her temples as though that might ease the mounting pain.
Felicity wriggled her shoulders, massaging the knots that had formed as she hunched over her work, and leaned back to survey that which was yet to be completed. The stacks of letters were organized according to their urgency, but the truth was that few would be answered to either her or the sender’s satisfaction.
Invitations for balls, parties, and entertainments she had not time to consider. Missives from friends remained unanswered. Petitions begging her to join various societies and charitable functions would only receive funds in her stead; it eased her conscience minutely but did not salve the longing she felt to participate in more meaningful matters.
No, questions from solicitors, clerks, and Uncle’s business partners took precedence. Endless queries about investments and expenses appeared in those piles like the hydra of old; for every answer she gave, three more questions arose.
Again and again, Felicity wondered if Uncle George had known how much of a mess she’d make of his business. Or how great a cost it would exact from her. Of course, Uncle had intended her to have assistance as he’d had.
Felicity stared at the work to be done and pleaded with herself to continue picking away at it. But heaven help her, it was all so inordinately boring. She was no stranger to completing distasteful tasks, but as far as she could see, there was nothing to love about investments and commodities.
The study door opened, and a footman strode in with a salver on hand. He offered it to his mistress, and she retrieved the calling card and sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“Show him in, Thomas,” she said, replacing the card.
Standing, Felicity straightened her skirts and patted her hair, which by some miracle remained perfectly coiffed, though many hours had passed since the pins had been placed in her unruly mass of red curls.
“Miss Barrows,” said Mr. Johnson, striding in and giving her a quick bow.
Felicity curtsied and snatched a handkerchief from the desk to wipe at her ink-stained hands. “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson.”
“My, that looks frightful,” he said, gesturing towards the letters and ledgers. Mr. Johnson picked up an envelope from a pile and glanced at it with raised brows. He tossed it back with a casual flick of his hand. “Have you been at this tedious work all day?”
Felicity put the discarded letter back in the appropriate stack. “All week, more like, and I am at my limit with no end in sight.”
“You poor thing,” he said, ushering her to the pair of armchairs positioned by the fire and calling for a maid to bring some refreshment.
“I do not need tea and cakes,” she said.
But Mr. Johnson waved that away. “Nonsense. You take too much upon yourself, and you need a respite. You are quite pale, you know. It would be a shame to spoil your complexion.”
Felicity nearly laughed at that, for the fellow had managed to say that flimflam with a straight face, as though her complexion was foremost of concern. And as though it hadn’t been spoiled long ago.
“Your concern does you credit, sir,” she said, barely containing a laugh. “I assure you that tea and cakes are by no means a remedy for my ills.”
“It is no wonder that your mind is so burdened when faced with such strenuous work.”
“I would hardly say ledgers and correspondence are strenuous. Tedious, yes. But by no means strenuous.” As she spoke, Felicity eyed the gentleman, wondering if he would seize this opportunity to say that which he’d hinted at for the past few weeks.
Perhaps she ought to be more charitable and feel a modicum of shame for finding humor in the situation, but she hadn’t encouraged his advances nor were his motives by any definition pure. Perhaps if she were in better spirits she might allow this farce to continue, but Mr. Johnson was pulling her away from more important things.
“Ah, me,” she said with a dramatic sigh. The whole thing was ridiculous, yet there was pleasure to be found in it. Affecting her most contrite expression, Felicity prodded the fellow by adding, “There is so very much to do.”
Mr. Johnson shifted in his seat, drawing closer to hers. “I fear it weighs heavily on you, Miss Barrows, but perhaps the solution is right in front of you.”
Covering a chuckle with a cough, she turned a sweet smile in his direction. “And what solution might that be?”
“You need a husband to assist you.”
“That is precisely what my last man of