Page 9 of Convincing Marianne (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #2)

Chapter Eight

H enry arrived at Lavender Cottage to find what could only be described as a tableau of domestic disaster.

Mrs. Smith stood in the garden wringing her hands, Wellington was barking frantically at something overhead, and a small crowd of village children had gathered to watch the spectacle with the fascination that only catastrophe could inspire.

"Lord Alton!" Mrs. Smith called with obvious relief. "Thank goodness you've come. She's been up there for nearly an hour, and we can't convince her to come down."

"Up where?" Henry asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

Mrs. Smith pointed toward the ancient oak that dominated one corner of the cottage garden. High among its branches, Henry could make out a flash of blue fabric and what appeared to be a very determined woman engaged in negotiations with a magnificently iridescent peacock.

"Clarence got himself stuck," Mrs. Smith explained. "Flew up there chasing that cat of Mrs. Whitmore's, and then couldn't figure out how to get back down. Lady Marianne went up after him with a rope, thinking she could lower him to safety."

"And now they're both stuck?"

"Worse. The branch she's on is starting to sag, but she won't leave without Clarence, and Clarence is being..." Mrs. Smith paused, searching for diplomatic words, "...characteristically dramatic about the whole situation."

From above came the sound of Marianne's voice, patient but strained: "Clarence, darling, I know you're frightened, but if you could just step onto this rope... No, don't display your tail feathers, this really isn't the time for vanity..."

Henry shaded his eyes and looked up to assess the situation.

Lady Marianne was indeed perched precariously on a branch that was bending ominously under the combined weight of woman and peacock.

She had managed to secure a rope around Clarence, but the bird seemed more interested in maintaining his dignity than accepting rescue.

"Has anyone sent for a ladder?" Henry called up.

"Our ladder's not tall enough," Marianne called back, her voice remarkably calm considering her circumstances. "And the fire brigade is dealing with Mrs. Peterson's chimney fire. I'm afraid we're rather on our own."

Henry studied the tree with the same tactical assessment he'd once applied to military obstacles. The branches were sturdy enough near the trunk, but Lady Marianne had ventured quite far out in pursuit of her peacock. Getting her down safely would require careful planning.

"Lady Marianne," he called, "I'm going to climb up to you. Don't move until I reach your position."

"Oh, you needn't—" she began, but her protest was cut short by a loud crack from the branch beneath her.

Henry was already removing his coat and testing the lower branches. The oak was old and well-established, with plenty of handholds for someone with reasonable climbing experience. The trick would be reaching Lady Marianne without adding too much weight to her already strained branch.

As he climbed, Henry found himself wondering exactly how he'd come to be scaling trees in pursuit of peacocks.

Two months ago, one week ago even, his greatest concern had been crop rotation schedules.

Now he was conducting rescue operations for a neighbor whose life seemed to specialize in the sort of emergencies that no amount of military training could prepare a man for.

"Lord Alton," Marianne said as he reached the branch below hers, "I really am sorry about this. I know it's terribly inconvenient."

"Not at all," Henry replied, testing his footing carefully. "Though I am curious how Clarence managed to get himself into this predicament."

"Mrs. Whitmore's cat was taunting him from the garden wall," Marianne explained, attempting to maintain her balance while Clarence continued his dramatic protests. "Clarence felt his honor was at stake and gave chase. Unfortunately, peacocks are better at flying up than flying down."

"Rather like some people," Henry observed, settling himself securely before extending his hand toward her. "Can you reach me?"

"I think so, but what about Clarence? I can't leave him here."

Henry looked at the peacock, who was eyeing him with the sort of suspicious dignity that suggested he found the entire situation beneath his notice. "Clarence appears to have excellent survival instincts. He'll come down when he's ready."

"But he might hurt himself, or get frightened when it gets dark, or?—"

"Lady Marianne," Henry interrupted gently, "Clarence has survived this long by being remarkably adaptable. You, however, are currently sitting on a branch that may not support your weight much longer. Priorities."

As if to emphasize his point, another ominous crack echoed from the wood beneath her.

Marianne looked down at the ground, then at Clarence, then at Henry's outstretched hand. "Oh, very well. But if anything happens to him, I shall hold you personally responsible."

"Accepted," Henry said, grasping her hand firmly as she carefully maneuvered herself from her precarious perch to his more stable position.

The transfer required considerably more coordination than Henry had anticipated. Lady Marianne proved to be surprisingly agile, but the combination of skirts, branches, and a hysterical peacock created logistical challenges that no military manual had ever addressed.

"Careful," Henry murmured as she settled beside him on his branch, acutely aware of her proximity and the way her hair had come loose from its pins during her arboreal adventure. "The descent will be easier if we go slowly."

"I feel rather foolish," Marianne admitted, accepting his guidance as they began working their way toward the ground. "Mrs. Smith warned me that Clarence was being particularly dramatic today, but I thought I could manage a simple rescue operation."

"Nothing involving Clarence could ever be described as simple," Henry replied, helping her navigate around a particularly awkward cluster of branches. "He appears to approach life as a series of theatrical performances."

"You've noticed that too? Charles always said Clarence was frustrated by his lack of audience. I think he views every day as an opportunity to demonstrate his magnificence to an insufficiently appreciative world."

They had nearly reached the ground when disaster struck again. Clarence, apparently deciding that he'd been ignored long enough, chose that moment to attempt his own descent. Unfortunately, his trajectory intersected directly with Henry and Marianne's careful progress.

"Incoming peacock!" Marianne called, just as Clarence landed squarely on Henry's shoulders in a flurry of iridescent feathers and indignant squawking.

The impact knocked Henry off balance, sending him tumbling the final few feet to the ground with Clarence still clinging to his back and Marianne following in a tangle of skirts and branches.

They landed in an undignified heap among Mrs. Smith's prize chrysanthemums, with Clarence perched triumphantly atop the pile as if he'd orchestrated the entire rescue operation himself.

"Is everyone intact?" Henry asked, attempting to extract himself from the floral wreckage while Clarence strutted about displaying his tail feathers in apparent celebration.

"I believe so," Marianne replied, sitting up and attempting to remove leaves from her hair. "Though I fear we've rather destroyed Mrs. Smith's flowers."

"The flowers will recover," Mrs. Smith said with obvious relief, helping them both to their feet. "Unlike my nerves, which may never be the same. Lady Marianne, you gave us quite a fright."

Henry found himself studying Lady Marianne carefully, noting the scrapes on her hands and the tear in her sleeve, but relieved to see no serious injury.

She was covered in dirt and leaves, her hair was a disaster, and there was a smudge of bark across her cheek, but her eyes were bright with laughter rather than tears.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "that was certainly more exciting than my usual morning routine."

"You could have been seriously hurt," Henry said, surprising himself with the intensity in his voice. "That branch was ready to break."

"But it didn't," Marianne pointed out reasonably. "And Clarence is safe, and no one was permanently damaged. I'd call that a successful rescue operation."

Henry stared at her, trying to understand how someone could find near-disaster so amusing. Most women of his acquaintance would have been having hysterics by now, demanding smelling salts and a fortnight's rest to recover from the shock.

Lady Marianne, meanwhile, was attempting to coax Clarence down from his perch atop the garden gate, where he was preening as if accepting applause for his performance.

"You realize," Henry said slowly, "that you could have simply waited for assistance instead of climbing the tree yourself?"

"I could have," Marianne agreed, "but Clarence was frightened, and I couldn't bear to hear him crying like that. Besides, it seemed like a perfectly straightforward rescue operation."

"Straightforward," Henry repeated.

"Well, it would have been if Clarence had been more cooperative about the rope arrangement. Really, for such an intelligent bird, he can be remarkably stubborn about accepting help."

Henry looked at Lady Marianne—dirty, disheveled, completely unrepentant about her morning's adventure—and felt something shift in his chest. Not the careful, measured appreciation he'd been allowing himself, but something deeper and more disturbing.

She had risked injury to rescue a vain, dramatic peacock simply because she couldn't bear to see him frightened.

She had laughed off her own danger and worried more about his opinion of her foolishness than her own safety.

And she was looking at him now with such genuine gratitude that he felt like he'd accomplished something heroic rather than simply climbing a tree.

When had his neighbor's welfare become so important to him? When had her happiness begun to matter more than his own peace of mind?

"Lord Alton?" Marianne's voice recalled him to the present. "Are you quite all right? You look rather... thoughtful."

"I'm fine," Henry said quickly. "Just... processing the morning's events."

"I do hope this won't discourage you from attending the festival planning meeting tomorrow," Marianne said, brushing dirt from her skirts.

"Lady Joanna is eager to discuss the arrangements with all the participating estates.

" She cleared her throat. “And I doubt very much there will be any tree climbing.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a gentle wiggle.

He smirked. Henry realized he'd completely forgotten about his agricultural innovations, his carefully planned schedule, and his intention to maintain proper neighborly distance. All of that had vanished the moment he'd heard Lady Marianne needed help.

"Of course I'll attend," he heard himself saying. "Though perhaps next time you could send word before attempting any more rescue operations?"

Marianne's smile was radiant. "I'll do my best. Though with my particular household, one never knows what sort of emergencies might arise."

As Henry walked back to his own estate, his clothes still bearing evidence of his morning's adventure, he found himself pondering this uncomfortable truth: Would Lady Marianne's emergencies become an important part of his carefully ordered days?

He wasn't sure what that meant, but he was beginning to suspect it was going to change everything about the quiet, peaceful life he'd thought he wanted.

And the most disturbing part was that he was looking forward to finding out exactly how much chaos one determined woman and her menagerie could introduce into his well-structured world.