Page 38 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
Chapter Thirty
T he evening had settled over the Somerset common like a warm embrace, with lanterns casting golden pools of light across the festival grounds and the scent of autumn flowers mingling with the last wisps of cooking fires.
The day's crises had been resolved, the donations recovered, and the festival had exceeded every expectation for both attendance and charitable success.
Henry stood at the edge of the gathered crowd, watching as makeshift seating was arranged for the evening's closing ceremonies.
Families clustered together on blankets and borrowed chairs, children dozed against their parents' shoulders, and the general atmosphere was one of satisfied contentment with a day well spent.
Soon, very soon, Marianne would stand before this crowd and accept James's proposal, cementing their partnership in front of the entire community that had watched them work so effectively together.
The thought made Henry feel hollow and sick, but he remained where he was. He owed it to the foundling charity to see the festival through to its conclusion, regardless of his personal feelings about what that conclusion would bring.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lady Joanna's voice carried clearly across the common as she took her position at the front of the crowd.
"Thank you all for making this first annual Somerset Festival for Foundling Care such a tremendous success.
Before we conclude this wonderful day, Lady Marianne has some important announcements to share about what we've accomplished together. "
Henry's hands clenched involuntarily as Marianne stepped forward, looking radiant in the lantern light. She wore the same blue dress she'd had on that morning, but somehow the day's events had transformed her from merely beautiful to absolutely luminous with purpose and satisfaction.
This was how she looked when she was truly happy, Henry realized with a painful stab of recognition. This was the woman who had spent the day solving problems, building community, and creating something meaningful that would last long after the festival ended.
This was the woman who was about to announce her engagement to another man.
"My friends," Marianne began, her voice carrying the sort of warm authority that commanded attention without demanding it, "when we began planning this festival, we hoped to raise enough funds to begin construction of Somerset's first foundling orphanage.
Today has exceeded our wildest expectations. "
The crowd murmured with pleased anticipation, and Henry saw James positioning himself near the front, clearly preparing for his moment.
"Thanks to your extraordinary generosity," Marianne continued, "we have raised not just enough to begin construction, but enough to complete the entire building and establish a full year's operating fund."
Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Henry felt a genuine surge of pride for what they had accomplished. Whatever else this day brought, they had created something that would save lives and change futures for dozens of children.
"The final total," Marianne announced as the cheers subsided, "is four hundred and thirty-seven pounds, plus commitments for ongoing support that will ensure the orphanage's sustainability for years to come."
More cheers, louder this time, as people realized the magnitude of what they had achieved together.
"Construction will begin this December," Marianne continued, "with the orphanage opening its doors next autumn. Somerset will soon have an institution we can all be proud of, one that reflects our community's commitment to caring for its most vulnerable members."
Henry watched her face glow with satisfaction as she delivered this wonderful news, and felt his heart break a little more. This was Marianne at her absolute best—leading her community toward something greater than themselves, building bridges between individual generosity and collective action.
This was the woman he was about to lose forever.
"And now," Marianne said, her voice taking on a more personal tone that made Henry's stomach clench with anticipation, "I have another announcement to make. Something that's been on my mind throughout this wonderful day."
Here it comes, Henry thought desperately. She's going to announce her engagement to James, and I'm going to have to stand here and smile while my heart shatters into pieces.
"Throughout this festival," Marianne continued, "I've been reminded of how much we can accomplish when we work together toward shared goals. How much stronger we are when we support each other's dreams rather than asking each other to change."
Henry saw James step forward slightly, clearly expecting to be called upon for the romantic climax of the evening.
"I've also been reminded," Marianne said, her gaze sweeping the crowd, "that some partnerships are built on genuine understanding, while others are built on... practical considerations."
Something in her tone made Henry look more closely at her expression. There was a tension there, a hesitation that didn't match the confident woman who had been making announcements about charitable success.
"And I've realized," Marianne continued, "that when it comes to the most important decisions in life, practical considerations should never outweigh authentic feeling."
Henry felt his heart skip. She was talking about marriage, about choosing a partner, but something in her words suggested she wasn't building toward the announcement everyone expected.
"So I want to take this opportunity," Marianne said, her voice growing stronger, "to thank someone whose partnership has meant more to me than I think he realizes. Someone who has shown me what it means to be truly supported rather than merely... managed."
Someone. Not James. Henry felt hope surge through his chest like a physical force.
"I want to thank?—"
"Stop," Henry heard himself say, his voice carrying farther than he'd intended across the suddenly quiet crowd.
Every head turned toward him, and Henry felt the weight of hundreds of stares as he stepped forward from his position at the crowd's edge. This was madness. This was social suicide. This was the most impulsive thing he'd ever done in his carefully controlled life.
This was also the most important moment he would ever face.
"I'm sorry," Henry said, addressing the crowd but looking only at Marianne's startled face. "I know this is irregular, and I know I'm interrupting, but I can't let another moment pass without saying something that should have been said weeks ago."
"Henry?" Marianne's voice was barely audible, but he caught the way she said his name—with surprise, yes, but also with something that might have been relief.
"Lady Marianne," Henry said, walking toward her through the crowd that parted automatically before his obvious determination, "I have been the greatest fool in Somerset. Possibly in all of England."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd, but Henry paid them no attention. His entire focus was on the woman standing before him, illuminated by lantern light and looking at him with an expression he'd never seen before.
"I have spent months trying to convince myself that love required changing you, managing you, improving you into someone more suitable for marriage.
" Henry's voice grew stronger as he found his rhythm.
"I have given you advice about appropriate behavior while refusing to acknowledge my own inappropriate feelings. "
"Henry," Marianne said again, this time with something like warning in her voice, "what are you doing?"
"What I should have done the first day I met you," Henry replied, continuing his approach until he stood directly before her. "I'm telling you the truth."
He was dimly aware of James somewhere in the crowd, probably shocked into silence by this unprecedented interruption.
He was aware of Lady Joanna watching with fascination, of the Somerset Widows clustering together with expressions of delighted surprise, of hundreds of festival-goers witnessing what would either be the most romantic moment in recent memory or the most spectacular social disaster.
None of that mattered. Nothing mattered except the woman standing in front of him and the words that had been locked in his chest for far too long.
"Marianne," Henry said, dropping to one knee right there in front of God and Somerset and everyone, "I love you.
Not the edited version of you that would be convenient for my peace of mind, but you exactly as you are.
I love your impulsive kindness, your chaotic household, your tendency to climb trees when principle demands it. "
Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd, but Henry pressed on.
"I love the way you organize gardens like military campaigns and manage crises like they're merely interesting puzzles. I love that you prioritize children's comfort over legal liability and animal welfare over social conventions."
Marianne's eyes were wide with shock, but Henry thought he caught something else there—something that looked remarkably like joy.
"I love that you make me want to be brave enough to deserve you," Henry continued, his voice breaking slightly with emotion.
"And I love you enough to risk everything—my reputation, my carefully controlled life, my pride—for the chance to spend the rest of my days proving that real love means celebrating who someone is, not trying to change them into who you think they should be. "
The crowd had gone completely silent, hanging on every word of this unprecedented public declaration.