Page 7 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe drew himself up to his full height, apparently attempting to reclaim his dignity. "Perhaps you need time to consider the generous nature of my offer?—"

"No, I don't," Marianne interrupted. "I need you to understand that I would rather live alone with my animals for the rest of my life than marry someone who considers my happiness a character flaw."

"Your happiness?" Edmund sputtered. "What does happiness have to do with marriage? Marriage is about duty, security, continuing the family line?—"

"Marriage should be about love, mutual respect, and genuine partnership," Marianne replied firmly. "Charles and I were happy together. I won't settle for less just to satisfy social expectations."

"Charles is dead," Edmund said brutally. "And if you don't remarry soon, nad produce offspring, his title dies with him. Is that what you want? To let everything he worked for simply disappear?"

The words hit harder than Marianne had expected, and for a moment she wavered. Charles had been proud of his heritage, had loved the family estate and the responsibilities that came with his position.

But then she looked at Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe, who was attempting to repair his appearance while eyeing the animals with unconcealed loathing, and she knew Charles would never have wanted this for her.

"Charles wanted me to be happy," she said quietly. "That's what he told me in his final letter—that my happiness mattered more than titles or expectations or what other people thought was proper."

"Pretty words," Edmund sneered, "but impractical. You're a woman alone, Marianne. You need protection, guidance, someone to manage the complexities of your inheritance?—"

"Actually," came a calm voice from the doorway, "Lady Marianne seems quite capable of managing her own affairs."

Everyone turned to see Lord Alton standing in the entrance to the sitting room, looking perfectly composed despite the chaos around him.

His eyes swept the scene—the disheveled suitor, the indignant animals, the red-faced Edmund—with the sort of tactical assessment Marianne imagined he'd once used on battlefields.

"Lord Alton," she said with genuine relief. "How... timely of you to call."

"I received your festival invitation," he said smoothly, though his gaze lingered on Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe with unmistakable coolness. "I came to discuss the arrangements and offer my estate's resources for the event."

Edmund straightened, clearly recognizing quality when he saw it. "Lord Alton, is it? Perhaps you could speak sense to my sister-in-law. She's being most unreasonable about her future prospects."

Lord Alton's eyebrows rose fractionally. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Lady Marianne strikes me as an exceptionally reasonable woman who's made thoughtful choices about her life."

Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe stepped forward, apparently seeing an opportunity to appeal to a fellow gentleman.

"Sir, surely you can see that a woman of Lady Marianne's.

.. delicate constitution... requires proper masculine guidance.

I've offered her the protection of my name and the benefit of my experience in managing complex estates. "

Lord Alton studied the younger man for a long moment, his expression perfectly neutral. "How generous. And what experience would that be?"

"Well, I... that is, my family's properties in Yorkshire... extensive holdings, of course..."

"Of course," Lord Alton agreed blandly. "And your military service? Your time in government? Your practical experience with agricultural management or financial planning?"

Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe's mouth opened and closed without producing sound, rather like a fish gasping for air.

"I see," Lord Alton continued with devastating politeness. "So your qualifications for managing Lady Marianne's 'complex estates' are..."

"I'm a gentleman of good family!" Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe spluttered.

"As am I," Lord Alton replied. "But I wouldn't presume to manage another person's affairs without considerably more credentials than an accident of birth."

Marianne felt a warm glow of gratitude spreading through her chest. Here was someone defending not just her right to make her own choices, but her competence to make them well.

Edmund, sensing the conversation slipping away from him, tried a different approach. "Lord Alton, surely you understand the importance of family legacy? Of ensuring that titles and estates pass to proper heirs?"

"Certainly," Lord Alton said. "But I also understand that forced marriages rarely produce the sort of happiness that leads to successful families. Perhaps Lady Marianne's contentment should be the primary consideration?"

"Contentment?" Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe practically shrieked. "What about duty? What about social obligation? What about the natural order of things?"

Beelzebub, who had been quietly observing the conversation, apparently decided he'd heard enough. With dignified precision, he walked over to Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe and methodically began eating his remaining coat buttons.

"I believe," Lord Alton said gravely, watching Beelzebub's systematic destruction, "that your answer has been delivered."

The sight of the perfectly dignified goat calmly consuming his finery while maintaining eye contact was apparently the final straw for Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe.

"This is barbaric!" he declared. "Absolutely barbaric! No gentleman should be expected to endure such... such... rural savagery!"

"You're absolutely right," Marianne agreed pleasantly. "No gentleman should. Fortunately, the door is just behind you."

Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe looked around the room one final time—taking in the unrepentant animals, Marianne's serene expression, and Lord Alton's barely concealed amusement—and apparently decided that strategic retreat was his best option.

"This isn't over," he announced dramatically. "I shall return when you've had time to reconsider the generous nature of my offer."

"Please don't," Marianne said sincerely. "It would be a waste of your time and my buttons."

Her brother-in-law at last escorted Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe out the door. She tried to avoid his disappointed expression. He hissed at her before the door fully closed. “I’m trying to help you, you know.”

She sighed. She did know. Of course he was trying to help in his own misguided way. And she really didn’t want the family line to die with her. If only she and Charles had been able to have children.

After the visitors departed—with much door slamming and injured dignity—Marianne sank into her chair with a sigh of relief.

"That," she said to Lord Alton, who remained standing in her sitting room looking remarkably comfortable despite the recent chaos, "was even worse than I'd anticipated."

"Family pressure can be quite challenging," he agreed diplomatically.

"They want me to marry him," Marianne said, gesturing toward the door. "Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe would like his own heir and our children would inherit both his property and Charles's title."

"I see. And your feelings about this arrangement?"

Marianne looked around her comfortable sitting room, where Gerald was now peacefully sharing space with Napoleon while Wellington had curled up in a sunny spot by the window. Beelzebub stood guard by the door, apparently ensuring that no more unwanted suitors would disturb their peace.

"I'd rather marry Beelzebub," she said firmly. "At least he has honest motives and excellent judgment in human character."

Lord Alton's mouth twitched. "He does seem to have strong opinions about acceptable behavior."

"He has excellent taste," Marianne agreed. "As do all my animals, apparently."

She looked up at Lord Alton, who was still standing rather formally in her sitting room, and realized how grateful she was for his unexpected support.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For what you said. About my being capable of managing my own affairs."

"I only spoke the truth," he replied. "Though I confess, I'm curious about this festival invitation. The Somerset Widows have quite an ambitious project planned."

"They do indeed," Marianne agreed, feeling her enthusiasm return. "Would you like to hear about it? I promise the conversation will be much more pleasant than the one you just witnessed." She indicated he sit.

As Lord Alton settled into the chair across from her, Marianne realized that some visitors were infinitely more welcome than others. And judging by the way he'd handled Mr. Fitzwilliam-Smythe, Lord Alton might prove to be exactly the sort of ally she needed in the battles ahead.

After all, any man who could deliver devastating verbal cuts while maintaining perfect politeness clearly understood the art of civilized warfare.

And something told her she was going to need all the allies she could get.