Page 20 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
Chapter Sixteen
T he village common had been transformed into what could only be described as a battlefield of benevolence. Tables laden with planning documents stretched across the grass, while members of the organizing committee moved between stations with the focused energy of generals preparing for campaign.
At the center of it all stood Lord Alton and Lord Pembroke, both studying a hand-drawn map of the festival grounds with the sort of intense concentration usually reserved for military strategy.
"The main stage should obviously face east," Lord Pembroke was saying, gesturing with what appeared to be a measuring stick. "Better acoustics, optimal lighting for afternoon performances, clear sightlines from the primary vendor areas."
"Agreed," Lord Alton replied, producing his own measuring device—a considerably more professional-looking instrument. "Though we'll need to account for wind patterns. The prevailing westerlies could create sound distortion if we don't position the backdrop properly."
Marianne looked up from her list of confirmed entertainers to see both men now armed with surveying equipment, each attempting to demonstrate superior expertise in festival layout optimization.
"How... thorough," Lady Joanna murmured, though her expression suggested she was finding the proceedings highly entertaining.
"The dance floor will require level ground," Lord Pembroke continued, dropping to one knee to examine the common's surface. "We can't have couples tripping over uneven terrain during the evening festivities."
"Naturally," Lord Alton agreed, producing what appeared to be a spirit level from his coat pocket. "Though the real challenge will be ensuring proper drainage. Nothing ruins a dance faster than muddy conditions."
Charlotte leaned over to Victoria with barely concealed glee. "Are they... competing over soil composition?"
"I believe so," Victoria replied, watching as both men began taking measurements of the same patch of ground. "How unexpectedly entertaining."
Lord Pembroke had moved on to the vendor booth arrangements, sketching proposed layouts with mathematical precision.
"Food vendors should be positioned downwind from livestock demonstrations, optimal traffic flow requires a minimum six-foot clearance between booths, and we'll need to designate specific areas for refuse collection to maintain sanitary conditions. "
"Excellent points," Lord Alton said, though he was clearly preparing a counterargument.
"However, we must also consider emergency access routes.
Fire safety requires clear evacuation paths, medical emergencies need direct carriage access, and crowd control becomes impossible without proper bottleneck management. "
"Fire safety?" Lord Pembroke's eyebrows rose. "I hadn't considered... that is, do you have experience with such requirements?"
"Military campaigns require extensive safety protocols," Lord Alton replied with just a hint of smugness. "One learns to anticipate potential disasters."
Margaret caught Marianne's eye and gestured toward the two men, who were now comparing what appeared to be increasingly elaborate diagrams. "Should we be concerned that they're taking this quite so seriously?"
"I think it's wonderful," Marianne said, though she was trying not to laugh at the sight of Lord Pembroke attempting to demonstrate proper crowd flow patterns with hand gestures while Lord Alton sketched emergency evacuation routes. "They're both so... dedicated."
"Dedicated," Caroline repeated with obvious amusement. "Is that what we're calling it?"
The competition escalated when the topic turned to entertainment programming.
"Traditional Morris dancing would provide authentic cultural context," Lord Pembroke suggested, consulting notes from what appeared to be an extensive research project. "I observed similar festivals in the Cotswolds that successfully combined folk traditions with charitable fundraising."
"Morris dancing is excellent," Lord Alton agreed, "though we should consider broader appeal. Children's games, perhaps some demonstration of local crafts, maybe even a small livestock show to highlight regional agricultural excellence."
"A livestock show?" Lord Pembroke looked thoughtful. "Interesting. Though wouldn't that compete with the main charitable focus?"
"Not if properly integrated," Lord Alton replied, warming to his theme. "Agricultural prosperity supports community welfare, which directly relates to our ability to care for foundling children. It's all connected."
Marianne watched this exchange with growing amazement. Both men were clearly trying to impress her with their organizational capabilities, but they seemed to have forgotten she was there entirely. They were now completely absorbed in out-planning each other.
"What about a maypole?" Charlotte suggested innocently. "Nothing says traditional English festival quite like maypole dancing."
Both men immediately seized on this idea with alarming enthusiasm.
"Maypole dancing would require specific spatial calculations," Lord Alton said, already sketching possibilities. "Ribbon length determines minimum clearance radius, participant number affects complexity of patterns, and we'd need to ensure proper anchoring to prevent structural failure."
"Absolutely," Lord Pembroke agreed, though he was clearly preparing his own analysis.
"Though the real challenge is choreographic coordination.
I studied traditional dance patterns during my travels—there are specific mathematical relationships between ribbon count and participant movement that create optimal visual effect. "
"Mathematical relationships?" Lord Alton's competitive instincts were clearly aroused. "I'd be interested to review your calculations."
"And I'd be fascinated to see your structural engineering specifications," Lord Pembroke replied with equal enthusiasm.
Victoria leaned over to whisper to Marianne, "I believe they're about to design the most precisely engineered maypole in English history."
"Should we stop them?" Marianne whispered back, watching as both men began drawing increasingly complex diagrams.
"Good heavens, no," Lady Joanna interrupted softly. "This is the most thorough festival planning we've ever accomplished. Let them compete themselves into organizational perfection."
The morning continued in this vein, with Lord Alton and Lord Pembroke systematically addressing every conceivable aspect of festival management while trying to demonstrate superior expertise in each area.
Vendor contracts, security arrangements, parking logistics, weather contingencies—no detail was too small for their competitive attention.
Marianne found herself relegated to the role of occasional consultant, watching in fascination as two highly intelligent men attempted to out-organize each other in the name of charitable efficiency.
"I believe," she said to Caroline during a brief lull in the proceedings, "they've forgotten this is supposed to be fun."
"Oh, they're having tremendous fun," Caroline replied with a knowing smile. "They're just having it by trying to impress you with their logistical superiority."
"Impress me?" Marianne looked at the two men, who were now engaged in what appeared to be a detailed discussion of optimal bannering placement. "They seem to have forgotten I exist."
"My dear," Lady Joanna said gently, "they're competing for your attention so intensely that they've forgotten to actually pay you any. It's rather endearing, in a thoroughly masculine way."
By noon, they had created what was arguably the most comprehensively planned charity festival in Somerset's history. Every booth location had been surveyed, every entertainment schedule coordinated, every potential emergency anticipated and addressed.
"Excellent work," Lady Joanna announced as they gathered their papers. "Now, I believe it's time for our visit to the foundling hospital in Bath. The carriages are waiting."
The mood shifted immediately as they prepared for the afternoon's more serious business. The competitive energy that had driven the morning's planning gave way to sobering anticipation as they loaded into carriages for the journey to see firsthand the conditions they hoped to improve.
Marianne found herself sharing a carriage with Lord Alton, Lord Pembroke, and Margaret, while the conversation turned from festival logistics to the harder realities of their charitable mission.
"I've read reports about conditions in existing institutions," Lord Pembroke said quietly as they drove through the countryside. "But I suspect the reality will be... difficult to witness."
"It always is," Margaret replied with the voice of experience. "No matter how much one prepares intellectually, seeing actual children in such circumstances is... sobering."
Lord Alton was looking out the carriage window, his expression thoughtful.
"During the war, we encountered many orphans.
Children left homeless by battles, families destroyed by campaigns.
" His voice was carefully controlled. "There's something particularly heartbreaking about young innocence caught in circumstances beyond their control. "
The Bath Foundling Hospital proved to be everything they had feared and worse.
The building itself was well-maintained but clearly overcrowded, with children of various ages filling every available space.
They were greeted by Mrs. Adelaide Smith, the institution's director, whose worn but determined expression spoke of years spent fighting an overwhelming tide of need.
"We currently house eighty-six children," Mrs. Smith explained as she led them through corridors lined with small beds. "Our capacity is designed for sixty, but we simply cannot turn away children who have nowhere else to go."