Standing there in silence, Felicity struggled to know what to say in response. Her thoughts stuttered and strained to grasp the reality standing before her. It was so difficult to believe a man of his years held such a low opinion of himself, but memories of their conversations combined with the insight Mr. Kingsley shared, testifying it was true. Felicity’s heart shuddered and ached like an old tree buffeted by the wind as she considered him.
Yet quick on its heels came warmth. It lit her heart and spread through her, bringing tears to her eyes as she thought about how blessed she was to have had her family. She could not imagine what it would’ve done to her fragile ego if those who were meant to love and support unconditionally chose to lob insults and disparage her worth. Felicity’s own history was littered with those who mocked her scars and denigrated her looks, but it was her family (though few they may be) that buoyed her spirits. Tears had fallen, and they were the ones who dried them. What confidence she had was due in large part to their support.
Speaking of tears, Felicity’s eyes began to water at the thought of Mr. Finch’s aching soul. He spoke matter-of-factly as he enumerated his flaws, giving support to his family’s opinion of him. Felicity wanted to throw her arms around him, as though to shield him from his twisted self-image and his family’s invisible barbs.
“What sort of a man cannot make a go of the many opportunities afforded him?” he said in a casual tone, as though it was of little consequence. Then, with a huffing chuckle, Mr. Finch shook his head with a wry smile. “I ought to have a sign hanging around my neck that reads, ‘Does not suit.’ I have heard that phrase often enough in my life.”
Felicity winced, her lips burning as she recalled how carelessly she had said that very thing this evening. How she longed to turn back the clock and approach that earlier conversation with the knowledge she’d gathered this evening.
“Mr. Finch.” Felicity’s voice faltered, and she swallowed, though her throat was dry as a desert. Clearing it, she tried again. But the comforting words she wanted to speak fled from her thoughts as a flare of anger burned in her heart. “Your family is wrong. They are inexcusably, horridly, and altogether infuriatingly wrong.”
The gentleman’s brows rose. “And my schoolmasters? My employers? My peers? Are they as well?”
“Yes.” She barked the word, her teeth clinking together as her jaw snapped shut. Felicity took a breath through her nose, filling her lungs as she willed herself to calm, but the thought of all those fools judging her Mr. Finch in such a heartless manner made her long to storm about. “They are wrong.”
Mr. Finch gave her a half-smile that held more than a touch of pity, as though her faculties were lacking instead of his. “It is kind of you to think so—”
Felicity drew up a rigid finger, her expression hardening. “No, sir. Do not dare try to convince me of something I know to be false. You are not an ‘ornament.’ You are not useless. You are not worthy of derision.”
His brows rose, but his gaze still shone with disbelief.
“I am awed by you, Mr. Finch. The more time I spend with you, the more capable you seem. If anything, it is those talents and abilities that first caught my eye.” Felicity let out a breath, the fire in her burning out as she thought through all the many moments they’d shared, leaving her with a deliciously light sensation as she stared into the eyes of the man she loved. “Your skills may not fit into your family’s or employers’ mold, but that does not lessen them.”
Mr. Finch’s eyes dropped to the floor, and Felicity stepped closer, drawing his gaze to hers once more.
“I arrived in Bristow exhausted and seeking peace of mind and clarity, and you are the one who gave that to me.” Reaching forward, she placed a hand on his forearm, willing him to believe her. “Your friendship and counsel have blessed me. You are intelligent and thoughtful, and the sort of man my uncle hoped I would find.”
Drawing a hand upward, Mr. Finch rested it atop hers, gazing at that touch. Felicity prayed with all her heart that he would see the truth and understand. Her breath stilled as she watched him.
“You are very kind, Miss Barrows,” he murmured, and her chest shrank, squeezing her heart, for his tone was not one of acceptance. As he met her eyes, his features were set as though carved from marble, giving strength to the words he spoke. “But I am certain your uncle would’ve wished you a better husband than myself.”
Forcing air into her lungs, Felicity held her chin still, not allowing it to wobble or release a flurry of words that cursed the stubbornness of men. But even as the light in her world dimmed, leaving her heart heavy and cold, she saw a spark of doubt in his eyes that was directed inwards. Small though it may be, Felicity sensed it there. Whatever his lips may say, some part of Mr. Finch was wondering whether her words might be true.
Perhaps she was a fool for clinging to it, but Felicity grabbed onto this hope with both hands, holding it close to her heart. She would not beg a man to love her when he was determined not to, but it was himself that he did not love. And that was something worthy of patience.
“If you are resolved, Mr. Finch, then I will honor that. But might we remain friends?” Another lie of sorts, but one with far better intentions than the last. She did wish to remain friends with him forevermore, but there were grander plans for them in the future. Time and love could do a world of good, and she trusted in that.
Mr. Finch smiled, though it lacked its usual warmth, and he nodded. “I would like that, Miss Barrows.”
His hand lingered atop hers for several long moments before he dropped his and tucked them behind his back with a nod. “I still owe you an apology for not seeing you when you came to visit Avebury Park last. Would you please forgive me and tell me what is weighing on you?”
Felicity forced her lungs to maintain a steady breath as she smiled and nodded.
***
After an evening of dancing and socializing, there was nothing better than tucking oneself away in a bedchamber. With the door closed tight to intruders and the crackling fire filling the space with its light and warmth, Mina’s bedchamber was a sanctuary that belonged only to her and Simon. But stepping into her haven tonight brought none of that comfort.
True, it was better to address the issues clinging to their marriage than to let them fester, but Mina was not confrontational. Cowardly was a better descriptor.
Having rushed through her evening ministrations, Mina perched on the edge of the bed, her hands twisting the edges of her robe as she waited for her husband to emerge from the dressing room. She’d spent the evening fretting and fussing about the words to say, how to broach the subject, and every possible outcome or argument that might arise from it, but she did not feel adequately prepared to embrace honesty.
Even now, that frightened, fearful part of her begged Mina to remain silent. With cruel efficiency, it brought to mind those wretched days after the last time they’d had a frank discussion about the issues haunting their marriage, whispering to her that history would repeat itself tonight. Though she knew she needed to trust in herself and Simon, it was far easier to do in the abstract.
With shaky breaths, Mina’s lungs heaved as she tried to calm the frantic beat of her heart. Her fingers twisted and worried the fabric of her robe until she was certain it would need mending tomorrow.
Time might sort it out in the end. Did she need to be direct? Such foolhardy action might lead to disaster. But Mina shoved that cowardice aside. They’d spent their marriage stuck in this horrid cycle of Simon hiding his darker emotions while Mina pretended not to see them.
This needed to be done.
