Miss Barrows play together.”
“Too right,” said Aunt Imogene.
His wife poked him in the side, and Mr. Kingsley chimed in, “That’s just what the evening needs.”
“You are quick to press another into service, Simon,” said Mr. Finch with a narrowed look. “Are we to be blessed by your musical talents?”
Mr. Kingsley laughed. “If I had any, I would readily offer them up whenever Lady Lovell demanded it.”
“You are a good boy,” said Aunt Imogene with a bright smile before turning an expectant gaze upon her guest and her niece.
Felicity remained in her seat as Mr. Finch strode over and held out his hand to her. She stared at it for a long second before her gaze rose to meet his and found the gentleman’s eyes filled with a mix of humor and commiseration. She placed her hand in his, ignoring how much she liked the feel of it as he led her to the instrument.
Being as helpful as ever, Aunt Imogene produced the sheet music Felicity had been practicing of late. She’d begun learning the piece in the hopes of playing with one of her friends when she returned to Plymouth, but instead, she found herself seated on a piano bench that was far too small to share with Mr. Finch. His hip bumped hers as he took his place beside her, his leg brushing against hers, and Felicity attempted to give him more space, but there was nowhere else to go, as she was close to sliding off the bench.
“Don’t fret,” he whispered, slanting her a gentle smile.
“I apologize for my aunt’s behavior,” she murmured.
But Mr. Finch chuckled. “I happen to adore the old curmudgeon.”
“I am not certain how I feel about her at present.”
“All will be well.” His voice was warm and soft, and Felicity knew he was only speaking of their performance, but some part of her wished he was speaking of greater things. She held back a chuckle at her ridiculous behavior and focused on the music.
Felicity hit her opening notes, but they struck out of step with Mr. Finch’s, and her cheeks heated. They clunked along for a measure or two, and Felicity focused on the notes on the page as though that might hurry along the torture.
The piece was a silly little thing taken from one of Mozart’s operatic duets and restyled for the piano. It was light and fun, and the exact opposite of what she felt with Mr. Finch so close. Her part was the less complicated of the two, but she struggled to find the notes in the proper order even though she managed it well enough on her own.
Yet their notes began to blend, and by the time they reached the end of the first page, Felicity fretted less and less about the situation and focused more on the performance. Mr. Finch easily sight-read through his part and even adapted here and there to cover her missing notes and mistakes, which took far more skill than he claimed to have. More than that, he radiated strength; it filled her, calming her nerves as she enjoyed the music as she hadn’t been able to before.
Having picked through both parts, she’d had a general idea of what the piece sounded like, but hearing them together was gorgeous. Her primo part was mediocre on its own, but with the secondo filling out the harmonies, the song had more depth and beauty.
Felicity’s eyes drifted to Mr. Finch’s hands, his fingers running along the keys with far more ease than her own. With each measure, she felt his attention on her, and the bench grew smaller, drawing them closer than before. Her notes fumbled, and Felicity’s attention shot back to the music, her eyes turning from her partner to study the page.
*
There was not a single flower adorning Miss Barrows’ hair, yet Finch thought the lady smelled of roses and lavender, the scents blending in utter perfection like a garden in full bloom. It was only fitting, for Miss Barrows carried sunshine with her, bringing the world into perpetual summer.
Finch’s life seemed as desolate as the winter night outside, for it was filled with nothing. Even when he’d had a profession, his days were dominated by monotony or waiting about; the law was little more than endless hours spent reading dry texts or watching his brothers at their work, and the army was punctuated with long bouts of nothing to do as they awaited orders. To say nothing of the years he’d spent in school learning