few things on my mind,” replied Simon, as he was in no mood to discuss the very significant issue plaguing him at present.
Mr. Thorne gathered his things with a nod and left Simon to himself, though there was no point in remaining in his study. There was nothing here with which to distract himself. No book or letter could hold his attention. Even Finch had abandoned him, as his friend spent more time at Buxby Hall than at Avebury Park of late.
Getting to his feet, Simon went in search of the person who was both the source of his discomfort and his solace. He wandered the halls of his home, and it struck him just how much his life had altered from the previous year and how much vitality and joy she’d brought to Avebury Park. Simon couldn’t recall there ever being such contentment within these walls. Certainly not during his childhood; even at their best, his parents weren’t the contented sort.
But what would his home become if its mistress were absent? That was not such a difficult hypothetical to sort through, for Simon’s life before Mina had not been terribly happy. The Simon of those days had believed himself to be, but the Simon of now knew better.
Simon’s feet led him to the place he knew he’d find her. Kingsleys of the past had preferred the formal parlor, as was evidenced by the additional care and attention given to its decoration, but from the beginning, Mina had made the morning room her preferred place. The space was smaller but the windows overlooked the garden, and in summer, the scent of the blossoms filled the room with their heavenly bouquet.
Mina stood at that window. It was shut tight against the winter’s bite, and her eyes were fixed on the frosty panes of glass. Creeping up behind her, Simon slid his arms over hers, enveloping her and placing a kiss on her neck. But Mina did not soften at his touch and gave only a vague sound of acknowledgment that was something of a greeting but with no life to it. The pair of them stood together like that, watching the snow fly across the window as the wind filled the silence, and Simon wondered what he’d done to inspire such a lukewarm reception.
Or was it Finch? Had that fool done something to annoy her?
Then Simon recalled what she’d been up to today and knew the appointment with her charity group was the culprit. Of course, he shouldered some of that blame as well; the neighborhood was still rampant with whispers concerning his alleged infidelities.
Plenty of ladies nipped at his wife. Whether it was those who hated her for being the lady who’d stolen the eligible Simon Kingsley from their daughters or those who found delight in bruising her fragile ego, he’d witnessed enough little moments to recognize that there was vitriol aplenty pointed towards Mrs. Simon Kingsley.
And then he’d added the rumors. With time, they would die down, but there were far too many who found glee in stirring up trouble and teasing the newly married lady about her husband’s wandering eye was prime fodder.
The thought of it twisted his stomach in knots. Flashes of his nightmares came to mind, and Simon’s heart quickened. He had to do more to cement their relationship. Strengthen it somehow. Ensure that Mina would have no reason to leave again.
Tracking the flakes slithering through the sky, Simon cursed the weather. A picnic would be the perfect thing: an afternoon in which he could lavish attention on his dear wife. But the seasons refused to cooperate.
*
There were plenty in her acquaintance who thought Mina Kingsley incapable of anger, as though her quiet nature made it impossible for her to feel such a roaring emotion, but the truth was that she felt her fair share; she simply chose to keep it a private matter. Until it wasn’t.
Mina didn’t let it loose often, but neither was it unheard of, and she felt precariously close to releasing her anger in all its glory. Those wretched, spiteful she-demons!
Her fury wasn’t a blazing fire burning through her; it was a chill that froze the blood in her veins until she was as icy and cool as winter’s touch. She stood there, staring out the window, consumed by thoughts of those harpies and what she wished she had the gumption to do. Mrs. Baxter deserved a thorough setting down.
It was a school. Something of benefit not just to the poor of