Page 23 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
Chapter Eighteen
Letter to Mrs. Fairweather
Lavender Cottage, Somerset
M y Dear Mrs. Fairweather,
I hope this letter finds you well and that the autumn weather has not been too troublesome at Willowbrook Manor. I trust the repairs to the east wing are progressing satisfactorily and that you are not finding the house too quiet without its usual chaos of inhabitants.
I write to you from my snug sitting room at Lavender Cottage, where I am perfectly content despite the persistent efforts of various parties to convince me otherwise.
You will be amused to learn that my simple country retirement has somehow attracted more social attention than I ever received in London—though I suspect you would not be surprised by this development, knowing as you do my peculiar talent for creating complicated situations from the simplest circumstances.
First, I must ask your counsel on a practical matter.
I am considering hosting a small dinner party here at the cottage—perhaps eight guests—and I find myself uncertain about the logistics.
The cottage dining room seats six comfortably, but with some adjustment, I believe we could accommodate more.
Do you think it presumptuous to invite neighboring families to dine in such modest circumstances?
Lady Joanna assures me that country hospitality is valued above grand formality, but I confess I lack confidence in my abilities as a hostess outside the familiar walls of Willowbrook.
Your expertise in these matters would be invaluable.
Should I attempt a formal service with Mrs. Smith's assistance, or would a simpler approach be more appropriate?
I remember how beautifully you managed our dinner for Lord Pemberton's parents with only two days' notice—such organizational wizardry is precisely what I need now.
Now, you must prepare yourself for what I fear will be a rather lengthy account of recent developments, for much has occurred since my last letter.
I find myself in the unprecedented position of having attracted multiple suitors—a circumstance that would have seemed impossible during my London seasons but has somehow materialized in rural Somerset.
The first is Lord James Pembroke, whom Edmund produced with great fanfare as the ideal solution to my unmarried state.
You would find him quite charming, Mrs. Fairweather—he possesses all the qualities you always insisted I should value in a husband.
He is intelligent, well-traveled, supportive of my charitable interests, and even appreciates my unconventional household arrangements.
He speaks knowledgeably about everything from agricultural innovations to Italian architecture, and he has shown genuine enthusiasm for the foundling charity we are establishing here.
By any reasonable measure, he is perfect.
The second is my neighbor, Lord Henry Alton, whose estate borders the cottage grounds.
You would approve of his systematic approach to life—he manages his property with the sort of methodical precision that would put your household organization to shame.
He has been instrumental in planning our charity festival, demonstrating remarkable logistical expertise and genuine concern for community welfare.
He is also, I must confess, the most maddening man I have ever encountered.
He simultaneously treats me as a competent partner in charitable work and as a problematic puzzle requiring careful management.
I find myself both admiring his capabilities and wanting to shake him for his inability to see past his own assumptions about proper behavior.
There is also a third gentleman—Mr. David Thornfield, Lady Margaret's nephew—who appeared during calling hours yesterday and somehow transformed what should have been an awkward situation into an afternoon of entertaining comedy.
He is devastatingly handsome and thoroughly charming, though I suspect his interest is more social than romantic.
He seems to find our entire local drama amusing rather than compelling.
The peculiar thing, Mrs. Fairweather, is that despite having three eligible gentlemen paying me attention, I find myself more confused than flattered.
Lord Pembroke offers everything I thought I wanted, yet something feels.
.. incomplete. Lord Alton challenges me intellectually and shares my values, but seems determined to help me find happiness with someone else.
And Mr. Thornfield provides delightful company without any deeper connection.
Perhaps you could offer your wisdom about matters of the heart? You always seemed to understand such complexities better than I do.
Now, to more cheerful subjects—you will want to know how our extended family is faring in their new Somerset home.
The garden has exceeded all my expectations this season.
The herb garden you helped me plan before leaving Willowbrook has thrived beyond my wildest hopes.
The lavender bushes have grown magnificently and provided enough flowers for drying to supply the entire village with sachets.
The rosemary hedge along the south wall has become so robust that Mrs. Smith claims it's the finest she's ever encountered.
My sage and thyme plantings have flourished, and I've been able to share cuttings with half the neighborhood.
The chamomile patch has spread delightfully, and on warm evenings, the scent is absolutely heavenly.
The vegetable garden has been equally successful.
The late potatoes yielded far more than we expected, and we've been able to store enough for winter while sharing the surplus with tenants in need.
My experiment with succession planting of lettuces worked beautifully—we had fresh greens well into October.
The winter squash are storing perfectly in the cottage cellar, and the late cabbages are still providing fresh vegetables despite the increasingly cold mornings.
I've also expanded the flower gardens considerably.
The Michaelmas daisies you suggested have naturalized beautifully along the lane, creating clouds of purple and pink that have drawn admiring comments from every visitor.
The hardy geraniums have proven remarkably resilient, blooming well into autumn and requiring minimal care.
My chrysanthemum collection now includes six different varieties, ranging from deep burgundy to pale yellow, and they've provided cheerful color when everything else was beginning to fade.
The roses, I'm pleased to report, have adapted well to Somerset soil.
The climbing rose on the cottage wall produced an abundance of blooms this summer, and the bush roses in the front garden are still offering occasional flowers despite the season.
I've begun collecting rose hips for jellies and teas, following your old recipe.
As for our animal companions, they continue to provide daily entertainment and occasional exasperation in equal measure.
Clarence has appointed himself the unofficial guardian of Somerset society and passes judgment on all visitors with his characteristic dramatic flair.
He has taken a particular dislike to formal carriages, apparently finding them insufficiently magnificent for his standards.
However, he has developed an inexplicable fondness for the local vicar, perhaps sensing a fellow performer of theatrical inclinations.
Reverend Dunley now brings seed biscuits when he calls, and Clarence greets him with displays of tail feathers that would not be out of place at Covent Garden.
Wellington continues to be the most sociable member of our household, appointing himself unofficial greeter to all visitors.
He has developed a particular attachment to Lord Alton, following him about the property whenever he calls and somehow managing to appear wherever that gentleman happens to be working.
I suspect Wellington has better judgment about human character than any of us realize.
Gerald has claimed dominion over the kitchen and rules his territory with benevolent but firm authority.
Mrs. Smith initially despaired of sharing her workspace with a rooster, but they have reached an accord that involves Gerald receiving regular treats in exchange for limiting his commentary to reasonable hours.
He has proven surprisingly useful for waking the household at precisely the right time each morning.
Napoleon continues to provide colorful commentary on daily events, though his nautical vocabulary has begun incorporating local dialect in ways that would amuse you greatly.
Yesterday I heard him inform Mrs. Smith that the morning's baking was "shipshape and Bristol fashion," which sent her into fits of laughter.
Beelzebub has established himself as the cottage's official hedge trimmer, though his methods are rather more dramatic than traditional gardening would suggest. He has developed strong opinions about the aesthetic merits of various plants and has taken it upon himself to "improve" any arrangements he finds insufficiently pleasing.
Lord Alton's pristine hedge has become a particular target for his creative interventions.
Lord Featherstone, our dignified goose, has appointed himself supervisor of garden activities and waddles about offering commentary on my horticultural efforts.
He has proven surprisingly knowledgeable about optimal spacing for plantings, though his methods of indicating disapproval involve considerable honking and wing-flapping.
Mrs. Quackers and her family have taken possession of the small pond as if it were a private estate, and they patrol their domain with admirable dedication.
The ducklings from spring have grown into fine young ducks, and we now have quite the aquatic community providing both entertainment and occasional eggs.