had never understood the power of silence until he’d broken his. The details of his life hadn’t changed one jot, yet it felt as though the world around him brightened. Like a layer of gauze, his secrets had covered him, dulling his senses and leaving a thin barrier between him and everyone else. Pretending nothing was amiss had only added to his heartache.
Misery compounded.
The cold seeped from the stone, and Finch rose to his feet, offering his hand to Miss Barrows. “Come. I promise not to run you ragged again, but it is too frigid to sit about.”
Finch tucked Miss Barrows’ arm through his, as much to remind himself to keep pace with her as to assist her on the slippery ground; but though the action had begun as a gentlemanly overture, it felt natural to hold her thusly. Turning them towards the stables, he knew it was time for them to be on their way, but Miss Barrows nudged him towards a more circuitous path that led them through a copse.
“I cannot pretend to understand your situation in its entirety, but I am quite familiar with feeling trapped in circumstances not of one’s own making.” Her words hung in the winter air, swirling around them as the snow squeaked beneath their shoes.
Finch glanced at her, and even in profile, he could see the tension pulling at her brow as she nibbled on the edge of her lip.
“But I have tried hard to let go of my expectations and embrace the joy to be found in any circumstance,” she added.
Lips twisting into a half-smile, he replied, “I admire that about you, Miss Barrows. You are an optimist through and through. I try to be content with what I have, but it is not so easy for me.”
Miss Barrows sniggered, her eyes sparkling as she met his. “Whatever makes you think it is easy for me?”
Pulling him to a halt beneath a tree, Miss Barrows faced him with her brows pulled tight together, concern aglow in her eyes. “My father’s world was defined by what he lacked, rather than the joys he had in my brother and me. He withered and faded, surrendering to the darkness. But Uncle George lost his wife at an early age as well. He loved her as dearly as any man could, yet he threw himself into the role of uncle and brother, supporting our little family in our time of need, and he found joy in that calling.”
She paused, taking in a deep breath, dropping her gaze from Finch’s as she added, “I long for a great many things, Mr. Finch. For my family to be alive. For a husband and children of my own. Reality is never as grand as our imaginings, but that doesn’t make life worthless.”
Miss Barrows’ lips twitched, and she shook her head at nothing in particular. “Misery is easy. There’s always a reason to wallow, for no life is perfect. It takes work to smile and laugh and be happy despite the world telling you to surrender. Happiness isn’t about circumstances, and it doesn’t happen by chance.”
Her eyes rose to his once more, and Finch found his heart lightening. Her beliefs were so strong and woven through every facet of her, and it lent him a vitality of his own, as though merely being with her made it easier to see the world as she saw it.
A spark of laughter brightened her eyes, and Miss Barrows smiled that impish grin of hers. “But it helps to have friends around to make you laugh when you need it.”
With a kick of her foot, Miss Barrows struck at the tree just behind Finch, leaping backward before the snow and ice crystals cascaded from the branches. He yelped and sputtered as cold flakes flew into his face. Muffled giggles filled the air, and Finch scraped his face clean enough to see Miss Barrows standing there with her hands covering her mouth, her eyes dancing.
Finch’s gaze narrowed, though it was impossible to remain grumpy in the face of her mirth.
“I apologize, but it was too perfect to resist,” she said, stepping closer. “I do hope you are not too messy.”
“I don’t know if an apology is enough for that assault on my person—” But Finch’s teasing drifted off when Miss Barrows plucked the hat from his head, brushing it off with gentle care while murmuring more apologies to it.
A chuckle began, deep and low, growing as he watched her tend to his abused hat