Page 33 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

H enry stood before his dressing mirror the morning after witnessing Pembroke's proposal, staring at a man he barely recognized. The face looking back at him was haggard from a sleepless night, but more shocking was what he was considering wearing.

The emerald green coat hung on his wardrobe door like a challenge to everything he'd ever believed about appropriate dress. He'd purchased it years ago in a moment of uncharacteristic impulse, then immediately relegated it to the back of his wardrobe as too bold, too attention-seeking, too... much.

Today, it seemed exactly right.

If he was going to bare his soul to Marianne, if he was going to risk everything on one last desperate attempt to win her heart, then he might as well dress the part.

Let Somerset society talk. Let everyone see that the rigidly proper Lord Alton was capable of boldness when something truly mattered.

"My lord?" His valet's voice carried a note of barely controlled alarm. "Are you quite certain about... that particular garment?"

"Quite certain, Meadows," Henry replied, shrugging into the coat with more confidence than he felt. "In fact, I think it's exactly what the occasion requires."

The emerald silk was beautifully cut, flattering his build and bringing out flecks of green in his brown eyes that he'd never noticed before. Combined with a cream waistcoat and his best boots, the overall effect was striking without being ridiculous.

Revolutionary, he thought with grim humor. At least for me.

Henry's next stop was his own garden, where he cut an armful of his finest late roses—deep red blooms that had somehow survived the November chill.

Not the careful, formal arrangement he might once have chosen, but an abundant, slightly wild bouquet that spoke of genuine feeling rather than social obligation.

If he was going to declare himself, he would do it properly.

The walk to Lavender Cottage felt both endless and far too brief. With each step, Henry rehearsed and discarded various speeches, various approaches to telling Marianne that he loved her exactly as she was and wanted nothing more than to spend his life proving it.

He found her in her front garden, deadheading the last chrysanthemums of the season with the sort of focused attention that suggested she was using the task to avoid thinking about more complicated matters.

"Lady Marianne," he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up, and Henry watched her eyes widen slightly as she took in his appearance. For a moment, neither of them spoke—she standing among her flowers with dirt-stained gloves and windblown hair, he clutching his bouquet like a shield while wearing enough color to be seen from Yorkshire.

"Lord Alton," she said finally. "That's quite a... striking... coat."

"I thought it was time for a change," Henry replied, stepping through her garden gate. "I brought you these. From my garden to yours."

He offered the roses with hands that trembled only slightly, watching her face for some sign of how his gesture was being received.

"They're beautiful," Marianne said, accepting the bouquet with obvious surprise. "But you didn't need to... that is, what's the occasion?"

Now or never, Henry thought, gathering courage from somewhere deep inside his chest.

"The occasion is that I've been a fool," he said simply. "A complete, utter fool who nearly lost the most important thing in his life because he was too frightened to fight for it."

Marianne's expression grew guarded. "Lord Alton?—"

"Henry," he interrupted gently. "Please. Just Henry. I'm tired of hiding behind formality and propriety when what I really want to say requires something much more honest."

She was very still, watching him with an expression he couldn't read.

"I care about you," Henry said, the words coming out rushed but clear. "More than I've ever cared about anyone, and I've been too much of a coward to admit it until now."

Marianne's face went pale. "Henry, you can't say such things. Not now. Not when James has just?—"

"I know about Pembroke's proposal," Henry said quickly. "I know he offered you everything any sensible woman would want, and I know you asked for time to consider. I'm hoping—praying—that your hesitation means some part of you isn't entirely convinced that practical compatibility is enough."

"It should be enough," Marianne said quietly, still clutching his roses. "James is everything I thought I wanted. He's kind, intelligent, supportive of my work, accepting of my unconventional qualities..."

"But?"

"But nothing. He's perfect for me."

"Then why do you look like you're trying to convince yourself of that fact?"

The question hung between them like a challenge. Marianne's grip on the roses tightened, and Henry could see her struggling with something that went deeper than mere social politeness.

"Because," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, "because perfect on paper and perfect for my heart are apparently different things."

Henry felt his pulse quicken. "What does your heart tell you?"

"My heart is an unreliable guide that's led me into nothing but confusion and pain," Marianne replied with sudden fierceness. "My heart wants impossible things from people who can't give them."

"What if they could?" Henry stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "What if the person you want has finally figured out what really matters?"

"Henry, please don't do this."

"Don't do what? Don't tell you that I love your impulsive kindness, your chaotic household, your tendency to prioritize principle over propriety? Don't admit that I've been trying to change you because I was terrified of how much I needed you exactly as you are?"

"Don't make this harder than it already is," Marianne said, and Henry caught the tremor in her voice that suggested this conversation was costing her as much as it was costing him.

"It doesn't have to be hard," Henry said desperately. "It could be the simplest thing in the world. I care about you more than I've ever cared about anyone. If you feel something similar?—"

"It doesn't matter what I feel," Marianne interrupted, taking a step back from him. "Caring isn't enough when it comes with conditions and reservations and the constant fear that I'll disappoint you."

"There are no conditions," Henry said urgently. "No reservations. I want you exactly as you are—animals, chaos, impulsive tree-climbing and all. I want to spend my life creating the kind of partnership where you never have to hide any part of yourself."

For a moment, Marianne's composed expression cracked, and Henry saw naked longing in her eyes before she reassembled her careful control.

"Even if I believed that," she said quietly, "even if I trusted that you could truly accept me without trying to improve me, it's too late."

"It's not too late until you say yes to Pembroke."

"I am going to say yes to James," Marianne said with sudden firmness. "I've made my decision, Henry. I'm going to accept his proposal."

The words hit Henry like physical blows. "When?"

"Tonight. At the festival's end, when the whole community is gathered to celebrate our charitable success. It seems... appropriate... to announce our engagement at such a moment."

Henry felt the world tilt slightly around him. Tonight. In a matter of hours, Marianne would be publicly committed to another man, and any chance Henry might have had would be gone forever.

"Marianne, please?—"

"It's the right choice," she continued, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. "James offers me genuine partnership without the emotional complications that have made everything between us so difficult."

"Emotional complications," Henry repeated. "Is that what we're calling what's between us now?"

"I'm calling it an impossibility," Marianne said firmly. "You've made it clear that you find my natural behavior concerning enough to require management and improvement. James accepts me as I am. The choice should be obvious."

"The choice would be obvious if it were actually between the man I was and the man I want to become," Henry said desperately. "But it's not. It's between the man who cares about you enough to change everything who does in fact see you. I see you. You are what I want…you."

"James doesn't need to change everything about himself to love me. That's rather the point."

Henry stared at her, feeling the full weight of his own failures settling on his shoulders.

She was right, of course. Pembroke could offer her unconditional acceptance because he genuinely appreciated her exactly as she was.

Henry could only offer the promise that he'd learned to do the same—a promise that came too late and with too little credibility.

"I see," he said quietly. "And there's nothing I could say or do that would change your mind?"

"Nothing," Marianne replied, though Henry caught something in her voice that suggested the certainty was costing her. "I'm going to marry James, Henry. It's decided."

Henry stood in her garden, surrounded by the evidence of her competent planning and loving care, while the woman he loved told him she was choosing security over uncertainty, practical compatibility over passionate connection.

He should accept defeat gracefully. Should offer his congratulations and step aside to let her build the life she'd chosen.

Instead, he found himself saying, "Then I suppose there's nothing left for me in Somerset."

Marianne's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't stay here and watch you be happy with another man. Not because I begrudge you that happiness—God knows you deserve it—but because I'm not strong enough to witness what I was too much of a coward to fight for properly."

"You're leaving?"

"After the festival concludes and I've fulfilled my obligations to the foundling charity, yes. I'll find somewhere else to pursue my agricultural work, somewhere I won't have to see you and Pembroke building the life I wanted to build with you."

Marianne was very quiet, studying his face with an expression that might have been regret.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I never wanted to drive you away from Somerset."

"You're not driving me away," Henry replied. "I'm choosing to leave rather than spending my life regretting what I was too frightened to ask for when it might have mattered."

They stood facing each other in her garden, both clearly shaken by the finality of what was being decided between them.

"Henry," Marianne said softly, "for what it's worth... if things had been different... if we'd met at a different time, or if we'd both been different people..."

" If doesn't change anything," Henry said, though he treasured the admission more than she would ever know. "But thank you for saying it."

As Henry prepared to leave, he took one last look at the woman who had turned his carefully ordered world upside down and forced him to examine everything he thought he wanted from life.

"I hope you'll be happy," he said quietly. "Genuinely, truly happy. You deserve nothing less."

"Thank you," Marianne replied, still clutching the roses he'd brought her.

Henry walked back across the lane to his own estate, his emerald coat a splash of color against the gray November afternoon. Behind him, he could hear no footsteps following, no voice calling him back, no indication that Marianne was reconsidering the choice she'd just declared final.

Which told him everything he needed to know about where her heart truly lay, regardless of what she might feel for him.

By evening, he would watch the woman he loved announce her engagement to another man. And shortly thereafter, he would begin the process of removing himself from Somerset permanently.

It was, he supposed, what he deserved for waiting too long to fight for what mattered most.

Some chances, once lost, never came again.

And some forms of love were only recognizable when it was far too late to choose them.