Page 8 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

Chapter Seven

H enry's favorite part of any day was his morning rounds among the tenant farms—a chance to see the fruits of three years' careful planning and investment taking root in Somerset soil.

This morning's first stop was Millbrook Farm, where Tom Smith had been experimenting with the new crop rotation schedule Henry had proposed. The older man emerged from his barn with the satisfied air of someone whose gamble had paid off handsomely.

"Lord Alton," Tom called, wiping his hands on a well-worn apron. "Perfect timing. You'll want to see this year's wheat yield."

Henry followed Tom through fields that looked dramatically different from the tired, overworked land he'd inherited.

The soil was richer now, darker and more resilient thanks to the systematic addition of lime and the careful rotation between wheat, turnips, and clover that he'd studied during his convalescence.

"Twenty percent increase over last year," Tom reported with obvious pride. "And the soil's holding moisture better through the dry spells. That clover you suggested—my wife thought I'd lost my mind, planting what looked like weeds between the grain crops."

"And now?"

Tom chuckled. "Now she's after me to expand the program to the south field. Says if we can increase yields like this without working the land to death, we're fools not to try it everywhere."

Henry felt the familiar satisfaction that came from seeing theory proven in practice.

During his recovery from Waterloo, he'd spent months reading agricultural treatises and corresponding with progressive farmers across England.

The scientific approach to land management had appealed to his military mind—systematic, logical, measurable.

But more than that, it had given him a way to honor his parents' memory that went beyond mere preservation. His father had been a good landlord in the traditional sense, but Henry was determined to be something more: a partner in his tenants' prosperity rather than simply their superior.

"How's the new drainage system working in the lower field?" Henry asked as they walked.

"Like a miracle," Tom replied. "No more flooding during spring rains, and the crops are coming in even where we used to lose half the planting to standing water. My Sarah says it's the best investment you've made yet."

The drainage project had been expensive and labor-intensive, requiring careful surveying and the installation of an underground tile system that most landowners would have considered unnecessary luxury.

But Henry had seen too many tenant families struggle with poor harvests to consider their success a luxury.

"Your oldest boy—James, isn't it?—how is he managing the new plowing technique?"

Tom's face lit up with paternal pride. "Better than his old father, truth be told.

He's got a feel for the equipment, and he understands the science behind it in a way that.

.." Tom paused, searching for words. "Well, my generation learned to farm the way our fathers did.

James is learning to farm the way crops actually want to grow. "

They discussed the upcoming harvest schedule and the plans for next year's plantings, but Henry found his attention occasionally drifting toward the lane that led to Lavender Cottage. Yesterday's encounter with Lady Marianne's unwelcome visitors had left him more unsettled than he cared to admit.

The image of that pompous fool dropping to one knee in her sitting room while completely ignoring the chaos around him had been infuriating. Did the man truly believe he could simply insert himself into Lady Marianne's life without bothering to understand what made her happy?

"Lord Alton?" Tom's voice recalled him to the present. "Did you want to see the new hay storage before you move on?"

"Of course," Henry said, forcing himself to focus. Tom had worked too hard to deserve a distracted landlord.

The hay storage building was another of Henry's innovations—designed with better ventilation to prevent spoilage and positioned to make loading and transport more efficient.

It was exactly the sort of practical improvement that demonstrated measurable benefits while requiring minimal ongoing investment.

"The wife's been asking," Tom said as they examined the neatly stacked hay, "about that festival the ladies are planning. Says Lady Marianne stopped by to ask about donating some of our preserves for the charity auction."

Henry's attention sharpened immediately. "Lady Marianne was here?"

"Yesterday afternoon, just after you'd gone.

Lovely woman—chatted with Sarah about the preserve recipes, played with the children, even helped James repair a fence post that was giving him trouble.

" Tom paused thoughtfully. "She's not quite what we expected when we heard a London lady was taking residence at Lavender Cottage. "

"What did you expect?"

"Oh, you know—delicate, helpless, probably horrified by country life.

Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work, talked farming with James like she understood what he was doing, and made Sarah laugh harder than I've seen in months.

" He chuckled. “And we’re not her tenants, just neighbors, she said.” His grin filled his face.

Henry found himself smiling at this description, which matched perfectly with his own observations of his unconventional neighbor.

"She mentioned," Tom continued, "that you'd agreed to help with the festival arrangements. Said she was hoping to coordinate between the various estates to ensure proper coverage of the events."

"Did she indeed?" Henry murmured, wondering when exactly he'd agreed to such coordination and why the prospect pleased him so much.

"Sarah's quite taken with the idea of the foundling charity.

Says it's about time someone addressed such things properly, instead of pretending they don't exist." Tom's expression grew more serious.

"We lost our first child, you know. Born too early, didn't survive the night.

Sarah's never forgotten how helpless we felt, how little support there was for families dealing with. .. difficult circumstances."

Henry nodded respectfully. He'd learned over the years that most tenant families had stories of loss, struggle, and resilience that humbled any complaints he might have about his own relatively privileged difficulties.

"Lady Marianne seems to understand that," Tom added. "When Sarah mentioned our loss, she didn't offer empty platitudes or change the subject. Just listened, and then talked about how important it was to protect children who didn't have families to advocate for them."

This glimpse into Lady Marianne's character struck Henry more powerfully than he'd expected. It was one thing to charm tenants with friendly conversation; it was quite another to demonstrate genuine empathy for their deepest sorrows.

His next stop was Rosewood Farm, where the widow Mrs. Eleanor Pace managed her late husband's holdings with the help of her two teenage sons.

Henry had been particularly invested in this family's success, partly because Mrs. Pace reminded him of his own mother's determination, and partly because he knew how difficult it was for a woman to maintain her independence in their society.

"Lord Alton," Mrs. Pace called from her vegetable garden, where she was examining what appeared to be extraordinarily robust potato plants. "I was hoping you'd come by today. I wanted to thank you for the recommendation about companion planting."

Henry approached the garden, noting with satisfaction the healthy appearance of all the crops.

Mrs. Pace had been skeptical when he'd suggested planting beans alongside the corn and squash in the Native American style he'd read about all the way from the colonies, but the results spoke for themselves.

"The beans are fixing nitrogen in the soil just like you said they would," Mrs. Pace continued, "and the squash leaves are keeping the moisture in while preventing weeds. My yield is up thirty percent from last year, and I'm using less fertilizer."

"Your oldest son mentioned he was interested in trying the three-field system next year?"

"Robert's full of ideas since you lent him those agricultural journals," Mrs. Pace said with fond exasperation. "He's been experimenting with seed selection and keeping detailed records of everything. Says if farming is going to be his livelihood, he wants to understand the science behind it."

This was exactly what Henry had hoped to achieve—not just improved yields for individual families, but a new generation of farmers who understood their land as a complex system requiring thoughtful management rather than mere tradition.

"I understand Lady Marianne visited yesterday?" Henry said, trying to sound casual.

Mrs. Pace's face brightened immediately. "What a delightful woman! She spent an hour helping me with the preserve-making, and she has wonderful ideas about organizing the festival's domestic arts demonstrations. Did you know she managed a significant household in London before her husband's death?"

Henry hadn't known this, though it explained her apparent competence in coordinating chaos.

"She mentioned that you've been most helpful with the festival planning," Mrs. Pace continued with a meaningful look. "It's so good to see neighbors supporting each other's worthy endeavors."

Henry was beginning to suspect that Lady Marianne had been strategically visiting his tenants to ensure his cooperation with the festival, though he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or impressed by the tactic.

"She also," Mrs. Pace added with the air of someone sharing particularly interesting news, "mentioned that she'd had some rather unpleasant visitors from London. Family members who don't appreciate her independent choices."

"Indeed?"

"Apparently they brought some sort of suitor with them—a gentleman who was more interested in her inheritance than her happiness.

" Mrs. Pace's tone suggested she had strong opinions about such men.

"She seemed quite relieved that she had neighbors who understood the value of a woman managing her own affairs. "

Henry felt a surge of protective anger at the thought of Lady Marianne being pressured by people who couldn't see past her financial value to her genuine worth.

"Did she seem... distressed by these visitors?" he asked carefully.

"More frustrated than distressed, I'd say.

Like a woman who's tired of explaining herself to people who refuse to listen.

" Mrs. Pace studied Henry with the sort of direct gaze that suggested she saw more than she said.

"Though she did mention how much she appreciated having a neighbor who treated her like a competent adult rather than a helpless ornament. "

Henry felt heat rise in his cheeks at this obvious hint, but before he could respond, the sound of hoofbeats on the lane drew their attention. A rider was approaching at considerable speed—not the measured pace of someone making social calls, but the urgent pace of someone with news to deliver.

The rider pulled up at Mrs. Pace's gate and called out, "Lord Alton! Been looking for you everywhere. You're needed at Lavender Cottage immediately."

Henry's blood chilled. "What's happened?"

"Lady Marianne's had an accident, sir. Something about her trying to rescue that peacock of hers from a tree, and..." The young man shook his head. "Well, she's asking for you specifically, my lord."

Henry was already moving toward his horse before the messenger finished speaking. Whatever had happened, Lady Marianne needed help, and everything else could wait.

And at the moment, he didn't care to examine that realization too closely. He simply needed to ensure that Lady Marianne was safe.

The agricultural innovations and estate improvements could wait. Some things, he was learning, mattered more than even the most carefully laid plans.