Page 44 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
Chapter Thirty-Four
T he December morning of Marianne and Henry's wedding dawned clear and crisp, with frost sparkling on the lavender bushes and winter sunlight streaming through the cottage windows like a benediction.
By eight o'clock, Lavender Cottage had been transformed into something between a fairy tale and a perfectly organized military operation—which, as Lady Margaret observed, was exactly what one would expect from the union of Marianne Linfield and Henry Alton.
Marianne stood in her bedroom, surveying the controlled chaos of final preparations while Mrs. Smith fussed over the intricate details of her wedding dress.
The gown itself was a masterpiece of winter elegance—ivory silk with delicate embroidery that caught the morning light, practical enough for a garden ceremony but beautiful enough to satisfy even Victoria's exacting standards for bridal fashion.
"The carriages have arrived with your family," Mrs. Smith announced, peering out the window toward the lane where several impressive vehicles were discharging passengers.
Marianne felt her stomach flutter with nervous anticipation.
Lord Edmund and his wife had agreed to attend the wedding, though their letters had made it clear they found the entire arrangement bewildering.
A December garden ceremony with animals as witnesses was hardly their idea of appropriate matrimonial celebration.
"And Lord Alton's sister has just arrived from Yorkshire," Mrs. Smith continued. "Such an elegant young lady—quite excited about gaining you as a sister-in-law."
"Good," Marianne said, adjusting the simple pearl necklace that had belonged to Charles's mother. "I'm eager to meet her properly."
A knock at the bedroom door interrupted their preparations, followed by Charlotte's voice announcing that Lord Edmund wished to speak with both bride and groom before the ceremony began.
"Both of us?" Marianne asked with surprise. "Isn't the groom supposed to avoid seeing the bride before the wedding?"
"Apparently Lord Edmund considers family business more important than romantic superstition," Charlotte replied with obvious amusement. "He's waiting in the sitting room with his wife and Lord Alton."
Marianne found Henry in the cottage sitting room, looking magnificent in his dark blue wedding coat and managing to appear both nervous and completely confident simultaneously.
Lord Edmund and his wife occupied the best chairs with the sort of formal dignity that suggested they were conducting business rather than celebrating romance.
"Marianne," Lord Edmund rose as she entered. "You look... quite lovely. Very appropriate for the occasion."
"Thank you, Edmund. I'm glad you could be here."
"Yes, well." Edmund cleared his throat with obvious discomfort. "Lady Edmund and I wanted to discuss certain... practical matters... before the ceremony proceeds."
Henry moved to stand beside Marianne, offering his arm in a gesture of support that didn't go unnoticed by the assembled family members.
"What sort of practical matters?" Marianne asked, though she suspected she already knew.
"The question of inheritance and title succession," Edmund replied with the sort of businesslike directness that had always characterized his approach to family matters. "Specifically, how your marriage affects the future of Charles's legacy."
Marianne felt Henry's arm tense slightly under her hand, but his voice remained perfectly calm when he spoke.
"I assume you're asking about children and their potential inheritance of family titles?"
"Precisely," Edmund confirmed. "Charles's title will die out unless... unless there are appropriate heirs to continue the family name."
Henry exchanged glances with Marianne before responding. "Any children we might have would indeed inherit my estate and, through Marianne, Charles's title and properties. We've already discussed the arrangements with our solicitors."
"And the family name?" Edmund pressed. "How would succession be handled?"
"Our children would bear the Alton name primarily," Henry replied, "but would inherit the right to use Charles's title and could choose which family name to emphasize based on their own preferences and circumstances."
"So the choice would be theirs?" Lady Edmund asked with obvious surprise.
"The choice would be theirs," Marianne confirmed. "We believe children should have the freedom to honor both sides of their heritage rather than being locked into predetermined roles."
Edmund looked as if he wanted to argue this point, but apparently decided that any inheritance was better than none. "And you're... committed... to having children? To ensuring the family legacy continues?"
Marianne felt heat rise in her cheeks at the personal nature of the question, but Henry answered with diplomatic firmness.
"We're committed to building a family that honors both our backgrounds while creating its own unique path forward. Whether that involves continuing existing legacies or creating entirely new ones remains to be seen."
"But you understand the importance—" Edmund began.
"We understand," Marianne interrupted gently, "that love and commitment matter more than titles and inheritance. Our children—if we're blessed with children—will be valued for who they are rather than what they might inherit."
Edmund looked as if he wanted to continue this line of discussion, but Lady Edmund placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"I'm sure," she said diplomatically, "that any children will be fortunate to have such thoughtful parents. Now, perhaps we should allow the bride and groom to prepare for their ceremony?"
As Edmund and his wife departed to join the other wedding guests, Henry turned to Marianne with obvious concern.
"Are you all right? I know family pressure about inheritance can be..."
"I'm fine," Marianne assured him. "Though I'm grateful our children will have you as a father rather than someone who views them primarily as vehicles for continuing family names."
"Our children," Henry repeated softly, "will be loved for exactly who they are, regardless of what titles or expectations they might inherit."
"Our children," Marianne agreed, feeling a warm flutter of anticipation at the thought.
An hour later, the wedding ceremony began in Marianne's back garden, which had been transformed into something magical despite the December cold.
Henry's practical planning had provided braziers for warmth and a stunning canopy of evergreen branches decorated with white ribbons and winter flowers.
Marianne's natural sense of beauty had arranged seating that felt intimate rather than formal, with guests clustered in comfortable groups that encouraged conversation and community.
The result was exactly what they had hoped for: a celebration that felt authentically theirs rather than a performance for social expectations.
Reverend Dunley stood beneath the evergreen canopy with the sort of pleased expression that suggested he was enjoying this unconventional wedding immensely.
The assembled guests—a mixture of family, friends, and prominent Somerset residents—filled the available seating while maintaining the relaxed atmosphere that both bride and groom had specifically requested.
But the most remarkable aspect of the ceremony was the behavior of Marianne's menagerie.
Clarence had positioned himself prominently near the altar area, his magnificent tail feathers fanned in full display as if he were officiating rather than merely observing. For once, his dramatic tendencies seemed perfectly appropriate to the occasion.
Wellington sat beside Henry with the sort of dignified attention usually reserved for military ceremonies, apparently understanding that this was an event requiring his best behavior.
Gerald had claimed a perch that offered optimal viewing while remaining respectfully quiet, though he occasionally offered soft commentary that sounded remarkably like approval.
Even Napoleon the parrot seemed to understand the solemnity of the occasion, limiting his contributions to whispered observations that added humor without disrupting the proceedings.
As Marianne walked down the makeshift aisle on Edmund's reluctant arm, she caught sight of Henry waiting for her beneath the evergreen canopy and felt her heart skip with pure joy.
This was the man who had learned to love her chaos, who had fought for their partnership, who had chosen authenticity over control in the most public way possible.
This was the man she would spend her life building something beautiful with, combining his systematic thinking with her intuitive approach to create something neither could achieve alone.
"Dearly beloved," Reverend Dunley began, his voice carrying clearly in the crisp December air, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of Henry and Marianne in holy matrimony..."
The ceremony proceeded with the perfect blend of traditional solemnity and personal touches that characterized everything about their partnership.
Henry's vows emphasized his commitment to supporting Marianne's independence while building a life together based on mutual respect and authentic love.
Marianne's vows spoke of partnership that made both people stronger, and her gratitude for finding someone who appreciated her exactly as she was.
When Reverend Dunley pronounced them husband and wife, Henry kissed Marianne with the sort of tender enthusiasm that made the assembled guests cheer spontaneously. Even Clarence added his own triumphant shriek to the celebration, apparently approving of the proceedings.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Reverend Dunley announced with obvious satisfaction, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Henry Alton!"
The reception that followed was everything Marianne had hoped for: intimate enough for genuine conversation, festive enough for proper celebration, and thoroughly relaxed in the way that only gatherings of people who truly care about each other can be.
Henry's sister proved to be delightful—a younger version of Henry's systematic thinking combined with a warmth that suggested she would fit seamlessly into Marianne's chosen family.
The Somerset Widows had outdone themselves with coordination that made everything appear effortless while actually representing hours of detailed planning.
Even Edmund and Lady Edmund seemed to be enjoying themselves, particularly after Henry's toast acknowledging the importance of family legacy while emphasizing that the best traditions were those that evolved to serve each new generation.
"To marriage," Henry said, raising his glass to the assembled guests, "which is not about two people becoming one, but about two people choosing to build something together that honors both their individual strengths and their shared dreams."
"To partnership," Marianne added, "that makes both people more themselves rather than less."
"To love," Lady Joanna called out, "that's brave enough to risk everything for authentic happiness."
As the afternoon wore into evening and the celebration continued with dancing, storytelling, and the sort of genuine joy that marked the best family gatherings, Marianne realized that this was exactly what she'd hoped marriage would feel like: not the end of her independent life, but the beginning of a collaborative adventure that would be richer than anything she could create alone.
"No regrets?" Henry asked as they took a moment's respite from the festivities, standing together in the garden where they'd just promised to spend their lives together.
"None whatsoever," Marianne replied firmly. "Though I should warn you that Clarence is already planning dramatic contributions to our future social events."
"I'd be disappointed if he weren't," Henry said with a laugh. "A household without Clarence's artistic input would be far too predictable for my taste."
"Your taste has certainly evolved since I first met you."
"My taste has been educated by the most remarkable teacher," Henry corrected, pulling her closer. "I'm looking forward to a lifetime of learning what love looks like when it's built on truth rather than compromise."
As the celebration continued around them—friends and family, animals and flowers, chaos and order all blending into something perfectly beautiful—Marianne knew that whatever adventures lay ahead, they would face them together as true partners.
And if those adventures happened to include peacocks, pugs, and the occasional domestic emergency, well, that would simply make life more interesting.
After all, the best love stories were never boring.