Page 35 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

T he afternoon sun was beginning its descent toward the Somerset hills when Henry realized that working with Marianne to save the festival was both the most natural thing in the world and the most exquisite torture he'd ever endured.

They had spent the past four hours completely restructuring the event, and their collaboration had fallen into the same effortless rhythm that had made their original planning sessions so effective.

Marianne would identify a problem, Henry would propose a solution, and together they would implement changes that somehow improved on their original design.

It was exactly the sort of partnership he'd dreamed of building with her, happening on the day she would announce her engagement to someone else.

"The Morris dancers can perform in the craft demonstration area," Marianne was saying, checking items off her constantly evolving list. "Smaller audience, but more interactive. And we can move the children's activities to the area near the food vendors—parents can supervise while they eat."

"Perfect," Henry agreed, making notes on his own revised schedule. "That leaves the agricultural displays as our main educational focus, which actually works better for serious donors who want detailed information about sustainability."

"Exactly what I was thinking." Marianne looked up from her clipboard with the sort of bright enthusiasm that had first caught his attention months ago. "This crisis might have actually improved the entire festival."

For a moment, their eyes met across the makeshift planning table they'd established near the damaged stage, and Henry felt the full force of their intellectual and emotional connection.

Here was the woman who could finish his thoughts, anticipate his concerns, and improve on his ideas while making him feel like the most capable person in Somerset.

Here was the woman who would be engaged to Lord Pembroke in approximately three hours.

"Lord Alton! Lady Marianne!" Tom Smith's voice carried a note of barely controlled panic as he approached their table at a near run. "We have a serious problem."

Henry felt his stomach clench. They'd been managing a steady stream of minor crises all afternoon.

"What's happened?" Marianne asked, setting down her pen with obvious concern.

"It's the donation funds," Tom said, lowering his voice. "Mr. Whitmore from the bank just informed me that the strongbox we've been using to secure contributions has gone missing."

Henry felt the world tilt slightly. "Missing how?"

"No one knows. It was secured in the committee tent this morning, with Mrs. Davidson keeping watch. But when she stepped away to handle a question about the flower arrangements, someone apparently took the entire box."

"How much money are we talking about?" Marianne's voice was carefully controlled, but Henry could see the alarm in her eyes.

"Nearly two hundred pounds in donations collected since this morning. Plus all the pledge commitments that donors wrote out instead of paying immediately."

Two hundred pounds. More than enough to fund the foundling orphanage's first year of operation. More than enough to turn their charitable triumph into a complete disaster if it couldn't be recovered.

"Has anyone searched the surrounding areas?" Henry asked, his military training automatically engaging with the crisis.

"We've looked everywhere we can think of, but..." Tom spread his hands helplessly. "It's not just misplaced, my lord. Someone deliberately took it."

"Deliberately," Marianne repeated, and Henry could see her mind working through the implications. "Someone at the festival. Someone who knew where the funds were being kept and when they'd have access."

"That's what Mr. Whitmore thinks," Tom confirmed. "Though he's reluctant to make accusations without proof."

Henry looked around the festival grounds, where hundreds of people were enjoying the afternoon's entertainment while completely unaware that the event's entire charitable purpose had just been compromised.

Vendors, visitors, volunteers, performers—any one of them could have taken the strongbox, and most would be gone before the theft was even announced publicly.

"We need to approach this systematically," he said, falling back on the tactical thinking that had served him during military campaigns. "Tom, who had access to the committee tent this morning?"

"All the organizing committee, the volunteers helping with setup, vendors who needed to store valuables..." Tom's list trailed off as he realized how many people that included.

"So essentially anyone involved in festival organization," Marianne said grimly. "Plus anyone who could have observed the security arrangements during setup."

"We need to search without creating panic," Henry said. "If we announce the theft publicly, it will ruin the festival's atmosphere and potentially help the thief escape unnoticed."

"Agreed," Marianne said, already planning. "We need to organize discrete searches while maintaining normal festival activities."

Henry felt a familiar surge of admiration for her quick thinking under pressure. Most people would be paralyzed by a crisis of this magnitude. Marianne was already developing strategies to contain the damage while solving the problem.

"How do we coordinate searches without alerting the wrong people?" Tom asked.

"We divide the grounds into sections," Henry replied, "and assign trusted volunteers to each area. They can search while appearing to handle normal festival business."

"And we need to control information," Marianne added. "Only the people absolutely necessary for the search should know what we're looking for."

"What about Lord Pembroke?" Tom asked. "Should we inform him about the situation?"

Henry saw Marianne hesitate for just a moment before answering. "Lord Pembroke is managing the donor relations at the charity booth. We shouldn't distract him unless we need his specific assistance."

It was a perfectly reasonable decision that also meant Marianne would be handling the crisis with Henry rather than with her intended fiancé. Henry tried not to read too much significance into her choice.

"Right," Tom said. "Where do we start?"

For the next hour, Henry and Marianne worked together with the sort of focused intensity that made him forget everything except the immediate problem.

They organized search teams, coordinated with festival security, and managed to investigate every corner of the grounds while maintaining the appearance of normal festival operations.

Their collaboration was seamless. Marianne's intuitive understanding of people and social dynamics complemented Henry's systematic approach to problem-solving perfectly.

When she suggested checking with vendors who might have noticed unusual activity, Henry immediately identified the most strategic locations to investigate.

When he proposed expanding their search to areas beyond the official festival grounds, she knew exactly which volunteers could be trusted with that responsibility.

"Any luck with the vendor searches?" Marianne asked as they reconvened near the committee tent.

"Nothing concrete, but Mrs. Patterson mentioned seeing someone lurking near the tent around midday. Couldn't identify who, but said they seemed to be watching rather than participating in festival activities."

"That matches what young Jamie told me about someone asking detailed questions about security arrangements this morning," Marianne replied. "He thought they were just being curious about festival organization."

Henry felt pieces of the puzzle beginning to align. "Someone was gathering information about our security procedures. This wasn't opportunistic theft—it was planned."

"Which means they're probably still here," Marianne said grimly. "Waiting for the right moment to leave without being noticed."

They stood together in the growing afternoon shadows, both contemplating the magnitude of the disaster they were trying to prevent.

Around them, the festival continued with cheerful obliviousness—children laughing at puppet shows, couples strolling between vendor booths, elderly visitors sitting in comfortable conversations about the charitable cause they all supported.

All of it made possible by donations that had been stolen from under their noses.

"Henry," Marianne said quietly, and the use of his given name sent an unexpected jolt through his chest. "We're going to find that money."

"Are we?" Henry asked, though her confidence was already beginning to affect his own assessment of their chances.

"We're going to find it because we have to," Marianne said with fierce determination.

"Because sixty children are depending on the orphanage we're trying to fund, and because all these people donated money in good faith, and because I refuse to let some opportunistic thief destroy something this important. "

Henry looked at her standing there in her practical festival dress, her hair slightly disheveled from the afternoon's crisis management, her eyes blazing with protective fury on behalf of people she'd never met, and felt his heart clench with such overwhelming love that he could barely breathe.

This was Marianne at her most magnificent—not when she was being proper or appropriate or carefully managed, but when she was fighting for something that mattered with every ounce of passion and determination she possessed.

"Yes," he said quietly. "We're going to find it."

"Together," Marianne said, and the word carried weight that had nothing to do with theft recovery.

"Together," Henry agreed, knowing that whatever else happened today, he would treasure this moment when Marianne looked at him as her partner in something that truly mattered.

Even if it was the last time he would ever see that expression in her eyes.

"Lord Alton! Lady Marianne!" Charlotte's voice carried across the common with obvious urgency. "You need to come quickly—we think we've found something."

Henry and Marianne exchanged glances before hurrying toward Charlotte, who was waiting near the edge of the festival grounds with an expression of barely contained excitement.

"Mrs. Smith noticed someone acting suspiciously near the carriage parking area," Charlotte explained as they walked quickly through the crowd. "When she got closer to investigate, she saw them trying to load something heavy into a cart."

"Something heavy enough to be a strongbox?" Henry asked.

"Something exactly that heavy," Charlotte confirmed. "And when Mrs. Smith called out to ask if they needed assistance, they abandoned whatever they were doing and disappeared into the crowd."

They reached the carriage area to find Mrs. Smith standing guard over a small cart that had been positioned behind a larger carriage, effectively hidden from casual observation.

"It's here," Mrs. Smith announced with grim satisfaction, gesturing toward the cart's contents. "Strongbox and all. Whoever took it was planning to load it up and drive away once the festival ended."

Henry felt relief flood through him as he confirmed that the box appeared intact and undamaged. Two hundred pounds in donations, plus all the pledge commitments that would ensure the orphanage's future.

"Did you see who was trying to load it?" Marianne asked.

"Got a good look at him," Mrs. Smith replied. "Young man, well-dressed, didn't recognize him as local. But he'll be easy enough to identify if he's still at the festival."

"He might not be," Henry said grimly. "Once he realized his plan was discovered, he probably left immediately."

"Maybe," Marianne said thoughtfully. "Or maybe he's still here, hoping no one will connect him to the theft attempt. After all, technically he didn't succeed in taking anything."

Henry felt a surge of admiration for her tactical thinking. "You think he might try to blend back into the festival crowd?"

"I think a guilty person might assume they're safer hiding in plain sight than running away and drawing attention," Marianne replied. "Especially if they think no one got a clear look at them."

"Except Mrs. Smith did get a clear look," Henry pointed out.

"Exactly. Which means if we can quietly identify him among the current festival attendees, we can recover the funds and ensure he doesn't try this again."

It was a perfectly logical plan that would require careful coordination and discrete investigation. It was also, Henry realized, going to require him and Marianne to continue working as partners for at least another hour while they identified and apprehended a thief.

Another hour of the sort of effortless collaboration that reminded him exactly why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place.

Another hour of watching her brilliant mind work through complex problems with the sort of innovative thinking that made every challenge feel solvable.

Another hour of partnership that would end when she accepted Pembroke's proposal and committed herself to building this sort of intellectual intimacy with someone else.

"Mrs. Smith," Marianne was saying, "would you be willing to walk through the festival with us and see if you can spot the man you saw?"

"Gladly, my lady. I got a very good look at his face when he realized I'd caught him in the act."

"Excellent," Henry said, forcing himself to focus on the immediate problem rather than the larger emotional catastrophe looming over the evening. "Let's recover those funds and ensure this festival ends the way it was meant to."

As they began their systematic search of the festival grounds, Henry caught Marianne's hand briefly to help her navigate around a group of children playing an energetic game.

The contact lasted only seconds, but it was long enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor that suggested she was as affected by their continued proximity as he was, and the painful recognition that this might be the last time he would ever touch her with any sort of intimacy.

Tomorrow, she would belong to Pembroke.

Tonight, for just a few more hours, she was still his partner in the sort of meaningful work that had first shown him what love could look like when it was built on mutual respect and shared purpose.

He was going to make those hours count, even if they broke his heart in the process.