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solarium while Finch explained the selection of petit fours they’d be serving at the ball. The lot
of them had fancy descriptors—Madagascarian this and ganache-topped that—but what Hugh
saw on the tray in front of him were four varieties: chocolate, vanilla, lemon, and Funfetti
offerings. He spent a moment peering at them, then folded one of his legs beneath him and
scooted around so he was facing Finch and not the table. “How do you know so much about
all of this?”
Finch blinked and looked Hugh in the eyes, which made Hugh almost forget what he’d asked.
“So much about what, sir?”
“So much about the ingredients and the work that goes into making these cakes. I don’t
imagine that’s something that’s taught in school.”
“I…” Finch hesitated, and something tightened his lips that Hugh thought might be worry. “I
strive for excellence in all things, but in particular I take pride in having as complete an
understanding as I can in matters that pertain to you and the estate.”
“I would go absolutely batty trying to remember every little detail.”
That chased a smile out of Finch’s worry, and while he didn’t join Hugh in lounging, he did
allow his shoulders to relax to a visible degree. “It certainly isn’t for everyone. Several of my
peers simply were not suited for it no matter how hard they tried, but they made do as best
they could. That’s all anyone really asks for—an attempt. And those who struggle to memorize
excel in other ways. Most of the young men and women I knew who had no head for detail
were great conversationalists. I’m not sure I can say the same for myself.”
“Are you joking, Finch?” Hugh grinned and hooked an arm over the back of the couch, eyes
on Finch and only Finch. “Of all the men and women in this place, you’re the one for whom I’d
drop everything were you to show up at my door with tea.”
A touch of pink came to the tips of Finch’s ears. “Thank you, sir.”
“I mean it.” The snow had stopped, and while the day was still gray, the clouds parted enough
that light filled the room. A sparkle at Finch’s wrist drew Hugh’s attention. “Finch, are those the
cufflinks I gave you several years back?”
“They are, sir.”
“They look good on you.” Hugh smiled at him, and even as rigidly professional as Finch was,
he could have sworn he saw the man melt the tiniest bit. “I’m glad you enjoy them.”
