Turning from the window, Felicity raised her nose to the air with a sniff and said, “If you are going to be ridiculous, I will leave.”
“And visit Avebury Park?”
The reply was too quick and too on the nose for Felicity to do anything other than laugh. Though Aunt Imogene had delivered the retort with utter nonchalance, her eyes glittered with silent mirth as she regarded her great-niece, and Felicity finally cried surrender and dropped onto the sofa opposite her.
“I will not pretend I do not grasp your meaning; you’ve been as subtle as a herd of stampeding cattle,” said Felicity, which earned her a smile. “And yes, I do find Mr. Finch’s company enjoyable, and yes, it has added to my appreciation of the season, the country, and everything else I’ve prattled on about. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to set my cap at him.”
“I think it fair to say you set that some time ago,” murmured her great-aunt, placing another stitch in her embroidery.
Felicity leveled a narrowed look at Aunt Imogene, but the lady remained unrepentant. “I am fond of Mr. Finch. I am. He is a lively conversationalist with a broad knowledge of so many things, and more talents than I can lay claim to. He’s traveled abroad, fought in battles, and experienced so much of the world. I cannot help but seek out his company when it is so delightful.”
And even as she meant to dispel Aunt Imogene’s wild fantasies, each reason led to more, and Felicity’s heart stirred, telling her that which she wasn’t ready to admit to herself, let alone Aunt Imogene.
“But he is a friend, nothing more.” The words sounded hollow, even to Felicity’s reckoning, but they ought to be true. She was nearing one and thirty, and well past the age of flirtations and fancies. Her matrimonial goals had been dispelled long ago, and Felicity had fled to Bristow for the very purpose of avoiding such entanglements.
Or rather, false entanglements, and there was nothing about Mr. Finch that rang false.
Aunt Imogene was wise enough to ignore Felicity’s denial and instead said, “You ought to tell him the truth of your circumstances.”
“I ought to do a great many things.” The older lady leveled a narrowed look at her niece, and Felicity sighed. “I hadn’t intended to mislead Mr. Finch.”
Feeling like a young girl a quarter of her age, Felicity gave another sigh and nodded. “I lied to him, and I had every intention of doing so, but I hadn’t expected our acquaintance to develop into a friendship. And now it is difficult to admit the truth.”
Aunt Imogene met that with a raised brow. “That is the nature of falsehoods. Like a small debt incurred, the interest builds, and when collection is due, the burden is much greater than the original lie was worth.”
There was wisdom in that, though it did Felicity little good, as bemoaning what she ought to have done did not alter her present situation. “But so many of my friendships shifted when I inherited, and admitting the truth might ruin—”
Felicity fell silent at a knock on the door, and when the footman entered to announce that the gentleman in question was there to call on them, Felicity’s face burned red, and she bit her lips until they ached.
“Calm yourself, my dear,” said Aunt Imogene, putting aside her sewing as the footman moved to fetch Mr. Finch. “But this might be providence telling you it is time to speak the truth.”
Any other objection Felicity might have mounted was cut off when Mr. Finch swept in with a bow.
“I found my morning quite empty and thought I ought to bother you instead of wandering around Avebury Park.” Mr. Finch’s words were light and seemingly carefree, but that underlying sadness was out in force today, and Felicity longed to ask what was troubling him. But that question would yield no answers in mixed company.
“And we are always grateful when you do,” said Aunt Imogene, motioning for him to sit. Felicity ignored the happy little flutter of her heart when he chose the seat beside her.
“What have you got yourselves up to this morning?” he asked.
“I was working on some embroidery while my niece was philosophizing.” Aunt Imogene slanted a wry look at Felicity, and she pretended to ignore it.
Mr. Finch’s blonde brows rose at that, and he turned a bright eye to Felicity. “I hadn’t thought you a philosopher.”