London. True, his time on foreign soils had been of short duration, and he’d yet to see any British city that was not home to a Finch or Kingsley, but Finch had seen enough to say The Four in Hand was identical to any number of coaching inns that dotted their country.
He wagered the exterior had been altered to match the more modern exteriors of the adjacent buildings, with plaster painted over the old Tudor framing. The interior still showcased the thick wooden beams, and likely the owner hadn't bothered modernizing the interior due to costs and the fact that covering the timbers would lower the considerably short roof to untenable levels. But Finch liked the charm of those architectural details.
Bristow was of little significance to travelers, other than a quick stop to change over the horses, which meant most of the patrons frequenting the pub were locals. Finch sat beside a tiny square of glass that served as a window, but his eyes were trained on the door. His drink sat untouched, for he had only bought the thing to appease the barmaid.
His thoughts drifted as he waited, and Finch wondered if he ought to purchase some sweets before he returned to Avebury Park. Perhaps some licorice or lemon drops might sweeten Mina’s disposition. Certainly, a peace offering mightn’t go amiss.
Finch chuckled to himself and took a sip of his drink as he watched the doorway; his view from the window was far too obstructed to be of use.
Apparently, he could not maintain equanimity with Mina if everything was well with her husband. For the past three days, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Kingsley had been in alt, but Finch’s hard-earned goodwill had vanished. Of course, it was justly deserved; his horrid, long-forgotten advice to Simon had only served to extend the couple’s torment.
However, Finch was pleased to note that most of Mina’s ill-will was reserved to merciless teasing and the occasional narrowed look, both of which held no true animosity. And a peace offering might smooth the last of Mina’s ruffled feathers.
But as Finch thought through what form his penance might take, his quarry stepped through the door.
“Mr. Dunn,” said Finch, nodding at the fellow and then motioning to the seat opposite him. “Might I buy you a drink?”
With narrowed eyes, Alastair Dunn dropped onto the chair across from Finch with the look of a man facing his rival, but with a cool assessment that echoed his true feelings for Miss Barrows. Another surge of forgiveness swept through Finch as he contemplated that poor lady; no wonder Miss Barrows had to hide her true self when surrounded by such manipulative regard.
“So, we’ve arrived at the point of negotiation,” Dunn said with a dimpled smile that had likely won him many hearts. “How much will it take for you to leave her be? Or are you wanting to offer a similar bribe to me?”
Finch did not deign to answer. Lifting his drink, he took a long, silent sip as he examined the fellow.
“I’ve invested years in Miss Barrows, and I do not intend to cry retreat so easily,” said Dunn, taking the cup the barmaid offered him.
Dunn had the decency not to leer at the young woman, though there was no mistaking the appreciative gleam in his eye as he glanced at her. Perhaps his behavior ought to upset Finch. He certainly did not care to hear Miss Barrows spoken of in such callous terms, but knowing what was coming next allowed him to ignore the indignation and anger flaring in his heart.
“So, make your offer,” said Dunn before taking a swig of his drink with an arched brow. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve made good strides with Miss Barrows, but I was her first love. She may be angry with me at present, but I will work my way back into her good graces.”
Chuckling to himself, Dunn met Finch’s gaze with a challenging glint before adding, “I’ve had plenty of practice luring her into my embrace, and I have no doubt she will be eager to return to it.”
Tapping his fingers against the table, Finch focused on his plan. As much as he longed to wrap his hands around Dunn’s throat, there was a better retribution coming that did not require Finch to become a brute. Of course, his heart still wanted to deliver swift justice to Dunn’s nose, but a brawl between two men connected to Miss Bristow was bound to raise gossip. It was better this way.