The murmur of male voices on the veranda announced Mr. Finch’s arrival.
“It’s too late,” Aunt Virginia lamented.
Anabelle arrived with the dowdiest cap in Elizabeth’s wardrobe and a quick grin for Elizabeth. “Dis be real purty, Miss Lizbeth.”
Elizabeth stifled a chuckle. Anabelle was making sure she looked her worst. “Thank you, Anabelle.”
Aunt shot her a warning glare, but it was too late to say anything, for Father and Mr. Finch entered the room.
Aunt brightened. “Mr. Finch, how wonderful to see you again.”
“And you, Miss Dobbins.” He removed his top hat and kissed Aunt Virginia’s hand.
To Elizabeth’s disgust, Aunt warbled with delight.
Their guest now turned his attention to Elizabeth. His dark gray suit was certainly elegant but impractical in this clime. She rather preferred Rourke’s light-colored linen coat. And Rourke didn’t have to keep mopping his forehead like Mr. Finch. When Mr. Finch unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a bright yellow waistcoat, Elizabeth nearly burst into laughter. With his sharp beak, the man appeared to emulate the bird with the same name. She had to feign a cough to hide her mirth.
Not so for Charlie, whose chuckle as Nathan wheeled him from his room drew a startled look from Mr. Finch. Elizabeth turned her back to their guest to give her brother an affirming grin. The fact that his opinion of Mr. Finch matched hers buoyed her spirits.
“Miss Benjamin.”
Elizabeth returned her attention to Mr. Finch, who was already bowed before her, hand extended. The thought of placing her hand in his turned her stomach, but Father watched with every expectation that she would behave properly. Childish impulses must be set aside. She dropped a limp hand before Mr. Finch. He took it in his clammy fingers and raised it to his lips. The press of his thin, dry lips made her shudder. If Mr. Finch noticed, he did not mention it.
From his superior height, he surveyed her with the keen eye of an auctioneer. “You are lovelier than I recall.” He idly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
Elizabeth fought the urge to yank her hand away. While Father watched, she must display civility. However, a gentle, imperceptible tug would make her feelings known. “Thank you, Mr. Finch.”
He released her hand. “Please, let us dispense with formalities. Since I work for your father, we are practically family. Do call me Percy.” His nose twitched at the last, as if sniffing for her agreement.
“Hello, Percy,” Charlie called out from beside her.
Mr. Finch frowned and jerked his head as if attempting to elude a pesky fly.
Elizabeth stifled a smile and inclined her head in the manner her mother had always used. She swept an arm toward the dining room. “Would you care to take your seat, Mr. Finch? I understand supper is ready.”
Though she had carefully placed Finch next to her father and across from Charlie, Aunt Virginia upset the entire order of things by dragging him to Elizabeth’s side.
“You must sit here,” Aunt insisted. “It has the best view.”
In daylight, one set of windows opened onto the front veranda and street while the side window overlooked a tangle of buttonwood and mangrove beneath the wild tamarind, but the room had no view at this hour. Before the first course of turtle soup was served, darkness reigned.
Elizabeth concentrated on properly sipping the soup from her spoon, but Finch’s nervous laughter and jerking head nearly drove her to distraction. Added to the yellow waistcoat, the sight was too much, and more than once she had to raise her napkin to her lips to smother a snort of laughter.
Charlie grinned and cocked his head to indicate he too found the man ridiculous.
Aunt Virginia glared at her.
Elizabeth coughed again before lowering the napkin. “Forgive me.”
Mr. Finch leaned unbearably close. “Wine will ease the spasms.” Without asking if she drank spirits, which she most certainly did not, Mr. Finch poured wine into her empty glass.
The only time Elizabeth had attempted wine, it made her cough and cough until Aunt Virginia sent her from the room with strict instructions never to attempt spirits again.
“Thank you, but tea will do.” Elizabeth raised her teacup, took a sip, and smiled. “All better.”
“Very well, then.” Mr. Finch appropriated the wine and in short order downed both his glassful and hers, brightening his cheeks to a rosy hue.
“A toast,” Charlie said, raising his glass of lemonade. “To my fair sister’s return.”
Father lifted his glass of wine and finished the toast. “May she prosper.”
Elizabeth caught the hint of warning. Her hand shook as she lifted her teacup.
“Here, here,” Finch called out before downing another glass of wine.
Elizabeth sipped at the tea, uncomfortable with the shift in attention.