Evelyn shunted aside his teasing and fairly buzzed with excitement, a beaming grin filling her face and lighting her up like a bonfire. “He confided that Mr. Townsend said he was ‘quite intrigued’ by me, and that Mr. Townsend has spoken of me at great length.”
George’s brows shot upward, and his sister’s brightness dimmed at the sight. Shifting away from him, she mumbled something about not wishing to importune him any further, but George rushed to explain.
“I am not surprised that a man should feel that way about you, Evelyn. Only that his cousin was so free with his words.” George turned a warm smile to his sister, sorting through his words with great care. He couldn’t call the fellow a friend, but George was acquainted enough with young Mr. Wrigley to know he wasn’t a reliable source. “However, I would be cautious about giving weight to gossip.”
“You, too?” Evelyn asked with a huff, her shoulders dropping. “Bridget is convinced I must guard my heart and that I am rushing into things, but this isn’t merely gossip. Mr. Townsend cares for me. He does. Why would Mr. Peter Wrigley say a thing if it weren’t true? Mr. Townsend, himself, has confirmed it with his visits and compliments. And he spent the entire assembly at my side.”
Then, casting a glance at the clock on the far table, Evelyn shot to her feet. “Time is getting away from me, and I must find my pelisse before he arrives.”
In a flurry of bubbling enthusiasm, she hurried out of the parlor while muttering about the necessity of having her most flattering pelisse on hand and whether or not her blue might do. George smiled after her and sent out a silent prayer that Mr. Townsend was worthy of his dear sister.
Left to his own devices, George’s previous thoughts returned in force; Evelyn’s conversation had not diverted them in the slightest, and they demanded his entire attention. Having spent the long journey to Farleigh Manor contemplating the mess he’d made of his heart, he knew there was little good to be done sitting about stewing over it.
Rising to his feet, George went in search of answers. Or guidance at the very least. His father may have no more thought as to how to win the day, but Mr. Lewis Finch was bound to have some nugget of wisdom for his son. After all, his parents’ love sprang from friendship; surely Father had some insight to offer that might aid him with Marian.
George wandered through the halls, hoping his father was not at the office today. With both George and Miles handling much of the day-to-day minutiae, Father had been granted more and more time away, but as George had taken the day, perhaps his father had gone in. But as he neared the study, he heard the unmistakable sounds of his parents inside.
With a knock, George entered and found the pair cozied up on a sofa together, each holding a book, though Father’s had been abandoned as Mother was reading a passage aloud and laughing at the author’s witticism. So often, he heard people describe love as the heady throes of kisses and longing looks, but George knew now this little domestic scene was a truer version. The pair were not gazing into each other’s eyes with whispered declarations or tantalizing touches. Though seated next to one another, there was little in their posture that conveyed romance in the traditional sense. Yet there was something in their tone as they spoke. The look in their eyes, the shared laughter. It was two lives knit into one.
George’s heart ached at the sight, his unhelpful thoughts supplying an image of himself and Marian in such a pose.
“And what might we do for you, dear?” asked Mother, shutting her book and setting it aside.
“Has Evelyn found you? She was asking after her green pelisse and was in quite a state to find it.” Though it wasn’t the reason George stood there, it was true enough.
With a sigh, Mother gave Father an exasperated look and rose to her feet. “That girl is going to run herself ragged fretting over Mr. Townsend. I’d best go help her find it.”
Giving her son a squeeze of his arm as she passed, Mother smiled and left the study as Father returned to his book. Though George valued his mother’s opinion on many matters, he felt a sigh of relief that she’d left. Though they lived in the same house and worked in the same office, George had hardly seen his father since arriving home, and a young man needed courting advice from his father.
“Might I speak with you a moment, Father?”
The fellow looked up from his book and nodded, placing it aside and motioning for George to take a seat. Dragging an armchair around, he faced it towards the sofa and sat with a heavy sigh.
“I need advice.”
Father straightened. “Is something amiss with the Beaufort investment?”
“Not at all. All is going as well as can be expected in that venture,” said George with a shake of his head. “My issue is of a personal nature.”
“Miss Wakefield.”
George stiffened, his brows raising. “How did you know?”
“We all surmised Evelyn’s feelings for Mr. Townsend by the sheer volume of words she said concerning the man,” replied Father with a spark of humor in his gaze. “I would say you’ve outmatched your sister, even if you are subtler in your mentions of Miss Wakefield.”
Clearing his throat, George shifted in place, hoping his cheeks would cool quickly, though he supposed he need not fear the truth coming out. His issue was getting Marian to accept it.
“I have made a muck of things,” said George.
“Yes, you have.”
Chapter 18
The words were so matter of fact that George couldn’t help but straighten at the sound of them. “I thought parents were required to be sympathetic to their children’s trials and tribulations.”
“I am when such things are not of your making, George,” said Father, crossing his arms. “Though I do not know the whole of it, I can guess much of it. The truth is you know what needs to be done, but you’ve come here looking for a pat on the head. Unfortunately, I find I have no sympathy to give, as the muck is of your own making.”
“Steady on—”
