“Don’t fret,” he whispered, slanting her a gentle smile.
“I apologize for my aunt’s behavior,” she murmured.
But Mr. Finch chuckled. “I happen to adore the old curmudgeon.”
“I am not certain how I feel about her at present.”
“All will be well.” His voice was warm and soft, and Felicity knew he was only speaking of their performance, but some part of her wished he was speaking of greater things. She held back a chuckle at her ridiculous behavior and focused on the music.
Felicity hit her opening notes, but they struck out of step with Mr. Finch’s, and her cheeks heated. They clunked along for a measure or two, and Felicity focused on the notes on the page as though that might hurry along the torture.
The piece was a silly little thing taken from one of Mozart’s operatic duets and restyled for the piano. It was light and fun, and the exact opposite of what she felt with Mr. Finch so close. Her part was the less complicated of the two, but she struggled to find the notes in the proper order even though she managed it well enough on her own.
Yet their notes began to blend, and by the time they reached the end of the first page, Felicity fretted less and less about the situation and focused more on the performance. Mr. Finch easily sight-read through his part and even adapted here and there to cover her missing notes and mistakes, which took far more skill than he claimed to have. More than that, he radiated strength; it filled her, calming her nerves as she enjoyed the music as she hadn’t been able to before.
Having picked through both parts, she’d had a general idea of what the piece sounded like, but hearing them together was gorgeous. Her primo part was mediocre on its own, but with the secondo filling out the harmonies, the song had more depth and beauty.
Felicity’s eyes drifted to Mr. Finch’s hands, his fingers running along the keys with far more ease than her own. With each measure, she felt his attention on her, and the bench grew smaller, drawing them closer than before. Her notes fumbled, and Felicity’s attention shot back to the music, her eyes turning from her partner to study the page.
*
There was not a single flower adorning Miss Barrows’ hair, yet Finch thought the lady smelled of roses and lavender, the scents blending in utter perfection like a garden in full bloom. It was only fitting, for Miss Barrows carried sunshine with her, bringing the world into perpetual summer.
Finch’s life seemed as desolate as the winter night outside, for it was filled with nothing. Even when he’d had a profession, his days were dominated by monotony or waiting about; the law was little more than endless hours spent reading dry texts or watching his brothers at their work, and the army was punctuated with long bouts of nothing to do as they awaited orders. To say nothing of the years he’d spent in school learning facts and figures that had little use in his daily life.
Yet the last sennight had stretched interminably, feeling far more tedious than all those years. How had Miss Barrows become so important to him in such a short time? Most of his days had been touched by her, and her absence made the long hours of nothing seem even emptier.
This was for the best. Distance was necessary, and Finch just wished he had more at present. Fighting to hold his expression steady, he ignored the feel of her seated so close and the weight pressing on his chest.
His fingers marched through the piece, supplying the necessary notes with little thought, leaving him all too free to fixate on the lady at his side. His gaze drifted to her hands, which moved with less surety but a decent amount of skill, and though he tried to keep his thoughts in check, his eyes found their way up to her face.
Miss Barrows’ pale skin held a hint of roses in her cheeks, and her gaze darted to him for the briefest moment before returning to the page. Finch longed to see her eyes. To see that spark of joy so constantly burning in their depths. Like a lighthouse calling sailors safely home, they drew him in, whispering hopes and possibilities he knew better than to entertain.
Brown eyes met his, and his breath stilled at the heart shining through them. Though Finch had tried to convince himself that these warm feelings were his alone, there was no denying the sight of them aglow in Miss Barrows’ gaze.
Gooseflesh rose across his arms and neck as his pulse picked up to match the quick notes of the song. Worries and fears faded from his thoughts, leaving Finch overwhelmed by the realization that this lady cared for him. The man with nothing to recommend himself had somehow captured the fancy of this incredible creature.
Finch longed to rest his head against her shoulder and revel in her solace. To forget the world with all its demands and live in this moment with her. To make her his before she realized just how poor a deal that was for her.
Applause sounded, and Finch blinked, jerking his attention away from her as he rose to his unsteady feet. He offered her a hand of assistance, but Miss Barrows did not take it, stepping away from him as they took their bows. Without a second glance, she returned to her seat at the far end of the semi-circle.
“Mina, it is your turn,” said Lady Lovell, and Finch moved out of her way, yet remained standing, staring at the seats.
To choose one’s place ought not to be a difficult undertaking, but Finch faltered as he turned towards his original seat far from Miss Barrows’ side. That was the safe place. The proper place. Distance was best, and one could not get more distance than his previous position.
Miss Barrows sat, smoothing her skirts, and turned her gaze to Mina at the pianoforte, though there was a stiffness to her posture that belied her casual pose, and Finch found himself seated beside her before he realized he’d moved. It was only for the evening, after all. A few final hours in her company.
“You play beautifully,” she whispered so as not to disrupt Mina’s performance.
“My thanks, but I am middling at best.”
The lady stiffened, her gaze turning from Mina to stare at him with a furrowed brow. “Having sat through many home concerts, I can assure you that your talent is more than ‘middling.’”
Finch held back a snort. Perhaps he was talented compared to the offerings of Plymouth or Bristow, but like the rest of him, his playing was neither masterful nor remarkable. He wasn’t even the greatest musician among the Finch clan; Solomon and Phineas were more often called upon to entertain.
Shifting in his seat, Finch watched Mina, though his attention was not on her or the music. His eyes drifted to the side, studying Miss Barrows.
“I’ve missed your company.” Finch’s eyes widened and his stomach sank as the words slipped out.
