“I apologize if I offended you.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said with a wave. “I knew you meant no offense, and your blunt manner suits me. But I do not think Mrs. Kingsley cares for it.”
Finch’s lips pinched together, and he felt an urge to let loose some of the more colorful epitaphs he’d learned during his time in the army. “And how is one to speak to a person who finds offense when none is meant?”
Miss Barrows’ expression filled with such sweet innocence that Finch prepared himself for a witty rejoinder as the lady smiled and said, “Carefully, of course.”
Finch gave her a narrowed look, though his lips curled into a smile. “Might I say that I gave you far more assistance than you gave me?”
“I only promised to offer my advice. I did not say it would be helpful,” she said with a spark of humor in her eyes. “But I might add that you must be patient with the lady. Whatever blunder you’ve committed can be overcome with time and kindness. She doesn’t seem the type to nurse a grudge.”
The lane split ahead, signaling the entrance to Buxby Hall approaching, and Finch felt weighed down at the sight of it.
“I once heard of a most extraordinary sermon,” said Miss Barrows, gazing out at the passing trees and shrubs. Again, Finch sensed some mischief about, for the lady’s tone always altered when she thought she was being especially clever or witty, and she couldn’t hide the mirth in her expression—no matter how she tried.
“Oh? Do tell,” he said in a dry tone.
“The vicar was giving a blistering sermon,” she said, swinging her bright gaze to meet Finch. “Full of fire and brimstone, he chastised his flock for all the sins of humanity until he reduced the congregation to weeping and gnashing of teeth. But there was one fellow who looked not the slightest bit perturbed. When the vicar questioned why he did not weep with the rest, he replied, ‘Oh, I belong to another parish.’”
Finch’s brows pulled together as he cast her a questioning glance before giving her the expected chuckle.
“Not my best?” she asked with a sniff, turning her nose up as though disdaining his sense of humor. “I stumbled across that jest a few weeks ago, and I rather like it.”
That brought a genuine smile to Finch’s lips as he shook his head. Despite the chill in the air and the breezes blowing past them, Finch felt warmed through, as though the glow of Miss Barrows’ heart was a hearth.
“You are an odd lady, Miss Barrows.”
“My thanks for the compliment, sir,” came the tart reply, spoken with all the regality of a queen.
Chapter 15
Usually, Mr. Thorne was an engaging fellow. His exceptional conversation was one of the reasons Simon had hired him to act as steward of Avebury Park; if they were to work side by side, Simon had wanted someone enjoyable. Though he entrusted most of the minutiae to Mr. Thorne, Simon would not concede complete control like so many of his class did, which meant he spent a good deal of time in his steward’s company.
But today, Simon couldn’t follow Mr. Thorne’s monotonous ramblings about the tenants, the upcoming renovations, income and expenditure, and the like. There was so much to do in the coming months that he needed to concentrate, but Simon’s thoughts were decidedly elsewhere.
“Is anything amiss?” asked Mr. Thorne, pausing amidst a discourse on crop rotations. “I get the distinct impression you haven’t heard a word I’ve said in the last several minutes.”
Or the entire conversation, more like.
Rubbing the bump of his nose, Simon gave the fellow an apologetic smile. “I fear my thoughts have strayed. Perhaps you could write down your thoughts about the more important issues, and I can peruse them at my leisure.”
Mr. Thorne gave him an assessing glance. “Is there anything I might do to be of assistance? I haven’t seen you this distracted in months.” The fellow gave his statement a thought and amended, “Or irritated, rather. You’ve been plenty distracted since you and Mrs. Kingsley returned from your trip to Rosewood Cottage.”
Simon narrowed his eyes at the impudent fellow, but that was the most he felt he could do. He’d hired Mr. Thorne knowing he was an outspoken sort, and Simon couldn’t punish him for being precisely what he was. Besides, such candor was usually refreshing.
“It is nothing of consequence. Just a few things on my mind,” replied Simon, as he was in no mood to discuss the very significant issue plaguing him at present.
Mr. Thorne gathered his things with a nod and left Simon to himself, though there was no point in remaining in his study. There was nothing here with which to distract himself. No book or letter could hold his attention. Even Finch had abandoned him, as his friend spent more time at Buxby Hall than at Avebury Park of late.
Getting to his feet, Simon went in search of the person who was both the source of his discomfort and his solace. He wandered the halls of his home, and it struck him just how much his life had altered from the previous year and how much vitality and joy she’d brought to Avebury Park. Simon couldn’t recall there ever being such contentment within these walls. Certainly not during his childhood; even at their best, his parents weren’t the contented sort.
But what would his home become if its mistress were absent? That was not such a difficult hypothetical to sort through, for Simon’s life before Mina had not been terribly happy. The Simon of those days had believed himself to be, but the Simon of now knew better.
Simon’s feet led him to the place he knew he’d find her. Kingsleys of the past had preferred the formal parlor, as was evidenced by the additional care and attention given to its decoration, but from the beginning, Mina had made the morning room her preferred place. The space was smaller but the windows overlooked the garden, and in summer, the scent of the blossoms filled the room with their heavenly bouquet.
Mina stood at that window. It was shut tight against the winter’s bite, and her eyes were fixed on the frosty panes of glass. Creeping up behind her, Simon slid his arms over hers, enveloping her and placing a kiss on her neck. But Mina did not soften at his touch and gave only a vague sound of acknowledgment that was something of a greeting but with no life to it. The pair of them stood together like that, watching the snow fly across the window as the wind filled the silence, and Simon wondered what he’d done to inspire such a lukewarm reception.
Or was it Finch? Had that fool done something to annoy her?
