And then she straightened.
“It sounds as though your family are doing well,” she said, slanting a glance in his direction while struggling to see the connection between this innocuous letter and his current state of agitation.
“They are doing perfectly well,” he mumbled.
Felicity’s brows furrowed. There was no mistaking the discontent and agitation growing in the fellow. His footsteps came quicker as they marched the length of the garden, and she struggled to keep pace with him.
“Finding utter success in their professions, wives, and children. Perfectly content as they conquer the world and claim the glory for the great house of Finch,” he added, his tone growing more heated with each word.
Fairly puffing to keep up with Mr. Finch and at a loss to understand what was happening when all she had were a few cryptic words and his profile, Felicity grabbed his arm and yanked Mr. Finch to a stop. Standing before him so she could properly read his expression, she waited for him to arrive at the point.
“My family are perfectly content with themselves and with relegating me to be the family ornament,” he said. “A useless thing that sits on the shelf, gathering dust.”
“I’m afraid I do not understand, Mr. Finch. You may think you’re being direct, but without context, I cannot decipher your meaning.”
Mr. Finch thrummed with energy wishing to be unleashed. Though he stood with hands clasped behind him and a tilt to his shoulders and hips that spoke of a relaxed, calm soul, his muscles were tight, as though begging for something more than a sedate walk about the countryside.
Glancing around the garden, Felicity saw the raised edge of a fountain. The feature was not operating during the winter, but it provided a passable seat.
“Pace,” she ordered as she made herself comfortable. Mr. Finch stared at her, and she repeated herself and added, “You need to move, but I cannot keep up. There is plenty of space here for you to walk to your heart’s content without wearing me to shreds. Now, pace.”
Laying the letter on her lap, she rested her clasped hands atop it, and he stared at her for a silent moment before doing as told. A stone seat was not ideal in the winter, and the cold seeped into her backside, but Felicity wasn’t about to move from this spot when Mr. Finch was in such desperate need of a listening ear.
“You have brothers,” she prompted.
Mr. Finch glanced in her direction and nodded, his feet taking him back and forth before her. “Five. All older. I was an unexpected addition to the family, and by the time I was of an age to begin planning for my education and future, the family’s resources had been drained establishing their professions.”
His boots thumped against the ground as he moved back and forth. It reminded Felicity of a traveling menagerie she’d visited, which had a leopard that prowled the edges of his bars, as though searching for any weakness in his cage.
“Funds and connections are paramount to a gentleman’s profession, and my father had expended all the latter on my brothers and was determined not to spend more of the former.”
He came to a stop before Felicity, his brown eyes blazing and his chest heaving.
“You once remarked upon my ‘varied past,’ but the truth is far more varied than you realize. I was thrust into the Royal Naval Academy at the age of twelve because it was an inexpensive education. Father hoped I would excel there as my brothers Wesley and Julian had, but it didn’t suit. When I graduated, my father decided against wasting blunt on a university education and handed me to my barrister brothers, Solomon and Arnold. The law didn’t suit, either.”
Turning on his heel, Mr. Finch returned to his marching. “Father finally realized I wasn’t going to succeed without him investing something, so he purchased me a commission and packed me off into the army, hoping that would be the end of it. Little did he know I would bungle that as brilliantly as the rest.”
Felicity's brows pinched, her heart chilling at his words. “I highly doubt that.”
Mr. Finch huffed, shooting out a puff of vapor into the air, and slanted her a half-smile. With an economy of detail, he told her of the day his father had surrendered all hope of his son’s future, and though he feigned indifference, Felicity felt his pain. What son wouldn’t be crushed by his father discarding him in such a manner?
Nodding at the letter lying on her lap, Mr. Finch said, “My sister-in-law is an avid correspondent, keeping me abreast of every detail of my brothers’ lives, but it only serves to remind me of the vast difference in our positions. As I said, I am the family ornament. Forced to sit about and bear witness to all the goings-on in the family while having nothing of my own. Trapped by my father’s demands. Living on their charity and the pittance I’ve scraped together. Longing for more yet denied any opportunity to pursue it.”
The fire that burned inside him flickered and died, and Mr. Finch wandered to her side, dropping onto the stone beside her.
“So, Miss Barrows, as one who is likewise forced to beg scraps from your family, trapped in a situation not of your making and which you cannot change, do you ever feel hopeless? Like your life has no meaning or purpose? And you are merely existing day to day, each hour stretching into unending emptiness?”
His tone was hollow and devoid of any sentiment, as though he was merely reciting the multiplication tables or describing the weather and state of the roads. But more than that, Mr. Finch’s gaze lacked any feeling. It wasn’t uncommon for him to appear apathetic or bored with the world around him, but this was the bone-deep resignation of one who had surrendered to his misery.
Felicity had seen such an expression before, and the sight of it now threw her back to her childhood when her father had viewed the world with all the warmth and joy of a corpse; those days after her mother’s passing and before they’d gone to live with Uncle George, when Father had spent hours staring off at nothing, ignoring his daughter’s pleas.
“But surely there is some course of action you might take, Mr. Finch. Some gentlemen find success without their family’s assistance.”
Giving a humorless chuckle, he shook his head. “I have some skill with finances, but my father doesn’t approve of banking as a profession for a gentleman, and to go against his wishes or those of my eldest brother would be tantamount to exile from the family. Their honor wouldn’t support one of theirs being in trade.”
Instinct had her reaching to wrap her arms around him, but propriety won out, and Felicity compromised by leaning closer to Mr. Finch, resting her shoulder against him as though that touch might heal some of the hurt his family had caused.
“So, your choice is to forge your own path and lose your family or to be their ornament.” With a faint smile, she added with a touch of humor, “You could always marry an heiress.”
