There was only one person who might understand his plight.
“Please excuse me, but the morning has gotten away from me.” Tossing his napkin aside, Finch rose to his feet, gave Mina a bow, and made a hasty retreat.
Chapter 18
Felicity hadn’t thought herself particularly fond of winter. She held no hatred towards the season but neither did she think it a fine time of year. As a child, Felicity had enjoyed all the trappings of the season, but then, youth held more possibilities for such cold months, and it had been some years since she’d enjoyed skating or frolicking in the snow.
The city in winter was a cold, dark thing. The occasional snow lent some beauty to the buildings for fleeting moments, but that pristine white was quickly tinged brown and grey by the press of humanity. And to Felicity’s thinking, there was nothing uglier than a city street filled with melting snow and mud, painting the world in dull colors.
But a country winter was a different beast. Stretches of snow lay undisturbed, covering the countryside in pristine white. The world looked clean and pure in the country. Staring out the parlor window, Felicity took in the sight, certain she would never tire of gazing upon it. Where a city winter demanded sequestering oneself by a warm hearth until spring arrived, the countryside begged her to explore.
“Staring out that window won’t make him arrive any faster.”
Felicity gave a start and then sent Aunt Imogene a narrowed look from over her shoulder. “You are speaking gibberish again, Aunt. Should I send for the apothecary? He might have some medicine to heal your troubled mind.”
Aunt Imogene gave a halting chuckle, shaking her head at that impudence.
“You can pretend all you like, but I am no fool, and even a fool could see how often you and Mr. Finch spend your days together,” she said, turning her attention back to her sewing. “He was a regular visitor to Buxby Hall before, but now he is a fixture. And if he is not here, you are guaranteed to disappear to Avebury Park before long.”
“This has been a beautiful winter,” said Felicity, not bothering to hide her shift in subject. She turned her attention to the window, and her gaze followed the bending swirls of frost edging the window. Even that was prettier in Bristow. “I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed a winter so much.”
Aunt Imogene was quiet for a moment or two, but Felicity felt the lady smile and braced herself for whatever mischief her great-aunt would spout next.
“I imagine it’s the company that makes it so remarkable.” Aunt Imogene’s tone was so laden with significance that it was a wonder her words did not fall to the floor.
Turning from the window, Felicity raised her nose to the air with a sniff and said, “If you are going to be ridiculous, I will leave.”
“And visit Avebury Park?”
The reply was too quick and too on the nose for Felicity to do anything other than laugh. Though Aunt Imogene had delivered the retort with utter nonchalance, her eyes glittered with silent mirth as she regarded her great-niece, and Felicity finally cried surrender and dropped onto the sofa opposite her.
“I will not pretend I do not grasp your meaning; you’ve been as subtle as a herd of stampeding cattle,” said Felicity, which earned her a smile. “And yes, I do find Mr. Finch’s company enjoyable, and yes, it has added to my appreciation of the season, the country, and everything else I’ve prattled on about. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to set my cap at him.”
“I think it fair to say you set that some time ago,” murmured her great-aunt, placing another stitch in her embroidery.
Felicity leveled a narrowed look at Aunt Imogene, but the lady remained unrepentant. “I am fond of Mr. Finch. I am. He is a lively conversationalist with a broad knowledge of so many things, and more talents than I can lay claim to. He’s traveled abroad, fought in battles, and experienced so much of the world. I cannot help but seek out his company when it is so delightful.”
And even as she meant to dispel Aunt Imogene’s wild fantasies, each reason led to more, and Felicity’s heart stirred, telling her that which she wasn’t ready to admit to herself, let alone Aunt Imogene.
“But he is a friend, nothing more.” The words sounded hollow, even to Felicity’s reckoning, but they ought to be true. She was nearing one and thirty, and well past the age of flirtations and fancies. Her matrimonial goals had been dispelled long ago, and Felicity had fled to Bristow for the very purpose of avoiding such entanglements.
Or rather,falseentanglements, and there was nothing about Mr. Finch that rang false.
Aunt Imogene was wise enough to ignore Felicity’s denial and instead said, “You ought to tell him the truth of your circumstances.”
“I ought to do a great many things.” The older lady leveled a narrowed look at her niece, and Felicity sighed. “I hadn’t intended to mislead Mr. Finch.”
“Lie,” corrected Aunt Imogene. “You didn’t ‘mislead.’”
Feeling like a young girl a quarter of her age, Felicity gave another sigh and nodded. “I lied to him, and I had every intention of doing so, but I hadn’t expected our acquaintance to develop into a friendship. And now it is difficult to admit the truth.”
Aunt Imogene met that with a raised brow. “That is the nature of falsehoods. Like a small debt incurred, the interest builds, and when collection is due, the burden is much greater than the original lie was worth.”
There was wisdom in that, though it did Felicity little good, as bemoaning what she ought to have done did not alter her present situation. “But so many of my friendships shifted when I inherited, and admitting the truth might ruin—”
Felicity fell silent at a knock on the door, and when the footman entered to announce that the gentleman in question was there to call on them, Felicity’s face burned red, and she bit her lips until they ached.
“Calm yourself, my dear,” said Aunt Imogene, putting aside her sewing as the footman moved to fetch Mr. Finch. “But this might be providence telling you it is time to speak the truth.”
