Felicity began shaking her head before Bethany finished her sentence. Uncle’s estate—or rather, her estate—would not bring any comfort. The house was too large and empty. Felicity bit on the inside of her cheek, her gaze falling to the rug. In truth, it wasn’t so much empty as it was filled with memories. Though it had been nearly twenty years since Father and William went to their eternal rest, the only memories she had of that place were tied to them. If she wished to raise her spirits, it would not do to visit a place so haunted by theirs.
“Perhaps not, but I did receive an invitation from Great-Aunt Imogene to visit her in Bristow whenever I wish.” While Buxby Hall held some reminders of that which she’d lost, they were fainter and easily dealt with.
“That could be just the thing, Felicity,” said Bethany, sitting up straighter. “Some time away from your worries and duties.”
“A place where few know me and even fewer would make demands of me,” added Felicity with a decisive nod. Bristow was precisely where she ought to go.
Chapter 3
Sussex
A Sennight Later
One could be forgiven for thinking that no time had passed for Lewis Finch. The world had continued to spin about its axis, but little had altered in the past seven years, and never was that more evident than when he stood at his father’s study window. Finch’s uniform had been cast aside, but still, he awaited his general’s orders as he looked out at a view that had remained unchanged in that time.
Turning to face his father, Finch took the seat before the massive desk and waited for him to finish his usual lecture about family honor and obligation. As much as the rest of his world remained constant, he was surprised to see how much the Finch family patriarch had altered of late. Father rarely visited London anymore, and Finch’s visits home were often curtailed by the cost of travel, so it was rare for him to see Darius Finch above once a year, and Finch had arrived at Dewbourne to find his father had aged greatly.
The gentleman’s light coloring no longer hid the swaths of grey, and new lines cragged his face. But more than that, his posture was stooped and his voice a wispy echo of what it had once been. His sister-in-law had not mentioned this fragility in any of her letters, nor had she or his brother given any hint of the situation when they last visited London. Finch supposed they had not noticed the change that had crept up incrementally over the past year.
“Are you listening, Jack?”
Years of hearing that appellation and Finch still flinched at it.
“You were explaining the current affairs of my nephews,” said Finch, rattling off a few vague details he’d grasped during Father’s rambling exposition. Finch wished to prompt his father to simply say that which needed saying, but it would do no good to do so. Just as it did no good to fight what was to come.
“It is time to reevaluate your situation. The family will no longer carry the financial burden of your rooms in London. The time is long past for you to be independent and for the family to funnel those funds into better investments. I have so many grandsons, all of whom need as much assistance as we can give them…”
And so, Father droned on while Finch thought through all the rebuttals. His rent was the compensation for sacrificing his freedom and future for the sake of the Finch family honor, after all. But Finch supposed the occasional bank note his brothers or father tossed him was enough to salve their consciences.
Father had once said that the money saved from one year of Finch’s army expenses could pay his rent for over a decade, but in the end, it had only been seven years. Or at least that was all they were willing to expend any longer.
Rifling through his mental ledgers, Finch thought through his options. He always managed to live well within his limited income, but was it enough to pay for his London rooms? There was little point in doing the arithmetic once more, for Finch knew it was only possible if he could retrench to cheaper lodgings, but the family could not countenance a son of theirs living anywhere less exalted. No matter that he could not afford it.
Likely, they preferred him to live off credit; collecting crushing amounts of debts was entirely acceptable as long as society did not discover it. Snatching a purse from a fellow on the street was deemed theft, but refusing to pay your grocer or tailor bills was gentlemanly.
“…Surely, you understand that we must do what is best for the family, Jack.”
There was only one response in such a moment, for the youngest son had no right to give any other. And so, Finch parroted the words he’d spoken so many times, “Anything for the family.”
“Good lad,” replied Father with a faint smile, his lips trembling as though that movement required some effort. “I understand you are traveling to Essex this afternoon.”
“My coach leaves within the hour. I always spend a few weeks at Simon Kingsley’s estate before the Season begins.”
And that was another issue all its own. Not a quarter of an hour ago Finch’s most pressing concern had been his impending visit to Avebury Park. However, thoughts of Simon’s ill-advised rush into a marriage of convenience and the mess Finch would likely find in the Kingsley estate had been unseated by Father’s newest edict.
“Are you taking the public coach to Brighton?”
Finch nodded. “And then on to London and Essex.”
“The coaches between here and Brighton are shoddy and uncomfortable. I cannot spare the family carriage for the entire journey, but if you speak to Rodgers, you can use it for that first leg,” said Father with a smile as though his proffered crumb was a bounteous feast.
“My thanks, Father.” Finch rose to his feet and bowed, leaving the study before the fellow had time to bask in his beneficence.
“Good travels, my dear Jack,” he called, making Finch’s cravat tighten about his neck.
Striding through the empty halls, Finch forced thoughts of his father from his mind and focused on the far more pressing matter. With more economies, he might afford the steep rent, though Finch despised the thought of expending such funds on extravagant rooms that only served as a symbol of his family’s status.
Yes, Lewis Finch was a pauper compared to most of society, but he was a gentleman of leisure with the proper address befitting his illustrious family. Regardless of the fact that they held few connections of note and their wealth was not enough to grasp society’s attention. Upper crust they may be, but not enough for those lofty standards.
