Page 21 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
The nursery was the most devastating room of all.
Row upon row of infants lay in simple wooden cribs, attended by a handful of overwhelmed women who moved between them with practiced efficiency.
The babies who were awake watched the visitors with the sort of alert attention that suggested they'd learned early to observe their world carefully.
Marianne felt her throat tighten as she looked at tiny faces that bore no trace of the circumstances that had brought them here. These were simply children—innocent, helpless, deserving of love and care and opportunity.
"How many do you have to turn away?" Lady Joanna asked quietly.
"Last month?" Mrs. Smith's voice was heavy. "Fifteen. Fifteen mothers who came to us desperate, and we had no room." She gestured toward the overcrowded rows. "We try to make referrals to other institutions, but most are in similar circumstances."
"What happens to those children?" Marianne asked, though she dreaded the answer.
"Some mothers manage to find other solutions—relatives who can help, employers willing to overlook an illegitimate child. Others..." Mrs. Smith's expression grew pained. "Others make different decisions. Desperate people sometimes choose desperate measures."
The weight of this reality settled over the group like a heavy blanket. These weren't abstract charity cases or social problems to be solved through good intentions. These were real children whose futures depended on the availability of resources and care.
Lord Pembroke was standing beside a crib containing a infant who couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. "What's her story?" he asked softly.
"Left on our doorstep three days ago," Mrs. Smith replied. "No note, no identifying information. Healthy baby, well-cared for initially, but the mother was clearly in desperate circumstances."
"She's beautiful," Marianne said, looking down at the sleeping child. The baby had dark hair and delicate features, and something about her peaceful expression made Marianne's heart ache.
"They all are," Mrs. Smith agreed. "That's what makes this work both heartbreaking and essential. Every child here represents someone's difficult choice, someone's hope that we can provide what they cannot."
Lord Alton had been quiet throughout the tour, but now he spoke with obvious emotion. "What do they need most? Beyond space and funding, what would make the greatest difference?"
"Individual attention," Mrs. Smith replied immediately. "Children need more than food and shelter—they need to know they matter, that someone cares about their particular hopes and fears. We do our best, but with so many children and so few staff..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence. They could all see the mathematical impossibility of providing individual care to nearly a hundred children with perhaps a dozen adults.
But all the same, Lord Alton leaned over the nearest crib and gently lifted the infant in his arms. “There, there.” He hugged her close. When he looked up, their group help wide eyes and speechless mouths.
Mrs. Smith cleared her throat. "Education is crucial too. These children will need to support themselves as adults, but most institutions provide minimal training. We try to teach basic literacy and some practical skills, but there's so much more we could do with proper resources."
When they were about to move on, Lord Alton lowered the infant back into her crib, adjusting her small blanket around her body.
Lady Marianne’s eyes held a suspicious glassy sheen the next he glanced in her direction. He just shrugged in return. Something about that sweet infant stayed with him all through the next few rooms.
As they completed their tour and prepared to leave, the group was notably subdued. The morning's competitive energy had been replaced by a shared sense of purpose that transcended any personal considerations.
"This is why we're doing the festival," Marianne said quietly as they walked toward the carriages. "Not just to raise money, but to create more help, more people, more space. Somewhere children can grow up knowing they're valued."
"More than valued," Lord Alton added, his voice rough with emotion. "Somewhere they can discover their own potential, develop their particular gifts. Every child deserves that opportunity."
"We're going to build something remarkable," Lord Pembroke said with quiet determination. "Not just an institution, but a genuine home for children who need one."
As their carriages pulled away from the foundling hospital, Marianne felt the weight of responsibility settling over all of them. The festival was no longer just a charitable event—it was the beginning of something that could literally save lives.
And for the first time since Lord Pembroke had entered her life, she found herself thinking not about personal considerations of marriage and companionship, but about the larger work they were all called to do together.
Work that required the best efforts of everyone involved, regardless of romantic complications or personal feelings.
Work that mattered more than any individual happiness, but that somehow also felt like the key to finding the deepest kind of fulfillment.
The kind that came from building something meaningful with people who shared your most important values.
Even if those people included both the man you were expected to marry and the man you were beginning to realize you loved.