Page 5 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)
Chapter Five
M arianne had been attempting to organize her household accounts for precisely seventeen minutes when the first interruption occurred.
She should have known better than to try conducting serious business in the cottage's sitting room, but the morning light was so pleasant at the small writing desk, and Mrs. Smith had promised to keep the animals occupied elsewhere.
Unfortunately, no one had informed the animals of this arrangement.
"Now then, my lady," Mrs. Smith said, settling into the chair opposite with her own ledger and the sort of determined expression that suggested she was prepared to tackle any domestic challenge, "we need to discuss the weekly provisions.
The baker's bill has increased again, though I suspect that's partly due to Wellington's habit of charming extra buns from young Mary when she makes deliveries. "
"Wellington does have excellent taste in baked goods," Marianne agreed, dipping her pen and preparing to make notes. "Perhaps we should simply budget for his... diplomatic efforts."
"Batten down the hatches!" Napoleon squawked from his perch near the window, where he was supposed to be quietly preening his magnificent green feathers. "All hands on deck!"
"Napoleon, we're not sailing anywhere," Marianne said patiently. "We're doing household accounts."
"Household accounts, aye aye!" Napoleon replied with obvious satisfaction. "Steady as she goes!"
Mrs. Smith sighed and continued. "The grocer's bill includes an unusual charge for replacement vegetables. Apparently, Beelzebub escaped last Tuesday and made himself quite at home in Mr. Patterson's garden."
"How much damage?" Marianne asked, making a note in her ledger.
"Three shillings for the cabbages, two for the turnips, and an additional shilling for what Mr. Patterson described as 'emotional distress to his prize-winning marrows.'"
"Fire in the hole!" Napoleon contributed helpfully. "Prepare for battle!"
"The marrows will recover," Marianne said with a straight face. "Beelzebub showed admirable restraint in limiting himself to the outer leaves. Though perhaps we should invest in better fencing."
"About the fencing," Mrs. Smith began, but her words were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of claws skittering across the wooden floor. Wellington appeared in the doorway, panting with the sort of excited enthusiasm that usually meant he'd discovered something interesting.
He was followed immediately by Gerald, who strutted into the sitting room with the dignity of a general inspecting his troops and promptly claimed the hearth rug as his personal reviewing stand.
"Wellington, you're supposed to be in the garden," Marianne said without much hope of being obeyed. "And Gerald, the sitting room is not appropriate for military exercises."
Gerald tilted his head and regarded her with the sort of expression that suggested he found her definition of appropriate somewhat narrow-minded.
"Land ho!" Napoleon called out, apparently inspired by the arrival of his land-based companions. "Drop anchor!"
"We can't drop anchor in the sitting room either," Marianne pointed out.
Mrs. Smith cleared her throat diplomatically. "Perhaps we could continue with the accounts? We still need to discuss the expense of fodder for?—"
Her words were cut off by Clarence's dramatic entrance. The peacock swept into the room as if making a grand stage appearance, his magnificent tail feathers partially fanned and his bearing suggesting he had important business to conduct.
"Oh, good morning, Clarence," Marianne said with resignation. "I suppose you're here to supervise our financial planning?"
Clarence fixed her with a regal stare that clearly indicated he found the current arrangements inadequate.
He then positioned himself directly in front of the fireplace and began what could only be described as a performance—preening, strutting, and occasionally releasing small sounds of artistic satisfaction.
"Man overboard!" Napoleon announced, apparently feeling that Clarence's arrival required appropriate nautical commentary. "All hands to the rigging!"
"There's no rigging in the sitting room," Marianne said firmly, though she was beginning to suspect this conversation was futile.
Gerald chose that moment to crow with the sort of volume typically reserved for dawn announcements, causing Wellington to bark in startled response and Clarence to shriek his disapproval of such ungenteel noise.
Mrs. Smith raised her voice to be heard over the cacophony. "About the fodder expenses?—"
"Avast ye landlubbers!" Napoleon squawked with obvious delight at the chaos he was helping to orchestrate. "Splice the mainbrace!"
"I don't even know what that means," Marianne said, setting down her pen in defeat.
"Neither does Napoleon," Mrs. Smith replied with long-suffering patience. "Though he's quite enthusiastic about saying it."
"Splice the mainbrace! Splice the mainbrace!" Napoleon repeated with increasing volume, apparently having found his new favorite phrase.
Clarence, not to be outdone, released a shriek of such dramatic intensity that it seemed to echo off the cottage walls. He followed this with an elaborate display of tail feathers that effectively blocked most of the room's natural light.
"Magnificent," Marianne murmured, and she had to admit it was true. Even when he was being completely impractical, Clarence's artistic sensibilities were undeniable.
Gerald, meanwhile, had discovered something fascinating on the hearth rug and was investigating it with the sort of methodical attention usually reserved for military reconnaissance.
Wellington watched this investigation with obvious interest before deciding to contribute his own form of help—namely, attempting to herd Gerald away from whatever he'd found by gently nudging him with his snout.
"Mutiny on the bounty!" Napoleon declared with obvious approval of the developing situation. "Walk the plank!"
"The only one walking anywhere is you, Napoleon," Marianne said, finally abandoning her ledger entirely. "Back to your proper perch."
"Proper perch, aye aye!" Napoleon agreed cheerfully, but made no move to relocate himself.
Mrs. Smith surveyed the chaos with the sort of calm assessment that came from years of managing impossible situations. "Perhaps we should attempt this again later? When the crew is... better occupied?"
"The crew does seem particularly energetic this morning," Marianne agreed, watching as Clarence began what appeared to be a courtship dance directed at his own reflection in the window glass. "Though I suspect 'later' will simply involve different interruptions."
"Dead men tell no tales!" Napoleon contributed with obvious satisfaction.
"Fortunately, we're all very much alive," Marianne pointed out. "Though our accounting system may not survive much more nautical advice."
Gerald, having completed his investigation of the hearth rug, decided to share his findings by releasing a series of soft clucks that sounded remarkably like commentary on the morning's proceedings.
Wellington responded with a gentle woof that suggested agreement, while Clarence paused in his reflection-courting to fix both of them with a stare that clearly questioned their artistic judgment.
"Shiver me timbers!" Napoleon announced with finality, apparently having run through his repertoire of maritime expressions.
Marianne looked around her sitting room—at Gerald holding court from the hearth rug, Wellington attempting to organize everyone through strategic positioning, Clarence performing for his reflection, and Napoleon providing running commentary on their collective efforts—and felt a familiar surge of affection for her chaotic household.
"You know what, Mrs. Smith? Perhaps we could do the accounts in the kitchen instead. Surely it would be quieter there."
Mrs. Smith's expression suggested she doubted this optimistic assessment but was willing to attempt relocation in the interest of actually accomplishing something productive.
"Very well, my lady. Though I should mention that Lord Featherstone was last seen investigating the pantry, and Miss Whiskers has claimed the kitchen windowsill as her personal observatory."
"All ashore who's going ashore!" Napoleon called out as they began gathering their papers and ledgers.
As they prepared to relocate their planning session, Marianne reflected that this was exactly why she loved her unconventional household.
Yes, it made simple tasks considerably more complicated than they needed to be.
But it also meant that even mundane activities like reviewing household accounts became adventures in creativity and patience.
And really, what was the point of being an independent widow with her own cottage if she couldn't conduct her business accompanied by a full chorus of animal commentary?
Even if that commentary did seem to consist primarily of maritime expressions and dramatic sound effects.
"Farewell and adieu!" Napoleon called out as they headed toward the kitchen, apparently having decided that relocating required appropriate ceremonial send-offs.
"Until we meet again," Marianne replied with mock solemnity.
Though given the determined expressions on her various companions' faces, she suspected that meeting would occur approximately five minutes after they'd settled into their new location.
Such was life at Lavender Cottage: never boring, rarely peaceful, and absolutely impossible to imagine living any other way.