sliding to the ground. Even when it had appeared that their financial footing was equal, he didn’t completely understand what had possessed him to lay his failures bare to Miss Barrows.
What sort of man was incapable of a profession? Not forgoing it because he didn’t need the income, but forced into a “life of leisure” because he was unable to succeed. Laughing to himself, Finch wondered what sort of woman would give her heart to such a useless creature; it didn’t speak well of Miss Barrows’ faculties.
Finch’s eyes sifted through the crowd, though it took little effort to see her amidst the crush of people. Miss Barrows’ hair was like a torch, lighting the path to her. Even when she was otherwise blocked from sight, a peek of blazing red allowed him to track her as she danced with other men. But there was a stiffness to her smile that had him recalling Mina and Simon’s words.
Watching her weave between the dancers, Finch studied her expression and movements.
Miss Barrows was a fine dancer with light and energetic steps. In truth, it was no less than what he expected, as she exuded lightness and energy at all times. Where others felt the exhaustion of so many sets already come and gone, Miss Barrows rallied, throwing herself into each dance with her typical vivacity.
Finch wondered at his first impression of her, astonished that the man he’d been had not seen the beauty etched in every facet of her. Perhaps her complexion had its flaws, but knowing the history behind her scars and the lady’s feelings on the subject, Finch thought they suited her. Those little marks were a physical representation of the lady who bore them, and even if he could magic them away, he wouldn’t want to part with them.
Finch stiffened, shaking free of those meandering thoughts that had pulled him away from his original one. But he supposed that was bound to happen when he was staring at her so intently.
Forcing his thoughts back to the subject at hand, Finch watched Miss Barrows, and a niggling sense of discomfort wormed its way into his heart. There were little signs of her discomfort if one wished to look. A tightness to her shoulders. Boredom dimming her eyes. Her smile was at the ready, but it remained fixed in place, unchanging.
Miss Barrows was a lady of a thousand expressions, and her smile was no exception. It shifted and changed with every thought in her head, flitting between wry and warm, pleased and chagrined, and back again. Yet now, those ever-changing lips were stuck in one position, giving each of her partners the same kind but vacant expression.
And then she turned and her gaze connected with Finch.
In that brief moment, a flood of sentiments shifted her features, broadcasting more emotions than Miss Barrows had shown the entire evening. A flash of longing colored her gaze, wrapping around him like unbreakable chains yet with the gentle touch of silk and velvet. Then her expression pinched, her brows drawing together in supplication, like a sinner begging for absolution. Miss Barrows’ expressions shifted and changed quickly from one to another, but it was the final flash of desperation, as though begging for rescue, that decided his course of action.
Chapter 29
Having paid no attention to the dancing as a whole, Finch had no idea how long this set had been going and how long it would last, but his fingers tapped in time with the notes, ticking down the measures until the song came to its conclusion, all while he refused to think about how inadvisable his action would be. It needed to be done, so there was no point belaboring it. Even as his cravat tightened around his neck.
The music signaled its fast-approaching end, and Finch moved from his place to fight through the assembly to the edge of the dance floor. Her current partner led Miss Barrows to one side, and Finch shifted his course to intersect theirs.
“I believe I have the next,” said Finch with a bow, and Miss Barrows’ eyes widened, a genuine smile tickling the corners of her lips.
“Yes, Mr. Finch,” she murmured, taking his arm just as another gentleman came rushing forward.
“The lady promised me this one,” he said in a rush of breath.
Though Finch detested dishonesty, the tightness with which Miss Barrows gripped his arm made the white lie slip out easily.
“I am afraid she promised it to me some time ago, sir. Miss Barrows must have been mistaken when