“Why are you not playing, Mr. Finch?” Aunt Imogene jabbed the ground with her cane, leveling an imperious glare at the fellow. “I have fed you, and now it is your duty to entertain me.”
Felicity turned her wince to the wall. Lady Imogene Lovell was known for her forward manner, and the behavior was tolerated by most because of her rank and fortune. For those who truly knew her, they welcomed it because it was steeped in humor, as though the lady found great ridiculousness in her elevated status, both as the widow and mother of a baronet and as an elder of the village.
There were times when Felicity suspected that Aunt Imogene spouted audacious things simply to see if she could raise eyebrows. And normally, Felicity found great fun in watching sycophants feigning indifference when their inner thoughts were gasping and gaping, but the evening had already been so discomforting, which was the crowning event of a difficult week.
“Surely your refined tastes would find my musical offerings paltry, my lady,” said Mr. Finch with a lazy grin.
“Nonsense,” came the reply, punctuated by a snap of her cane. The poor maids would have to polish the floor tomorrow at this rate.
“As you command,” he said, giving her a gallant bow.
“And you’d best prepare yourselves, ladies, for I will expect the same from you.” Aunt Imogene gave both Felicity and Mrs. Kingsley a pointed look, and though the lady did blush, Mrs. Kingsley smiled at the older lady’s antics.
Aunt Imogene leveled yet another gimlet eye at her niece, and Felicity sighed. It was the lady’s prerogative to invite whomever she wished into her home, but there was no mistaking the motive behind the dinner invitation she’d extended to the Kingsleys and their all-important guest. The meddling biddy.
Buxby Hall was a grand old estate, and the building showed all the signs of grandeur one expected from a baronet’s country residence. While there were formal rooms in which Aunt Imogene and Uncle Gilbert had entertained, those rooms that belonged solely to them eschewed the fine furnishings and decorations in favor of a more intimate and comfortable situation. The music room embraced the latter over the former.
Plush armchairs and sofas had been gathered around the pianoforte. Felicity wondered if Great-Uncle Gilbert had been fond of playing, for the instrument was of fine quality and showed signs of having been well-loved and well-maintained, though Aunt Imogene was no great musician.
Mr. Finch took his place on the piano bench, brushing his fingers across the keys. Felicity didn’t know if or how Aunt Imogene had managed it, but her vantage point placed her directly in his line of sight when his gaze rose from the instrument.
“Something of substance, young man,” said Aunt Imogene. “And play every movement. The composer intended it to be enjoyed as one whole, and it does his work no justice if you choose only a portion of it as so many are wont to do.”
His eyes held a hint of laughter in them as he shared a silent moment of commiseration with Felicity over Aunt Imogene’s antics, and for that brief moment, the pair of them shared a silent jest as they had so often done before.
The last few days had given Felicity adequate time to lick her wounds, and she was in no danger of weeping or swooning or any other such ridiculous behavior. Yet when Mr. Finch’s brown eyes met hers, she could not deny how much she longed to heal the rift between them. She missed his friendship, advice, and support, but if he wished to cut ties, Felicity would not force the issue. She would soldier on as she’d done long before he’d appeared in her life.
Mr. Finch’s eyes darkened for a moment, the light disappearing as he turned his attention to the keys. Shifting in his seat, he struck the opening chord, letting it hang in the air as more came haltingly after it, as though the composer wished to tantalize the listeners for several long moments before a run of notes drew the song along in earnest.
Felicity adored music as much as any and had middling skill at the piano, but she was not well versed in musicians and their compositions, so she could not identify the piece. It was a lovely blending of crisp trills and runs with moments of such passion that no one listening could remain unmoved by the music. But that had as much to do with the man playing it. Mr. Finch’s love shone through each note.
He was such an interesting fellow with diverse interests and talents. In truth, Felicity felt awed by the breadth of his abilities, and every time they spoke, he gave more hints of the various skills he’d developed over the years.
But such thoughts were best left undisturbed. Mr. Finch no longer desired any closeness between them, and there was no good to be had by dwelling on her feelings on the matter. Felicity refused to be undone by it. Even if her heart ached over the loss.
It was her luck that the gentleman whose company she longed for was determined to avoid her while another seemed determined to hound her. Alastair Dunn had not approached her in person since the churchyard, but he made his presence known with little gifts and notes left for her. And if that wasn’t enough, she found him watching her from afar as though pining for his lost love.
The whole thing was ridiculous. A megrim of the highest order. So, Felicity turned her thoughts away from gentlemen and focused on the music, allowing the melody to catch her up in its spell.
Following his orders, Mr. Finch played through every movement of the chosen sonatina, and only when finished did he stand and receive his applause, though he deserved more than what four people could give.
“Now, don’t go scurrying away,” said Aunt Imogene as the fellow turned to take his seat. Felicity’s stomach sank at the lady’s tone and the accompanying spark of mischief lighting her eye. “I think a duet is in order.”
Mrs. Kingsley had the heart to give Felicity an apologetic smile, but the traitor chose to join in with Aunt Imogene’s meddling. “Oh, yes. I would love to see you and Miss Barrows play together.”
“Too right,” said Aunt Imogene.
His wife poked him in the side, and Mr. Kingsley chimed in, “That’s just what the evening needs.”
“You are quick to press another into service, Simon,” said Mr. Finch with a narrowed look. “Are we to be blessed by your musical talents?”
Mr. Kingsley laughed. “If I had any, I would readily offer them up whenever Lady Lovell demanded it.”
“You are a good boy,” said Aunt Imogene with a bright smile before turning an expectant gaze upon her guest and her niece.
Felicity remained in her seat as Mr. Finch strode over and held out his hand to her. She stared at it for a long second before her gaze rose to meet his and found the gentleman’s eyes filled with a mix of humor and commiseration. She placed her hand in his, ignoring how much she liked the feel of it as he led her to the instrument.
Being as helpful as ever, Aunt Imogene produced the sheet music Felicity had been practicing of late. She’d begun learning the piece in the hopes of playing with one of her friends when she returned to Plymouth, but instead, she found herself seated on a piano bench that was far too small to share with Mr. Finch. His hip bumped hers as he took his place beside her, his leg brushing against hers, and Felicity attempted to give him more space, but there was nowhere else to go, as she was close to sliding off the bench.
