Alice on the floor beside her. Edmund took Alice by the hand. Did he feel as uneasy with Mr. Finley as she did? She gently nudged the children behind her.
“Is there a particular reason for your visit, Mr. Finley?” Clara used the tone of neutrality she had perfected in response to Mr. Bentford’s repeated attacks.
“I happened to be riding past and wished to offer you good day,” Mr. Finley said. His drawl had grated on her from their very first meeting. He made her feel like an object he was assessing rather than a person he was speaking with.
But she was no longer intimidated by such behavior. Life had taught her to stand up for herself and to defend her children. “Finley Grange is on the other side of Grompton, at least three-quarters of an hour by horseback,” she said confidently. “I daresay most of your business is conducted in Collingham.”
“Ah, but I had business at Havenworth, my dear Mrs. Bentford. In order to reach there, I must pass by here.”
“On the contrary, you must pass Havenworth to reach Ivy Cottage.” Clara kept perfectly calm despite the worrisome situation. She had only ever faced down Mr. Finley while in the company of other people. He felt more threatening when she was so alone. She refused to break down, refused to once again be a victim too afraid to defend herself.
“But it was near enough that I simply could not allow the opportunity to slip by.” He was clearly losing patience with her. Though his smile didn’t slip, something hardened in his eyes. He obviously expected her to be flattered that a man of his standing had noticed a woman of her poverty.
Clara was instantly on alert. She had not a single servant at hand, no male relative to force Mr. Finley from the property. She was vulnerable, and she suspected Mr. Finley knew that. Her only course of action was to counteract that appearance.
“Well, you have offered your good day, so do not let me detain you from your pressing business,” Clara said forcefully. She would show no weakness.
“I have a few moments.” Mr. Finley stepped closer to her. He reached out his hand, clearly meaning to touch her.
She stepped backward. She needed the presence of another person, one over the age of seven. “Edmund, go get Suzie,” she whispered to Edmund. He obediently hurried from the room.
“Mama,” Alice whimpered, tugging on Clara’s hand.
Clara gently shushed her.
“She looks a great deal like you,” Mr. Finley observed. “A beautiful child.”
“Thank you, sir.” Clara made no move to sit or to offer him a chair. Where was Suzie?
“Come now, Mrs. Bentford.” Mr. Finley smiled artfully at her. “Can we not sit and enjoy a cup of tea? Perhaps we might discuss the fine weather we have been enjoying.”
“I do not entertain callers on Fridays, Mr. Finley.” She allowed a reprimand to tint her words.
“You must grow lonely”—Mr. Finley moved closer still—“without a single soul coming to call all the day long.”
His observation felt like a threat, as if he meant to remind her of her isolated and unprotected state.
“Your concern is appreciated,” Clara lied, “but I assure you I am quite content.”
“My dear,” Mr. Finley said, moving forward. Little more than a foot remained between them. “I would have you more than content. I would wish for you to be joyously happy.”
Even his joyously happy sounded ominous. Clara was pressed against the back of the sofa with no way to maneuver around Mr. Finley. He stood too close and appeared far too satisfied with the arrangement.
The door opened. Clara’s heart thudded ever harder. Edmund took a single step inside, clutching Mr. Jonquil’s sleeve, his countenance tight and worried.
“Mr. Jonquil.” Clara hoped she sounded welcoming. She attempted to slip around Mr. Finley, who was quite effectively blocking her path. Mr. Jonquil was far preferable to Mr. Finley, even if he looked as disapproving as ever. “Do come in.”
“I was—I
“Is there a particular reason for your visit, Mr. Finley?” Clara used the tone of neutrality she had perfected in response to Mr. Bentford’s repeated attacks.
“I happened to be riding past and wished to offer you good day,” Mr. Finley said. His drawl had grated on her from their very first meeting. He made her feel like an object he was assessing rather than a person he was speaking with.
But she was no longer intimidated by such behavior. Life had taught her to stand up for herself and to defend her children. “Finley Grange is on the other side of Grompton, at least three-quarters of an hour by horseback,” she said confidently. “I daresay most of your business is conducted in Collingham.”
“Ah, but I had business at Havenworth, my dear Mrs. Bentford. In order to reach there, I must pass by here.”
“On the contrary, you must pass Havenworth to reach Ivy Cottage.” Clara kept perfectly calm despite the worrisome situation. She had only ever faced down Mr. Finley while in the company of other people. He felt more threatening when she was so alone. She refused to break down, refused to once again be a victim too afraid to defend herself.
“But it was near enough that I simply could not allow the opportunity to slip by.” He was clearly losing patience with her. Though his smile didn’t slip, something hardened in his eyes. He obviously expected her to be flattered that a man of his standing had noticed a woman of her poverty.
Clara was instantly on alert. She had not a single servant at hand, no male relative to force Mr. Finley from the property. She was vulnerable, and she suspected Mr. Finley knew that. Her only course of action was to counteract that appearance.
“Well, you have offered your good day, so do not let me detain you from your pressing business,” Clara said forcefully. She would show no weakness.
“I have a few moments.” Mr. Finley stepped closer to her. He reached out his hand, clearly meaning to touch her.
She stepped backward. She needed the presence of another person, one over the age of seven. “Edmund, go get Suzie,” she whispered to Edmund. He obediently hurried from the room.
“Mama,” Alice whimpered, tugging on Clara’s hand.
Clara gently shushed her.
“She looks a great deal like you,” Mr. Finley observed. “A beautiful child.”
“Thank you, sir.” Clara made no move to sit or to offer him a chair. Where was Suzie?
“Come now, Mrs. Bentford.” Mr. Finley smiled artfully at her. “Can we not sit and enjoy a cup of tea? Perhaps we might discuss the fine weather we have been enjoying.”
“I do not entertain callers on Fridays, Mr. Finley.” She allowed a reprimand to tint her words.
“You must grow lonely”—Mr. Finley moved closer still—“without a single soul coming to call all the day long.”
His observation felt like a threat, as if he meant to remind her of her isolated and unprotected state.
“Your concern is appreciated,” Clara lied, “but I assure you I am quite content.”
“My dear,” Mr. Finley said, moving forward. Little more than a foot remained between them. “I would have you more than content. I would wish for you to be joyously happy.”
Even his joyously happy sounded ominous. Clara was pressed against the back of the sofa with no way to maneuver around Mr. Finley. He stood too close and appeared far too satisfied with the arrangement.
The door opened. Clara’s heart thudded ever harder. Edmund took a single step inside, clutching Mr. Jonquil’s sleeve, his countenance tight and worried.
“Mr. Jonquil.” Clara hoped she sounded welcoming. She attempted to slip around Mr. Finley, who was quite effectively blocking her path. Mr. Jonquil was far preferable to Mr. Finley, even if he looked as disapproving as ever. “Do come in.”
“I was—I
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