luck that he did not trip over her name. It seemed odd to refer to Simon’s wife in such a manner. Of course, it seemed odd that Simon had a wife at all, but to stand on ceremony in a home more beloved than his own was ludicrous. Yet with every look and tone, Mrs. Kingsley made it clear she did not welcome familiarity with Finch.
Sweeping his gaze over the lady, Finch gave her a winning smile. “That is a fetching gown, Mrs. Kingsley.”
The lady stiffened at the compliment, yet somehow also shrank before his gaze. For the life of him, Finch did not know why she found him so offensive, yet over the course of the last day, every time he so much as looked in her direction, Mina Kingsley blushed, stammered, and generally seemed ill at ease in his presence.
Serving himself a plate from the sideboard, Finch took the seat opposite Mrs. Kingsley. He’d hidden in his bedchamber to avoid such interludes, and now they were forced together. The silverware clinked against the china, serving as the only sound in the room.
“Lovely weather we’re having,” said Finch.
Mrs. Kingsley looked up from her plate, her eyes connecting with his for a moment before they moved to the window that looked out on the overcast and gloomy day. She gave no reply and returned to her breakfast, staring at it with grim determination.
“Good morning, darling,” said Simon, breaking through the tense air of the dining room as he strode through the doorway and came to his wife’s side.
Mrs. Kingsley’s face lit with a smile. “Mrs. White has made your favorite.”
Simon took her hand and placed a kiss on it. The pair said not another word, their gazes locked in some silent communication that felt far more intimate than a proper embrace. Mrs. Kingsley’s cheeks blossomed red, though her lips remained fixed in a glowing grin. Clearing his throat, Finch drew Simon’s gaze, and Mrs. Kingsley’s blush deepened while Simon gave a chagrined smile.
“I did not see you there, Finch,” he said, giving his friend a nod before going to fetch himself some breakfast.
“I was well aware of that,” replied Finch, spearing a bit of kipper on his fork. “You two have been married nearly a year. I would think any infatuation would’ve faded by now.”
Simon cast his friend a self-satisfied grin over his shoulder before returning from the sideboard to take his seat beside his wife, who was blushing all the more. As Simon tucked into his breakfast, Finch was forced to acknowledge that sometime between their marriage and the present, Simon had fallen in love with the lady. In truth, Finch was glad to see it. What he’d thought would be a loveless marriage had blossomed into something beautiful, and it did him good to know his friend was so very contented.
And yet each whispered conversation and tender touch opened a gulf between Finch and Simon. Before, Finch’s visits had provided a welcome distraction from Simon’s never-ending work on Avebury Park. Now, Mrs. Kingsley gave him the daily support and friendship Simon needed. Unfortunately, Finch needed the distraction as much as Simon had, and there was no one left to fill that role.
Getting to his feet, Finch gave his farewells to the pair (one of whom seemed relieved while the other looked only mildly disappointed) and strode from the dining room in search of a new distraction.
***
Fairly pressing her nose against the coach window, Felicity watched the trees pass as she searched ahead for Buxby Hall. So little of the grounds had changed over the years, and it did her good to see it had remained so constant. It was not the proper time of year for berry picking or luxurious picnics among fields of wildflowers, but Felicity was desperate to grasp the peace she found when visiting dear Great-Aunt Imogene.
“Bristow is a little slice of heaven,” Uncle George had always said, and they were words that held an echo of her father’s voice, though Felicity could not recall him saying such.
The house crawled towards them, a great grey edifice sitting amidst a swath of white. The carriage passed the pond, now frozen over and ringed with trees coated in ice crystals. Felicity had the door open before the footman reached it, and she hurried up the stairs and through the front door to find Great-Aunt Imogene coming down the staircase to greet her.
“My dear, thank heavens you’ve arrived,” said the lady. “I feared something terrible must have happened,