Page 54 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“She’s a fine teacher and has been a great help to Lady Flora,” Finlay said lightly.
“You seem to be friendly with her.” Miss Eddington turned to him completely, as if she needed to view his face as he responded.
“I suppose so.” Finlay pressed his lips together. “She replaced my sister at the foundling home, and I promised Her Grace I would make sure her former students were well cared for.”
“I see,” Miss Eddington said slowly, her gaze glued to his face. “And once you win Weobley, do you plan on being as involved with the foundling home?”
Stroking his chin, Finlay tipped his head to the side. “I will continue to be a patron, for I believe in their mission, but I don’t possibly see how I will have time to visit. Parliament will keep me quite busy, I’m sure.”
“It definitely will,” an older man said. “There are times I’m gone all day and come home late, with barely any time to spend with my wife and children. Thankfully, they understand the sacrifice.”
“And what of you, my lord?” The auburn-haired woman took a step closer to Finlay. “Are you finally searching for a wife?”
“To sacrifice my time with?” He chuckled.
“A bride, theright kindof bride, could make your quest to secure Weobley that much easier.” The woman’s mouth stretched into a grin. A wicked grin. “But I’m sure you already know that, my lord.”
“Indeed, I do,” he said as he smiled down at Miss Eddington.
And Charlotte knew it, too. Straightening her spine, she willed herself to smother the fire that burned in her chest for him before it became an inferno she no longer had the power to extinguish. Without a second’s hesitation, she left fairy tales behind and escaped to her room.
Chapter Eighteen
It had been billed as afternoon tea in the fundraising invitation, and yet Finlay was certain dinner soirees had less attendees.
“Lord Firthwell, would you like another raspberry tart? I noticed you seem to favor them.” Mrs. Townsend’s round cheeks were flushed as she gestured toward the display of confections and pastries threatening to collapse the sideboard.
Dipping his head politely at his hostess, Finlay watched as the woman stacked three tarts into a perfect little tower on a plate. She handed them to him with a wink.
He shoved one into his mouth in lieu of a response. In the thirty minutes since he’d been welcomed into the Townsends’ cramped library, he’d been peppered with questions about everything pertaining to his desire to stand for Weobley, how he entertained himself while in London, what he thought of the passage of the Catholic Emancipation Act, as well as some heavy-handed hints about whether he intended to search for a bride. This last question, asked by a countess with three unmarried daughters, drew the most reaction. He could practically see the way some people in the room inched to the edge of their chairs and straightened their spines in preparation for his answer.
Such inane questions and comments had lulled Finlay into a false state of relaxation, so he struggled with his composure when the line of questioning turned abruptly serious.
It all started innocently enough.
After sitting quietly, listening to Finlay’s thoughts on labor taxes, Townsend straightened his waistcoat and asked, “So Firthwell, what does Lord Rockhaven think of you standing for Weobley?”
Mr. Townsend had a thick, curving mustache he played with when contemplating something or someone. He appeared to be the kind of man who would chuck you under the chin and encourage you to smile, before slipping you a licorice or peppermint. Finlay quickly learned how dangerous it was to have underestimated the man based on his appearance.
Any mention of his sire made his head ache as if he’d swallowed too much ice at once. Considering the amount of times people brought him up to Finlay, he’d learned to mask his reaction. Or so he hoped.
“I’m not sure. I wrote him after I decided but have not received a reply. He may not have received the letter because he’d moved on in his travels.” Keen on changing the subject, Finlay pivoted to the young woman sitting next to him. “Miss Anderson, this is your first season, is it not? Have you had a chance to visit the British Museum since you’ve been in London?”
The shy redhead blushed and stammered for a reply but was interrupted by Mr. Townsend. “He didn’t send you his travel itinerary?”
Blinking, Finlay slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Odd, that.” Townsend laid a hand on his round belly and stroked his mustache. “As his heir, shouldn’t he be keeping you abreast of his plans? I would think he’d want to know the status of his estates and investments. From what I remember of Rockhaven, he was always working on various deals and schemes.”
That he was, Finlay begrudgingly agreed, and they had hurt so many people.
Clenching his jaw until it throbbed, Finlay said, “It hadn’t really occurred to me. My father has wanted to travel and see more of the world, but the demands of an earldom are great. I am honored he felt confident enough in my abilities to oversee the estates that he finally set out on his grand adventure.” His lips curved. “But if you feel you have advice on how he should or should not be communicating with me, then by all means send him a letter. I’ll provide you with the last known address I have for him.”
Several nervous titters sounded through the air. For Townsend to have addressed Finlay in such a manner was uncouth, and he felt more than justified in his curt response.
Yet the man didn’t seem chastised in the least. He merely relaxed back in his chair, a speculative look causing his forehead to crinkle. “I would never dream of telling an earl how he should conduct his affairs.”
“Only a viscount.” Finlay laced the words with as much humor as he could rally.
