by April Munday
Mary felt her heart warm within her.
“Mr Finch is a good man,” she said.
“Yes, he is, which is why I don’t understand why he is so taken with this... this dreadful seductress of a Frenchwoman. Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Wilding, I had not meant to be so vulgar.”
“The lady is unknown to me, Lady Meldon, but if Mr Finch... if he... if he loves her, she must be worthy.”
Her doubts from the night before returned, but she pushed them away. Whatever she was, whatever she did, Finch loved that woman and she deserved Mary’s respect.
“She is unknown to me as well.” Elegantly the countess shrugged her shoulders. “I am merely repeating what I am told.”
“You don’t like what you’re told?” Mary was uncertain. She felt disingenuous asking the countess for gossip. “Is it her character, for I have heard that she is a great beauty?”
Sophia had visited a few days ago and had been persuaded, eventually, to divulge this much information about the Frenchwoman. At first Mary had thought that Sophia’s reluctance to talk about that woman was because she was herself in love with Finch, but she soon saw that this was not the case and Sophia had quickly confided her love for John Warren. Mary had not been as candid, but was beginning to believe that their friendship might enable her to disclose her own, hopeless love to her new friend.
Lady Meldon nodded.
“I never would have believed that Mr Finch would place so much store in outward appearance. He has always seemed to me to be better than that.”
“He is better than that,” whispered Mary. “Whoever told you about her character must be mistaken.”
She knew she lied, but no one would know from her what that woman was capable of.
Lady Meldon was silent.
The door opened and Finch and Freddie came in.
“I’m sorry, Miss Wilding” said Finch, “we quite forgot that Freddie was supposed to go to bed and... Are you quite well? You look pale.”
Mary stood.
“I’m quite well, thank you.”
Finch came and stood beside her uncertainly, as if expecting her to faint.
“Why don’t you come and sit in the garden for a while.”
Absurdly Mary found herself distressed by his kindness and she didn’t know what to do.
“Freddie can stay with us,” said Lady Meldon, before Mary could say anything. “George can tell him about the sheep.”
“But I should be looking after Freddie,” protested Mary.
To her embarrassment, Finch took her hands in his.
“Please, come with me. Freddie will do well enough.”
He glanced at Lady Meldon and let go of her hands.
Only now was Mary brave enough to look into his face. She saw the worry she had caused him.
“Of course. Thank you.”
It was unforgivable that she had caused him a moment’s concern. She was here to help him, not to make his life more difficult.
Finch slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the garden. Mary barely had time to think how cruel Lady Meldon had been by putting her into this situation before Finch stopped walking and turned to face her.
“I must admit I’m glad to have this opportunity to be alone with you, Miss Wilding, for I wish to apologise for my behaviour last night.”
“Last night?”
“I should not have distressed you by allowing you to see my wound and I certainly should not have fallen asleep on you.”
Mary felt hysteria rise within her. Her efforts to control it must have scared Finch, for he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the nearest bench, where he set her down carefully. He held her hands and looked at her anxiously.
Regretfully she pulled her hands away.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No.”
She took a deep breath and found that she could speak steadily.
“I accept your apology, for I see that you are troubled. I was distressed by your wound, but I was pleased to be of use to you in dressing it. You were exhausted and not, I think, in full command of yourself. I was not offended.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Miss Wilding.”
She shook her head, but it made her feel dizzy.
“Should I carry you to your room?”
“I think I would rather sit here for a while.”
“Very well, we will sit and admire my garden.”
“I didn’t mean that you had to stay with me.”
“You would rather be alone?”
He seemed hurt by the suggestion.
“I meant that you must have more important things to deal with.”
“It seems that you and I must disagree about what is important and what is not.”
“Now I have offended you.”
“No. Plain talking from you can never be offensive.”
Mary felt her eyes fill with tears.
“Then I shall try to talk more plainly.”
“I think that would be best.”
She grasped at the thought that had occupied her at dinner in an effort to hide her heart from him.
“Freddie is afraid that Lord Meldon will no longer love him when he has a son.”
“So there are things on which we agree.”
She turned back to him and his smile disappeared.
“Are things so seriously wrong?” he asked, reaching a hand to her face to wipe away her tears.
“He resents Lady Meldon, because she carries the child and because Lord Meldon loves her.”
She hoped he would believe her tears were because of Freddie, but she doubted it.
“And you know how to resolve this?”
“I’d like you to tell him about the nature of love.”
“Me?”
How could he not understand that he knew more about the nature of love than anyone? He mourned the loss of his wife; his love for his son was as great as she had seen in any father and his love for his friends was unusual. He was a man who knew how to love.
“You love him and you love Lord Meldon, yet Freddie does not fear to lose your love.”
Finch considered this, his eyes fixed on her face.
“And I think you should ask him to tell you who he loves and ask him if he stopped loving me when he started to love you,” he said. “Don’t protest, you know that he does. Now I have made you cry again.”
“I’m not crying because I’m sad.”
“I know.” He reached into his pocket and gave her his handkerchief.
Mary took it, distressed that he was seeing her in such a state. He said nothing until she lowered the handkerchief from her eyes and started twisting it between her hands in her lap.
“I know you’re not ill,” he said, “but I want you to take tomorrow off.”
“But…”
“Please. Freddie and I have been too demanding…”
“Oh, no. Mr Finch, I…”
“I shall take Freddie out for the day.”
His face fell and she realised it must be reflecting her own expression.
“Forgive me. I didn’t realise that would seem like a punishment.” Thoughtfully he looked back towards the house. “We’ll all go, the three of us. We’ll have a picnic. And now I’ve embarrassed you. It’s not as improper as it sounds.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean…” Mary felt her face grow even warmer.
“There will be servants and Freddie, of course.”
“Thank you,” she said, acknowledging defeat.
“Good. Freddie would never forgive me if I allowed you to become ill.”
He smiled uncertainly and Mary rose.
“I think I’m steady enough to go back to the house now.”
Finch stood as well and offered his arm. She took it. Whatever she’d said to Lady Meldon, she knew she could never leave him.
They took two carriages for the picnic, bringing far more servants than were necessary. Fredd
ie sat next to Mary and held her hand all the way. Finch saw that this was an effort to control his excitement. Mary talked to him quietly about the buildings, streets and monuments that they passed and Finch marvelled at her ability to teach his son without appearing to do so. Occasionally Freddie would say, “Papa, did you know that?” as if he knew that his father was as transfixed by the governess’ words as he was. Finch was happy to join in, adding knowledge where he had it, admitting ignorance where he had not. As they drove past Meldon House, Freddie pointed it out and gave Mary as much of the family history as he could remember. Finch was surprised he had recalled so much, but Meldon’s ancestors were much more interesting for him than his own. He would have to show him the family archive when they were in Birmingham. He thought Mary might be interested to see them as well.
They didn’t travel far out of London; this was supposed to be a holiday for Mary and Finch had no desire to add to her problems by exhausting her.
They arrived at the place that he had chosen and descended from the carriage. They were on a small hill from which some of the landmarks of London were visible, so Finch proposed a walk around the hill while the servants made everything ready. Agnes walked behind them as Mary’s chaperone and Freddie ran around. Mary held Finch’s arm and they walked mostly in silence. Finch pointed out some of the landmarks and Mary made polite comments.
To his relief, she was all smiles today. Her tears yesterday had scared him. Lady Anna had refused to tell him what she and Mary had discussed. Finch hadn’t needed Meldon’s pursed lips and shaking head to tell him not to press the countess, he had simply pointed out that he couldn’t help Miss Wilding if he didn’t know what the problem was.
He did want to help her and not just for Freddie’s sake. She was an impressive young woman with no family or friends to help or protect her. He had known that it would fall to him to do both when she had told him about Holden. From the start he had made sure that they were never alone together. He wanted her to know that she was safe in his house and never entered the schoolroom without a footman in attendance. Even when he stood and listened to her play the piano when he returned late there was a footman in the hall by the open door. They had only been alone that night in the library. Finch was determined that it would not happen again.
He had protected her, now he had to help her. His first step, he now saw, was to gain her trust. Then he would put it right, whatever it was.
“Are you feeling well, Mr Finch?”
“What?”
“You sighed so heavily that I thought you were ill.”
“I was just lamenting my inability to make the world as I would have it be.”
Mary laughed and he smiled. He had achieved his first aim in bringing her out here.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you are quite old to learn that lesson.”
“I don’t mind at all, but I don’t think it’s a lesson I shall ever learn. I’m too stubborn.”
She grew serious.
“That’s not a word I would use to describe you. Passionate, yes, persistent, but not stubborn.”
“I don’t know when to give up. It amounts to the same thing.”
“May I ask which particular part of the world you wish to put right today?”
“My own private part of it and in that I succeed a little. Freddie is happy and you are laughing and have colour in your cheeks.”
Mary blushed.
“Such things are easily achieved,” she said.
“I couldn’t achieve it yesterday.” He studied her face carefully. “You spoke to Freddie.”
Mary’s blush deepened and her smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
Finch had blundered and he didn’t know how he had done so.
“Miss Wilding, if Freddie has upset you…”
“No.” She was swift to defend the boy. “I just hadn’t thought… He is an inquisitive boy.”
“You mean that he asked you questions of a personal nature.”
“He knows not to do it again and not to ask similar questions of anyone else.”
Finch could easily imagine where such a discussion might have taken Freddie. He would have wanted to be made secure in her love for him and then he would have asked who else she loved. It would have been another reminder that she was alone. Unless…
“Mr Finch?”
He realised that he had stopped walking. He was becoming very selfish if he could put his and Freddie’s happiness before that of this lonely young woman. If she had a lover, it was only right that she should leave them and marry him. He could not stand in her way.
“Do I need to speak to him?” he asked.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Finch’s heart sank; there was a man. There was a man who loved her and would take her away from them.
His mood was dark when they came back to the carriages and the meal did nothing to dispel it. Mary expressed her appreciation of the food, but said little otherwise and Finch couldn’t rouse himself. He was thinking how unhappy Freddie would be when she told him that she was leaving. He would have to find another governess. He would not find anyone as intelligent as Mary. Freddie would not love another woman as easily, he was sure. Perhaps it would be best to send him to school next year. He wondered if a man could die of loneliness, for he was a man who enjoyed company. The house would be empty without Freddie and Mary.
It was only when Freddie had fallen asleep in her lap and the servants had cleared everything away that Mary said, “You don’t need to worry about Freddie as much as you do.”
From her this was a bold statement and Finch turned to look at her properly. She was stroking Freddie’s hair and Finch doubted she was even aware that she was doing it. He almost smiled at the picture they presented, almost like mother and son, but that made him think of Emily and how much he missed her. It was a while before he remembered that he was supposed to be participating in a conversation
Mary smiled when he returned his attention to her. He appreciated very much that she made nothing of his wool-gathering, but sat quietly and then continued almost as if nothing had happened.
“He knows the difference between right and wrong,” she said earnestly. “He is truthful and he loves you more than he knows how to show you.”
Finch was speechless and could only nod.
“He will always find a way to be happy,” she continued.
“And you?” prompted Finch. “Will you also find a way to be happy?”
Her smile was radiant and he thought again of the lover who must surely be in her thoughts.
“I am happy. I… I love Freddie.”
Finch almost asked her then if she could love someone so much that she would marry him and leave them, but that was the question that Freddie had surely asked and he would not embarrass her again.
As he saw her smile falter, he responded to it, although it felt like a lie.
“I am grateful that you came to us.”
“And I am grateful that you took me in.”
Freddie stirred beside her and she smiled down at him affectionately. Finch knew guilt; he had thought that she had been born to teach, but her true vocation was motherhood.
Chapter Eight
“Miss Wilding!”
Mary hesitated before turning and Finch was afraid that he had made a mistake and accosted a stranger in the street.
“Mr Finch.”
She curtsied and he bowed.
“Are you returning home?” he asked. “May I accompany you?”
“Yes and of course.”
He held out his arm for her and she placed her hand on it.
“It is a surprise to find you walking,” she said. “I expected you to have been in the carriage.”
Finch didn’t know how he had given her the impression that he preferred the carriage to his feet. Now that he was well enough to walk without tiring, he went on foot whenever he could. He had barely seen her in the week since he had taken
her and Freddie on the picnic. General Warren had given him a small task which had meant spending each evening at his club. He came home late each evening and he missed hearing her play. He was glad for the opportunity to ask her about Freddie’s progress.
“I like to walk.”
He noticed the package hanging from her other hand.
“May I carry that for you?”
Again there was that hesitation, as if she were not quite comfortable in his company. He wondered if she was returning from a visit to her lover or just about to meet him. Freddie was with the Meldons, so the afternoon had been her own. Had he just asked her to surrender to him a gift from her lover? When she gave it up to him he frowned. It was a book.
“I thought we agreed that you would tell me if my library lacked anything.”
He saw that she blushed.
“Then this book is not something that you feel you could discuss with me.”
“I borrowed it from the circulating library.”
What could she be reading that she wanted to keep it a secret from him? He thought he knew her tastes and they were similar to his own.
“Novels,” he guessed, “you’re borrowing novels.”
Since he had a large number of novels in his library, he still didn’t understand her need to obtain them from the circulating library. Perhaps he hadn’t made it clear that she could ask him to purchase books for her own pleasure. He didn’t like novels himself, but understood that Mary enjoyed them. Surely she didn’t believe he would think worse of her for knowing that she read them.
“Sometimes they’re a distraction.”
He dared not think why it might be that she needed a distraction.
“I’ll set up an account for you at my bookseller.”
“Mr Finch, I cannot afford...”
“I shall pay for them and I won’t look at the account if you’d rather I didn’t know what you read. I meant it when I said you had complete freedom with the library and its contents. One may learn something even from a novel.”
It was a pompous statement and he didn’t believe it, but he wanted her to feel more at ease after he had discovered her great secret.