have the bearing of a servant and is excessively odd.”
“Perhaps this is her first post,” said Simon.
Finch shrugged. “Miss Barrows has quite the forceful personality, which will not serve her well as a companion.”
At that, Mina huffed, though she remained mute, giving no further indication of the source behind the outburst. When Simon nudged her, she gave her husband a raised brow.
“I cannot think of a better companion for Lady Lovell than someone with a forceful personality. She is forever badgering me about my mousy ways.”
The lady put a slight emphasis on “mousy,” her eyes meeting Finch’s for a moment before sliding away, and he knew there was some meaning behind it, though he could not fathom what it was.
“Lady Lovell is a force unto herself,” said Simon with a laugh. “I suppose they are a good match, then.”
Finch chuckled. “True, but I wish you had been there, Simon. Miss Barrows is an odd creature. There I was, attempting to be gallant, and she was fairly accusing me of being madly in love with her. And she is anything but the sort to inspire sudden bouts of romance.”
And with that, he launched into a description of all that had happened while Mina watched him with hooded eyes.
“She seemed congenial enough after a few moments of conversation, but she behaved as though she was a great beauty destined to ensnare me with one glance,” he said with a laugh. “It’s not as though she is an unfortunate creature, but her complexion is the sort to raise eyebrows—and not in a good sense—and her hair is a most unsightly shade of orange and a tangled mess of wild curls—”
Mina rose to her feet, leveling a hard look at Finch before stalking out the door. Simon straightened and called after his wife, but she did not return.
“What have I done to offend her?” asked Finch. “Perhaps I was a tad harsh, but Miss Barrows’ behavior was thoroughly strange—”
But Simon followed his wife’s lead and rose to his feet. “I mean no disrespect, Finch, but I haven’t the time to discuss that at present. I need to see to my wife.”
And with that, Finch was left alone, staring at the books lining Simon’s study. While he sat there, a thought crept up on him, whispering such maudlin things that he could not sit still. Getting to his feet, he straightened his jacket and cuffs as though that would right his off-kilter world.
Truly, it was a blessing to see his friend so happily situated, but this shift in Simon’s life left him with no space for his aimless friend.
Casting that thought aside, Finch wandered to the drawing room, but when he poked his head inside, he saw the pianoforte was no longer in a forgotten corner of the chamber. Someone had shifted the instrument to sit beneath the windows at the center of the far wall, which afforded the instrument better light. Stacks of sheet music rested on the piano cover, but Finch gave them only a cursory glance, noting an excellent collection of Mozart, Clementi, and others before seating himself on the bench.
His fingers brushed the keys, and Finch smiled at the bright sound that came forth. It was a beautiful instrument, and it had long pained him to see it neglected by Simon and his family. At least its new mistress seemed to appreciate it.
The keys were smooth, their touch a silky joy to his fingertips, and with no more than a passing thought, his fingers climbed the keyboard, running through the crisp trills and runs the composers of the past century so adored. The bright, cheerful tune gave way to the more modern works that softened that precision, eschewing the rudimentary dynamics and giving the musician freedom to infuse his own emotions into the work. And Finch’s heart did so, embracing the music as it swept him away from his present cares.
From the corner of his eye, Finch saw the drawing room door open.
“It is good to hear you playing,” said Simon, coming to join his friend. Like many drawing rooms, the area was sparsely furnished with a few pieces of furniture edging the room, leaving the majority of the space free to be transformed into whatever was needed for evening entertainment. From the placement of the piano, Finch supposed Mina preferred music and dancing to cards.
“It seems your instrument is finally receiving the proper attention and maintenance it deserves,” replied Finch in a dry tone. “How is Mina?”