Page 47 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
L ady Catherine Fairfax stepped down from her elegant black carriage and stared at the Somerset Foundling Home with an expression that mixed determination with barely controlled panic.
The building before her was nothing like the grim, institutional structures she had expected—instead, it was warm and welcoming, with children's laughter echoing from the gardens and the sort of purposeful activity that spoke of a place where people genuinely thrived.
Which made what she was about to do feel both more hopeful and infinitely more terrifying.
"Shall I wait, my lady?" her coachman asked respectfully, though his expression suggested concern about his mistress's pale complexion and the way her gloved hands trembled as she clutched her reticule.
"Yes, Thomas. This... this shouldn't take long."
Catherine smoothed her black silk mourning dress and checked that her veil was properly arranged to obscure her features. Six months of widowhood had taught her the value of anonymity when conducting business that might be subject to gossip and speculation.
The front door opened before she could knock, revealing a woman of middle years with kind eyes and the sort of practical efficiency that suggested she was accustomed to managing complex situations.
"Lady Fairfax?" the woman said with gentle warmth. "I'm Mrs. Smith, the home's administrator. Lady Marianne is expecting you."
Catherine felt her stomach flutter with nervous anticipation.
Lady Marianne Alton's reputation had reached even the exclusive circles of London society—a young woman who had somehow transformed a rural charity project into a national movement for foundling care.
More importantly for Catherine's purposes, she was known for her discretion and understanding when it came to sensitive family matters.
"Thank you," Catherine managed, following Mrs. Smith through hallways that hummed with the sort of organized activity she'd never associated with charitable institutions.
Children of various ages moved purposefully between rooms, some carrying books, others working on what appeared to be practical projects.
All of them looked well-cared for and genuinely content.
"Lady Marianne is in the nursery," Mrs. Smith explained as they walked. "She thought you might like to see the infants first, given the nature of your inquiry."
The nursery was a revelation. Large windows filled the room with natural light, and comfortable chairs were positioned throughout to encourage interaction between children and caregivers.
Lady Marianne herself sat near the window, holding a baby of perhaps six months while reading to two older children who listened with rapt attention.
She looked up as Catherine entered, and her smile was so genuinely welcoming that Catherine felt some of her anxiety begin to ease.
"Lady Fairfax," Marianne said, rising gracefully while the baby remained contentedly in her arms. "How good of you to come. I hope your journey from London wasn't too difficult?"
"Not at all, thank you. Though I confess I'm somewhat nervous about... about this entire endeavor."
"Perfectly understandable," Marianne said with the sort of matter-of-fact kindness that suggested she dealt with nervous visitors regularly. "Would you like to sit? Perhaps we could talk while you observe some of our daily routine?"
Catherine gratefully accepted the offered chair, noting how naturally Marianne managed to continue caring for the infant while making her feel completely welcomed. This was clearly a woman who had mastered the art of making multiple people feel valued simultaneously.
"Mrs. Smith mentioned that you're interested in... private arrangements?" Marianne said carefully, her tone suggesting she understood the delicate nature of the conversation.
"Yes, I..." Catherine stopped, suddenly uncertain how to explain her situation without revealing more than she was prepared to share. "That is, my circumstances have changed recently, and I find myself in a position to... to provide for a child who might otherwise..."
She trailed off, frustrated by her inability to articulate what should have been a simple request.
"You're interested in adoption," Marianne said gently, saving Catherine from further struggle with explanation. "Many families find that providing a home for children in need brings unexpected joy to their own lives."
"Yes, exactly. Though my situation is perhaps... unusual."
"Most of our families have unusual situations in one way or another," Marianne replied with a smile. "We've found that love and commitment matter far more than conventional arrangements."
Catherine felt tears prick her eyes at this casual acceptance of unconventional family structures. After months of navigating London society's rigid expectations about appropriate widowhood behavior, such understanding felt like a gift.
"I should explain," she said carefully, "that I would be raising a child alone. My marriage was... very brief... and now that I'm widowed..." She paused, struggling with how much truth to reveal. "I find myself with the means and the desire to provide a home for a child who needs one."
"How thoughtful of you," Marianne said with obvious understanding. "Many of our most successful placements have been with women who have both the resources and the genuine calling to provide loving homes."
"Truly?"
"Truly. In fact, some of our children thrive particularly well in situations where they receive focused, individual attention from someone who chose them specifically."
Catherine felt a complex mix of hope and terror at this reassurance. She had expected judgment, complicated explanations, possibly even refusal. But she hadn't expected the much more difficult challenge of potentially seeing her own child and having to pretend they were strangers.
"Could I... that is, would it be possible to meet some of the children who might be... available for such arrangements?" she asked, her voice carefully controlled despite her racing heart.
"Of course," Marianne said, shifting the baby to her shoulder with practiced ease. "Though I should mention that we have a rather thorough process for ensuring good matches between children and families. We want to understand each child's particular needs and each family's specific situation."
Catherine's breath caught. A thorough process that might reveal why she was really here. "What sort of process?"
"Visits, conversations, opportunities for you to spend time with children who might be good matches. We also need to understand the circumstances that brought each child here, to ensure we're making decisions in their best interests."
The circumstances that brought each child here. Catherine felt panic rise in her throat. If they investigated too closely, would they discover her connection to one of the children? Would they refuse to let her proceed if they learned the truth?
Catherine nodded, trying to appear calm while her mind raced. "That sounds very... thorough."
"We try to be. Creating families requires more than good intentions—it requires understanding each child's unique story and needs."
Each child's unique story. Catherine wondered desperately what story had been told about her baby. Had anyone recorded the truth about the circumstances of the birth? Did they know who the mother was, or had she succeeded in maintaining her anonymity?
"Are the children... that is, do you know much about their... backgrounds?" Catherine asked, trying to sound casually interested rather than desperately curious.
"We know what we need to know to care for them properly," Marianne replied carefully. "Though we respect privacy when families request discretion about sensitive circumstances."
As if summoned by the conversation, the nursery door opened to admit a small whirlwind of energy in the form of a dark-haired girl of perhaps four, who made a beeline for Marianne with obvious familiarity.
"Aunt Marianne," the child announced with the sort of dramatic flair that suggested she was accustomed to being the center of attention, "Emma says the puppies in the garden are ready to open their eyes, and James wants to know if we can name them, and Wellington is trying to teach them to sit but they're too little to understand commands yet. "
Catherine watched this domestic scene with fascination, noting how naturally Marianne managed to balance the baby, acknowledge the little girl's excited report, and maintain their adult conversation simultaneously.
"This is Lucy," Marianne explained to Catherine with obvious affection. "One of our success stories—she was adopted two years ago by Mrs. Pemberton and has been thriving ever since."
"Mrs. Pemberton?" Catherine asked with surprise. "Charlotte Pemberton, the actress?"
"The very same. Lucy inherited Charlotte's flair for drama and storytelling, and Charlotte has given her exactly the sort of creative environment where such talents can flourish."
Catherine studied the little girl, who was now petting the baby's head with gentle care while chattering about the puppies' progress. There was nothing subdued or institutionalized about her behavior—she was simply a confident, happy child secure in her place within a loving family.
"Does she visit often?"
"Weekly," Marianne confirmed. "Many of our adopted children maintain connections here—not because they're unhappy in their new homes, but because this place represents part of their story. We encourage those connections."
"So adoption doesn't mean... severing all ties?"
"Adoption means creating new primary family bonds while honoring the relationships that helped shape a child's early life. At least, that's how we approach it here."
Catherine felt another wave of relief at this explanation. She had worried that adopting a child might mean cutting them off from everything familiar, which had seemed both cruel and unnecessary.
"Lady Fairfax," Marianne said gently, "would you like to spend some time in our family areas?
See how our daily routines work, meet some of the children who might be ready for adoption?
There's no pressure to make any decisions today—just an opportunity to see if this feels like something you'd genuinely enjoy. "
"Yes," Catherine said with more certainty than she'd felt about anything in months. "Yes, I would like that very much."
As Marianne led her through the foundling home, Catherine found herself studying every infant with desperate intensity, searching for some sign of recognition, some maternal instinct that might tell her which child was hers.
But the babies all looked remarkably similar in their innocence and need, and she realized with growing despair that seven months of separation might have changed her child beyond recognition.
Was her baby even still here? Had they already been placed with another family? The thought made her feel physically ill.
"Lady Fairfax," Marianne said gently, "are you quite all right? You look rather pale."
"I'm fine," Catherine said quickly. "Just... overwhelmed by seeing so many children in need."
But as they continued the tour, Catherine found herself imagining not what her future might hold, but what her past might have cost her.
Somewhere in this building—or somewhere else entirely—was the child she had been forced to abandon.
The child she had held for exactly three hours before handing over to strangers with nothing but a desperate prayer that they would find a loving home.
Seven months later, she was finally free to search. But freedom to look didn't guarantee she would find what she was seeking.
Or that finding it would be anything like the reunion she had dreamed of during the darkest moments of her brief, loveless marriage.
The question was: did she have the courage to risk discovering that her child was better off without her?
And if she found her baby, did she have the right to disrupt a life that might already be settled and happy?
Time would tell. But first, she would have to find a way to continue this search without revealing the truth that could destroy everything she hoped to accomplish.