Page 14 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

"Clarence?" Lord Pembroke's eyes lit up with amusement. "You've named your peacock Clarence? How wonderfully fitting. I had a peacock named Augustus during my youth—equally convinced of his own importance and utterly shameless about demanding attention."

Marianne felt her jaw drop slightly. "You... you had a peacock?"

"Oh yes. My grandfather believed exotic birds added character to an estate. Augustus ruled our gardens with an iron claw for nearly fifteen years." Lord Pembroke grinned. "I take it Clarence has similar autocratic tendencies?"

"He considers himself the rightful emperor of Somerset," Marianne said, surprising herself with her honest response. "He holds court from various elevated positions and passes judgment on anyone who fails to meet his standards."

He laughed, his eyes sparkling in appreciation. "Sounds like Augustus exactly. And do you keep other animals as well?"

Marianne hesitated, remembering Lord Alton's advice about minimizing potentially concerning topics. But Lord Pembroke's genuine interest was so refreshing after weeks of disapproving visitors that she found herself responding honestly.

"A few. A pug named Wellington, a rooster called Gerald, a parrot who knows far too much naval terminology..."

"A household menagerie! How delightful. There's something wonderfully alive about a home filled with creatures who have their own personalities and opinions."

"How practical. Though naturally, such arrangements would need to be... reconsidered... if the property were to be managed by someone with more traditional approaches to rural life."

"Reconsidered?"

"Well, livestock belongs in proper agricultural contexts, not wandering about residential areas. A man likes to know his domestic sphere is properly controlled."

Marianne felt something cold settle in her stomach. "I see. And what would constitute proper control in your opinion?"

"Order. Predictability. The assurance that one's home reflects one's social position appropriately." Lord Pembroke smiled with the confidence of someone who believed he was being entirely reasonable. "I'm sure you understand the importance of maintaining standards."

Standards. Like the standards Lord Alton had spent the afternoon helping her achieve by hiding everything that made her life worth living.

"And children?" Marianne asked, though she found herself genuinely curious about his answer rather than dreading it. "How do you feel about children?"

"I love children," Lord Pembroke said simply. They have such honesty, such curiosity about the world." His expression grew thoughtful. "I understand you're involved with foundling charity work here. I'd be very interested to hear about your approach."

Marianne felt her heart lift unexpectedly. "You would? Most people find the subject rather... uncomfortable."

"Most people lack imagination. Children are children, regardless of their circumstances of birth.

They deserve love, education, opportunity—all the things we'd want for our own.

" Lord Pembroke leaned forward with obvious interest. "Tell me about your festival.

Your brother-in-law mentioned it was quite an ambitious undertaking. "

For the next twenty minutes, Marianne found herself engaged in the most stimulating conversation she'd had with any of her suitors.

Lord Pembroke asked thoughtful questions about the foundling charity, offered insights from his travels that might be useful for their work, and generally showed the sort of genuine interest in her causes that she'd begun to think no gentleman possessed.

"You know," he said as their discussion wound down, "I believe we could accomplish quite a lot together. Your practical experience with charitable work, combined with some of the approaches I observed in Italy... we might really make a difference."

"We?" Marianne asked, surprised by the warmth in her own voice.

"Well, I hope so. I realize this is rather presumptuous, but I find myself quite... intrigued... by the possibility of partnership with someone who shares my interests in meaningful work."

Marianne looked at this man who seemed to appreciate her independence, support her charitable work, and find her unconventional household charming rather than alarming.

He was handsome, intelligent, and had just offered her exactly what she'd thought she wanted—a partnership based on mutual respect and shared values.

So why did she feel like she was betraying something important by finding him appealing?

"I'm... intrigued as well," she heard herself say, and was surprised to realize it was true. "Your perspectives on social responsibility are quite refreshing."

"Are they? I'm pleased to hear it. Perhaps we could arrange another meeting to discuss these matters further? I confess I'm eager to learn more about your work here in Somerset."

As Lord Pembroke prepared to leave, making warm promises about their next meeting and expressing genuine enthusiasm for her charitable endeavors, Marianne found herself in the unprecedented position of actually looking forward to a suitor's return.

He was everything Lord Alton had suggested she should want—serious, stable, genuinely interested in her as a person rather than merely her inheritance. He supported her independence, appreciated her animals, and shared her passion for helping vulnerable children.

In short, he was perfect.

So why did the thought of Lord Alton's assessment of this successful evening make her feel so hollow inside?

After Lord Pembroke's departure, Marianne sat alone in her perfectly arranged sitting room, still corseted into her perfectly proper dress, trying to process what had just happened.

She had followed Lord Alton's advice perfectly.

She had presented herself as appropriately conventional and attracted exactly the sort of serious, stable suitor he'd recommended.

Lord Pembroke was intelligent, respectful, genuinely interested in her work, and had offered her the kind of partnership she'd thought she wanted.

He was, by any reasonable measure, a perfect match.

So again, why did she feel like she was betraying something—or someone—important by finding him appealing?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway announced Lord Alton's approach, and Marianne braced herself for his assessment of her successful transformation into someone worthy of a proper gentleman's attention.

Someone who had, apparently, succeeded beyond even her own expectations.