Page 36 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

M arianne didn’t know what to think about Lord Alton. That is, she knew what to think, knew what she wanted to think, but didn’t quite trust herself to think anything could be possible with the man she truly cared for, with Lord Alton.

In the midst of all the working together and planning, she was seeing a sort of future unfold with him that could be quite magnificent.

They were on their way, searching the crowds for the thief when a young lad ran up to her. “From your house, a letter came today.”

“Thank you.” She saw the return from her old and dear housekeeper. “This might be important. I’ll catch up.” She smiled at Henry who seemed torn, as though he would wait with her.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

Mrs. Fairweather, writing her in such haste, delivered by special messenger with the sort of urgency that made Marianne's hands shake as she broke the familiar seal.

My Dear Lady Marianne,

I hope this letter reaches you before you make any irrevocable decisions about your future. I have learned some information about Lord Pembroke that you should consider carefully before accepting any proposals he might make.

Through my connections in Yorkshire society, I have discovered that Lord Pembroke was previously engaged to Miss Catherine Ellcott, daughter of Sir Thomas Ellcott.

The engagement was broken quite suddenly last spring, and while the official reason given was "mutual agreement," I have reliable information that suggests otherwise.

Miss Ellcott's personal maid, whom I know well, confided that Lord Pembroke ended the engagement when he discovered that Miss Ellcott's inheritance was not as substantial as he had been led to believe.

Apparently, his interest in her charitable work and independence diminished considerably once he learned that her fortune was largely theoretical.

I do not share this information to disparage Lord Pembroke's character entirely—by all accounts, he is a gentleman of good reputation. However, I thought you should know that his appreciation for independent women may be more conditional than it appears.

Trust your instincts, my dear. You have always been an excellent judge of character when you allow yourself to be.

Your devoted servant and friend, Mrs. Fairweather

Marianne’ heart pounded in her chest. She should probably tuck the letter away, telling herself that Mrs. Fairweather was simply being overly protective, that past relationships didn't necessarily predict future behavior, that James had shown her nothing but genuine appreciation for her unconventional qualities.

But, as afternoon shadows lengthened across the festival grounds and she worked closely with Henry to handle their current crisis, Mrs. Fairweather's warning echoed in her mind with uncomfortable persistence.

Henry was nothing if not completely sincere.

James, she really didn’t know. She loved everything he said. But was he speaking the truth? Her instincts old her Henry was.

"I really think we should let the authorities handle this matter," James was saying as they continued their search for the thief. "Surely the local magistrate is better equipped to investigate theft than we are."

"The local magistrate is in Bath on business," Henry replied without looking up from his examination of the carriage area where the strongbox had been found. "And by the time he returns, our thief will be long gone."

"But surely we shouldn't take such risks ourselves," James continued, his tone growing more insistent. "What if confronting them leads to violence?"

Marianne felt a flicker of irritation at his tone. "James, we're not planning to confront anyone violently. We're simply trying to identify the person who stole money intended for orphaned children."

"Of course, but perhaps our time would be better spent salvaging what we can from the festival rather than chasing after someone who's probably already fled the area."

Salvaging what we can. As if the theft were an acceptable loss rather than a disaster requiring immediate action.

"Two hundred pounds isn't something we could simply write off," Henry said with barely concealed frustration.

"We have it now, but that money represents months of fundraising work and the difference between opening the orphanage this year or delaying indefinitely.

What if the thief should resurface, attempt another theft? "

"I understand the financial implications," James replied with the sort of patient tone usually reserved for explaining things to children. "But we must be realistic about our chances of recovery. Perhaps we should focus on damage control instead of pursuing unlikely solutions."

Marianne watched Henry's jaw tighten at James's suggestion of giving up, and she felt an unexpected surge of appreciation for his stubborn refusal to accept defeat. Here was someone who understood that some things were worth fighting for, regardless of the odds.

"Mrs. Smith thinks she can identify the thief if she sees him again," Marianne said firmly. "That's not an unlikely solution—that's a practical approach to solving our problem."

"Of course," James agreed quickly, though his expression suggested he found her determination somewhat puzzling. "I simply think we should consider all our options before committing to a course of action that might be... unproductive."

Before anyone could respond to this lukewarm endorsement of their recovery efforts, a commotion near the children's entertainment area drew their attention. Screams and shouts suggested something more serious than typical festival excitement.

"What's happening over there?" Marianne asked, already moving toward the disturbance.

They arrived to find chaos surrounding the area where families had gathered to watch a puppet show. Parents were calling for their children, volunteers were trying to restore order, and at the center of it all, a young boy of perhaps four was sobbing while clutching his arm against his chest.

"He fell from the puppet show platform," one of the mothers explained breathlessly. "Climbed up to get a better view and tumbled backward. I think his arm might be broken."

Marianne felt her heart clench at the sight of the injured child, who was clearly terrified and in considerable pain.

Around them, adults were offering various suggestions—find the local doctor, send for the boy's parents, move him to a quieter location—but no one seemed quite sure how to provide immediate comfort.

Except Henry.

Without hesitation, Henry knelt beside the frightened child, his voice dropping to the sort of gentle tone Marianne had never heard him use before.

"Hello there," Henry said quietly, positioning himself at the boy's eye level. "My name is Henry. Can you tell me your name?"

"T-Tommy," the boy hiccupped through his tears.

"That's a fine name, Tommy. Now, I know your arm hurts quite badly, but I'm going to help make sure you're safe until we can get you properly looked after."

Henry's movements were careful and precise as he examined the injury without touching it, but there was something in his manner—a natural tenderness, an instinctive understanding of how to comfort a frightened child—that made Marianne's breath catch in her throat.

"Is Tommy going to be all right?" she heard James ask from somewhere behind her, but her attention was completely focused on the scene unfolding in front of her.

"Tommy," Henry was saying, "I'm going to very gently support your arm so it doesn't hurt as much when we move you. Is that all right?"

The boy nodded, still crying but clearly beginning to trust this calm adult who was treating him with such careful respect.

"Excellent. Now, while we wait for someone to bring something to make a proper sling, would you like to hear about the time I had to rescue a very stubborn peacock from a tree?"

Despite his pain, Tommy's eyes widened with interest. "A peacock?"

"The most dramatic peacock in all of Somerset," Henry confirmed, beginning to tell an elaborated version of Clarence's tree adventure while carefully supporting Tommy's injured arm. "He was convinced that the only proper way to survey his domain was from the highest possible perch..."

Marianne watched Henry transform from the rigidly controlled man she'd been arguing with into someone completely natural and unguarded, focused entirely on providing comfort to a child in distress.

There was nothing calculated about his kindness, nothing performed about his gentleness.

This was simply who he was when he stopped worrying about propriety and acted on pure human instinct.

"Should we send for the doctor?" James asked practically.

"Mrs. Davidson has already gone to fetch him," one of the other mothers replied. "Though it may take some time—he was called to assist with another matter earlier."

"In the meantime," Henry said without breaking his gentle conversation with Tommy, "we need to keep him calm and comfortable. Fear makes pain worse, especially for children."

"How do you know so much about injured children?" Marianne found herself asking.

Henry glanced up at her briefly, and she caught a flicker of old pain in his eyes.

"Military campaigns involve a lot of civilian casualties.

Children caught in situations they don't understand, separated from their families, dealing with injuries and terror.

.." He returned his attention to Tommy. "You learn to provide whatever comfort you can. "

The simple explanation revealed depths to Henry's experience that Marianne had never considered.

How many frightened children had he comforted during his years of military service?

How many times had he knelt in circumstances far worse than this, offering gentle words and careful protection to innocents caught in adult conflicts?

"That must have been very difficult," she said quietly.

"It was," Henry agreed, never taking his attention from Tommy, who was now listening with fascination to the continuing saga of Clarence's dramatic rescue. "But it taught me that sometimes the most important thing you can do is simply be present with someone who's afraid."

Twenty minutes later, when the doctor finally arrived and confirmed that Tommy's arm was indeed broken but not seriously, Henry helped transfer the boy to more comfortable transportation while maintaining the sort of calm, reassuring presence that had kept Tommy from becoming hysterical with fear.

"You were wonderful with him," Marianne said as they watched Tommy depart with his relieved parents and proper medical attention.

"Children deserve honesty and respect," Henry replied, though he seemed almost embarrassed by her praise. "Too many adults think they should be managed rather than comforted."

Managed rather than comforted. The phrase resonated with uncomfortable recognition of their own relationship difficulties.

"Lord Alton handled that very well," James said, rejoining them after speaking with Tommy's parents about potential liability issues. "Though I do hope the festival won't be held responsible for accidents that occur due to inadequate supervision."

The comment hit Marianne like cold water. While Henry had been focused entirely on Tommy's comfort and recovery, James had been considering legal implications and financial liability.

"James," she said carefully, "a child was hurt. Surely our primary concern should be his welfare, not potential festival liability."

"Of course," James replied quickly. "I simply think we need to consider all aspects of such incidents. Proper planning prevents future problems."

"Proper planning," Marianne repeated, something in her tone making both men look at her with surprise.

"Well, yes. If we'd anticipated that children might attempt to climb the puppet show platform, we could have implemented better safety measures."

Marianne stared at James, seeing him clearly for perhaps the first time since they'd met.

Here was a man whose first instinct in a crisis involving a hurt child was to consider legal ramifications rather than provide comfort.

A man who approached even emergency situations with calculated assessment rather than human compassion.

A man who was perfectly reasonable, completely logical, and utterly lacking in the sort of instinctive emotional response that had made Henry drop to his knees beside a frightened boy without a moment's hesitation.

"You're right," she said quietly. "We should have anticipated potential problems."

But as they returned to their search for the missing thief, Marianne found herself thinking not about festival safety protocols but about Mrs. Fairweather's warning and the growing recognition that James's appreciation for her unconventional qualities might be more conditional than she'd realized.

And about Henry's gentle hands supporting an injured child while he told stories to distract from pain, revealing a capacity for tenderness that had nothing to do with propriety and everything to do with genuine compassion.

The sort of compassion that might, she was beginning to suspect, extend to loving a chaotic woman with strong opinions and impulsive tendencies—if that woman was brave enough to trust him with her heart.

But that realization was coming far too late, on a day when she'd already committed to accepting another man's proposal.

Even if that other man was beginning to seem like a stranger whose charm might not run as deep as she'd believed.