat, chasing away the chill seeping in from the windows, and though Finch would like to take off his boots and change into a dressing gown, his present situation was near perfect.
Finch glanced at his companion. One of Simon’s hands rested against the arm of the chair, his fingers tapping a rhythm against the leather, while his other propped up his chin as he watched the flickering light in silence. As they’d not been afforded many opportunities to pass a few hours together, Finch wished his friend was in a chattier mood, but Simon had been reticent of late.
“Are you going to tell me what has you at odds or are you going to keep brooding?” asked Finch.
Simon straightened, his gaze shooting to his friend. “Brooding?”
Finch smirked. “Definitely brooding.”
Letting out a huff, Simon dropped his head against the back of the chair. “Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not.” He paused, gave that statement some consideration, and amended, “Not much, at any rate. But you leave me no choice but to poke and prod if you refuse to tell me what has you tied in knots.”
“My wife.”
Finch slanted a look towards Simon, but the fellow was already shaking his head.
“That is not fair of me. Mina is not the problem. She never was…” And with that, Simon began to unravel the tale of the first months of his marriage. Setting aside the food, Finch crossed his arms, watching as Simon flushed red at parts, smiled at others, and even looked close to weeping at various intervals.
It seemed love was for fools because Finch could hardly countenance Simon’s tale and the absolute muck he’d made of his life. While he claimed no skill with the ladies, even the eternal bachelor Lewis Finch recognized how foolhardy his friend’s behavior had been.
“Don’t just sit there like a lump, Finch. I don’t know what to do.”
Finch stared at his friend for a long moment before speaking.
“Let me see if I grasp the situation. You, proving yourself an utter halfwit—” Simon scowled at that, but Finch continued, “—you allowed your harpy of a mother to invade your home, towing along your equally wretched sistersandthe repugnant lady you’d courted and pined for, even though she threw you over in favor of a man with higher social status. And don’t try to defend your decision to allow them entrance to Avebury Park, Simon, for even I know that was especially idiotic.”
The angry pull to Simon’s expression eased, and he gave Finch a sad nod. Only once he conceded the point did Finch continue.
“Then, they spent weeks tormenting and brow-beating your wife, while you stood by and did nothing—”
“I did not understand the extent of their actions. Had I known, I would’ve tossed them out far sooner than I did.”
Finch nodded. “But that does not excuse the fact that you fawned over your former lovein front of your wife. Good heavens, man! You are lucky Mina forgave you! She’d have been within her rights to run you through.”
“I know!” Simon pounded the arm of his chair and straightened. “Do you think I don’t know that, Finch? The only defense I can give for my action is that I did not intentionally flirt withthatwoman…” Simon paused, his brows pulling tight together. “Or, I don’t believe it was intentional. I am no longer certain if it was an accident or simply self-delusion.”
“Likely both.”
“But that is neither here nor there. The fact is that something is at odds with my wife again. Since we reconciled, my life has been as close to perfect as one can find in this imperfect world, but something is shifting. I felt it in the weeks leading up to her leaving me, and I feel an echo of it now…”
Simon’s voice faded into nothing, and he sat limply in his chair as though that confession had robbed him of his strength. His eyes bleakly stared off into the distance as though seeing the future he feared was unfolding before him.
