“You heard me,” he said with a frown. “Firstly, you needn’t be ashamed for sharing your heart with me in any form. I hurt you. Horribly. It was entirely unintentional, but I caused you great damage, and that ought to be chastised and railed against. You had every right to do so the other night.”
He cleared his throat, and when Marian moved to speak, it was his turn to cut her off.
“I am ashamed that my actions caused you so much pain and anguish. I never realized it, or I would’ve tried to…” George thought through what he wished he’d done, what was feasible for him to have done (given his stupidity at the time), and what Marian was ready to hear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done, and I suppose it does no good to sit about and muse about the ‘what might’ve beens,’ but I am grateful you will allow me the opportunity to make things right.”
There was something else he’d wanted to say—something else he needed to address. For the life of him, George could not recall what it was, but he knew there was to be a “secondly” in addition to his “firstly.” Something Marian had said that needed contradicting. But his attention was diverted again when she shook her head.
“That is good of you, but I cannot lay all the blame for my unhappiness on your shoulders. I have been struggling of late, and it took that…” She fumbled with her words. “…interlude for me to see how lost I’ve been. I owe you much for helping me to recognize that. However unintentionally.”
Yet another smile, and yet again, George felt his heart slipping further under her spell.
Chapter 16
Having spent much time over the last few years thinking about Mr. Finch in uncharitable terms, it felt unnatural to be seated beside him, speaking of such personal matters. They hadn’t exchanged words in years, yet now they were cozied up, discussing subjects best not shared with anyone. However, it was precisely the sort of thing that had dominated their conversations in the past. It had always been easy and so very natural to speak to Mr. Finch, and despite everything, Marian’s heart remembered those times. It was like sitting down to the piano with a piece she hadn’t played in some time; though she stumbled occasionally, her fingers knew the notes.
Mr. Finch’s brows furrowed, but he remained silent, allowing her to speak her heart as he had so many times before. And despite her better judgment wishing to keep her own counsel, Marian told him all that had occupied her thoughts that morning. In truth, she hardly noticed she was laying her heart bare, but Mr. Finch had always had a way of getting her to reveal secrets. That much hadn’t changed.
Marian couldn’t be certain who it was who had moved—perhaps it had been both of them—but they drew closer on the sofa, Mr. Finch’s hands resting next to hers, his gaze filled with that warmth and understanding she had missed. He didn’t dismiss her concerns. He didn’t laugh. He spoke a few words, prompting her when necessary, but otherwise provided the listening ear she desperately needed.
“I didn’t realize just how angry I’ve been and how much it has poisoned me, but I see it now. I am apt to grow frustrated and impatient with those around me. Rather than forgiving and moving forward, I allow those hurts to fester, making me spiteful and bitter. I have learned to hold my tongue, but those feelings still have control of my heart.” Marian’s hands crumpled her skirt, and she relaxed her grip and smoothed the wrinkled fabric. Her chest tightened, and she forced out, “I do not like what I have become. I wish to change, though I fear I do not know how.”
She stared at the room opposite her. The whole thing seemed absurd. How did one fundamentally alter oneself? The task felt insurmountable, like a dream one clings to but which is never fully realized. But before she could descend deeper into those denigrating thoughts, Mr. Finch spoke.
“You are one of the most capable women I know, and from the earliest moments of our friendship, I was impressed by your ability and determination. I have no doubt you can conquer anything once you put your mind to it.”
Glancing over, Marian found him watching her with a small smile upon his lips, his eyes blazing with certainty.
“You can be a tad hard at times, Miss Marian, but it is due to your passionate nature. You care so very much and feel so deeply that it isn’t a surprise that you struggle with a temper.” Then, leaning closer, he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “Your zeal is what drew my attention in the first place and is one of the reasons you became my dearest friend. Your heart drives so much of your action, and you care so very much, it is difficult not to be inspired by it.”
Mr. Finch reached over and squeezed her hand; Marian’s gaze fell to that touch, his hand warm and gentle against her own. Mr. Finch cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, yanking his hand away.
“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Finch.”
“They were the truth.” Mr. Finch fidgeted with one of the cushions beside him and shifted once more. “You feel things deeply, Marian, and that is a gift. But it also comes with difficulties. You needn’t rid yourself of your nature entirely.”
“But I must learn to control my feelings rather than allowing them to control me,” she said, nodding to herself. “I came to that same conclusion.”
Mr. Finch’s smile grew. “We are of a like mind, then.”
Marian held his gaze, surprised that she’d forgotten the power his eyes held over her. Others might cast a look in her direction, but few truly saw her; Mr. Finch’s brown eyes took in the whole of her. For someone who was so rarely noticed, it was a heady feeling, stirring up sentiments that were best left undisturbed. Matters weren't helped that it was paired with such glowing words.
The parlor door opened, and Marian shot to her feet. “There you are, Mama.”
“Mr. Finch?” Her mother blinked at the fellow.
“As you see, Mrs. Wakefield,” he said with a grin as he rose to his feet. “I fear I have been monstrously rude and arrived well before the appointed time. I overestimated just how much time it took to drive to Bentmoor.”
“It has been some time since you were amongst us,” Mama said, ushering Rachel in behind her. All the appropriate greetings were given and acquaintances were renewed, and though Mama accepted Mr. Finch’s excuses and overtures of friendship, Rachel watched them far too closely for Marian’s peace of mind. But it was a welcome distraction and a necessary reminder.
Friendship was all well and good, but Marian knew it was folly to allow herself to form an attachment to Mr. Finch. His behavior was too warm and friendly, making it easy to forget the past and resurrect the fantasy she’d long ago abandoned. Mr. Finch had made his feelings for her clear, and to imagine anything more was to invite more heartache into her life. She had enough and needed no more.
Marriage was in Marian’s future, but Mr. George Finch was not her destined groom. She would do well to remember that.
***
Social calls were intended to be welcoming things, and though the hostess seemed pleased at his arrival (however early), George’s collar tightened with each passing minute. Not that the Wakefields made him feel out of place, but the other guests noted his extended stay. The Wakefields were not a social epicenter of the area, but they were well-liked enough to have quite a few visitors pay call during their at-home hours. However, the majority of them were female, and they did not overstay the acceptable amount of time.
George hadn’t meant to be so gauche. He tried to be unobtrusive as Marian assisted her mother in the hostess’s duties, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not after having accomplished so much. At least he hadn’t been so indecorous as to monopolize all of Marian’s time.
