“And so, rather than mending the rift between you two or hiding away in Avebury Park to lick your wounds, you choose to spend your evening torturing yourself by watching her from afar?”
Finch felt like growling. The subject of Miss Barrows had been avoided for a good many days, but apparently, the Kingsleys had only been lying in wait for the proper moment to spring the discussion on him. Perhaps they’d thought the assembly was the perfect moment for him to resolve all the issues of the past and dance off into everlasting happiness with Miss Barrows.
How little they knew.
“Does this have to do with your money troubles?” asked Simon while Mina sent another look of reproof at her husband.
Finch gaped. Though he tried to control the shock coursing through him, Simon’s question was too sudden and unexpected to be met with anything but wide-eyed surprise.
“I am your closest friend, Finch,” said Simon with a wry smile. “I know I am oblivious at times, but I’m not so dense as to overlook such a significant detail.”
“I…” Finch’s words drifted into nothingness as he stared at the fellow.
Simon chuckled and shook his head. “Do you truly believe I went to all the expense and effort of maintaining a box at the opera because I adore it so very much? Especially when I do not spend much time in London?”
Finch straightened while blinking and gaping like a landed carp.
“You seemed so intent on keeping your secret that I didn’t want to press the issue,” said Simon, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “But that does not mean I am ignorant of it. And Miss Barrows—”
“Please, Simon,” said Finch, holding up a hand. “I do not wish to speak of her.”
“But she cares for you as you do her—”
Mina tugged on her husband’s arm, pulling him towards the dance floor. “Stop pestering him, dearest, and dance with me.”
“But he’s being a fool—”
With a challenging raise of her brows, Mina silenced Simon and turned back to Finch, giving him a warm smile that held a tinge of sadness. “We will not pester you any further, but if you wish to speak, Simon and I would welcome your confidence.”
Finch gave her a bow. “My thanks.”
With a final considering look, Mina led Simon onto the dance floor.
Talking. What good would it do? What good had it ever done? His life was his life, and no amount of negotiating or conversing had changed the course of it. Words had done nothing to convince his father or to gain the respect of his superiors. A lifetime of experience had trained Finch to remain mute.
Except with her.
Tucking his hands behind him, Finch pinched his lips together, his gaze sliding to the ground. Even when it had appeared that their financial footing was equal, he didn’t completely understand what had possessed him to lay his failures bare to Miss Barrows.
What sort of man was incapable of a profession? Not forgoing it because he didn’t need the income, but forced into a “life of leisure” because he was unable to succeed. Laughing to himself, Finch wondered what sort of woman would give her heart to such a useless creature; it didn’t speak well of Miss Barrows’ faculties.
Finch’s eyes sifted through the crowd, though it took little effort to see her amidst the crush of people. Miss Barrows’ hair was like a torch, lighting the path to her. Even when she was otherwise blocked from sight, a peek of blazing red allowed him to track her as she danced with other men. But there was a stiffness to her smile that had him recalling Mina and Simon’s words.
Watching her weave between the dancers, Finch studied her expression and movements.
Miss Barrows was a fine dancer with light and energetic steps. In truth, it was no less than what he expected, as she exuded lightness and energy at all times. Where others felt the exhaustion of so many sets already come and gone, Miss Barrows rallied, throwing herself into each dance with her typical vivacity.
Finch wondered at his first impression of her, astonished that the man he’d been had not seen the beauty etched in every facet of her. Perhaps her complexion had its flaws, but knowing the history behind her scars and the lady’s feelings on the subject, Finch thought they suited her. Those little marks were a physical representation of the lady who bore them, and even if he could magic them away, he wouldn’t want to part with them.
Finch stiffened, shaking free of those meandering thoughts that had pulled him away from his original one. But he supposed that was bound to happen when he was staring at her so intently.
Forcing his thoughts back to the subject at hand, Finch watched Miss Barrows, and a niggling sense of discomfort wormed its way into his heart. There were little signs of her discomfort if one wished to look. A tightness to her shoulders. Boredom dimming her eyes. Her smile was at the ready, but it remained fixed in place, unchanging.
Miss Barrows was a lady of a thousand expressions, and her smile was no exception. It shifted and changed with every thought in her head, flitting between wry and warm, pleased and chagrined, and back again. Yet now, those ever-changing lips were stuck in one position, giving each of her partners the same kind but vacant expression.
And then she turned and her gaze connected with Finch.
In that brief moment, a flood of sentiments shifted her features, broadcasting more emotions than Miss Barrows had shown the entire evening. A flash of longing colored her gaze, wrapping around him like unbreakable chains yet with the gentle touch of silk and velvet. Then her expression pinched, her brows drawing together in supplication, like a sinner begging for absolution. Miss Barrows’ expressions shifted and changed quickly from one to another, but it was the final flash of desperation, as though begging for rescue, that decided his course of action.
