“And I appreciate your concern, but I was given this as my task to perform.” Marian fought against the emotions swirling in her chest. Why were they discussing this now? This had been decided upon long ago—the work had been done—and there was no need to upset the apple cart simply because someone thought things should be different. But there was no arguing against Mrs. Henshaw’s “feeling,” for the lady attributed every thought that popped into her mind to divine inspiration, and there was no way to dispute it. Not that Marian believed the Almighty uninterested or incapable of impacting the goings-on of their concert, but certainly, if He had an opinion on the matter it would be far more logical and organized than Mrs. Henshaw’s haphazard proposal.
“Please, Miss Wakefield. I feel as though this is the proper order of things,” said Mrs. Henshaw.
“I—” Marian had no thought as to how to respond to the lady’s petition, but luckily, she was saved from having to finish that sentence as Mrs. Carter hurried to Mrs. Henshaw’s side, gushing about her favorite fashion plates from the most recentLady’s Magazine. The pair chattered on about it, and Marian nodded at proper intervals though had nothing to add to the conversation, as she hadn’t cared for the gowns featured in that edition. Better to remain silent on the matter.
“Ladies. It is good to see you here this Sabbath day.” Mr. Clements gave them a bow, his gaze drifting towards Marian.
Mrs. Carter linked arms with Mrs. Henshaw and gave him a wide smile and a heavy sigh. “Oh, your sermon was simply divine, Mr. Clements.” Turning to the others, she added, “Wasn’t it, ladies?” Casting her gaze back to the fellow, she continued, “You are such a fine speaker, Mr. Clements. I could listen to you preach all the day long.”
Mrs. Henshaw nodded throughout that statement, tacking on her own: “Excellent. Quite inspired. I was moved to tears.”
Marian’s breath caught in her lungs, and she tried to sort through what to say that would be both honest and complimentary. “It was quite entertaining, Mr. Clements.”
The vicar gave another bow in thanks as Mrs. Henshaw and Mrs. Carter dissected the entirety of his sermon, pointing out all the little things they enjoyed about it, and Marian struggled not to gape. She was no fool and knew full well the world was filled with differing opinions, but she could not understand how the ladies could speak as though his sermon deserved to be included in the scriptures.
How could someone of their years find it so enlightening? Mr. Clements spent far more time telling amusing anecdotes that vaguely touched on the subject at hand than dispersing any insight or deeper meaning to the scriptures. The fellow hardly even quoted them.
But Marian had learned long ago it was better to remain silent on such points. Even if her opinions were kindly said and well-intentioned, Marian had yet to find an ally in the parish who wished they might have a more hearty sermon.
“My thanks,” said Mr. Clements in a quiet and faltering voice. He nodded and smiled at the appropriate times as the conversation continued but said little, and Marian wasn’t certain what to make of the fellow. Mr. Clements was a puzzle, for he seemed so at ease while standing at the pulpit, but in company, he hardly said a word. Though Mama seemed to think he was keen on her, Marian couldn’t see any particular preference from him. But then, it was difficult to tell much from the scant conversation he offered.
Marian’s cheeks flushed warm and pink as she considered her thoughts of the past few minutes. Unease skittered through her stomach, and she was heartily glad that no one could hear them. Mr. Clements and the ladies at her side were good people, undeserving of such censure. They may be silly at times, but who was she to condemn them? Marian had faults aplenty, and it was unkind and unjust of her to think so poorly of her fellow man. Even if they were a bit trying at times.
“I understand you are doing quite a bit of work to ensure the upcoming charity concert is a success,” said Mr. Clements, giving Marian a considering look. The fellow was not handsome, though outward appearances were of no consequence to Marian; she had little to offer herself, so she had no right to demand it of others. Besides, love did not sprout from “pretty” or “handsome,” but it altered the definition of such ephemeral things.
Before Marian could say a word in response to Mr. Clements’ compliment, Mrs. Henshaw swooped in. “She is working ever so hard, Mr. Clements, though I worry she may be taking on far too much.”
Mr. Clements’ brows rose, and he studied Marian. His words were soft and halting as he said, “I would hate to see you wear yourself to the bone for it.”
“I am well enough, I assure you,” Marian said before launching into another detailed account of the efforts she was making on the charity’s behalf, laying out all the reasons behind her process.
The vicar smiled, his dull eyes lightening as he considered her. “That is quite admirable, Miss Wakefield.”
“But doesn’t it seem a tad overdone?” asked Mrs. Henshaw. “She is approaching it as though we were organizing some grand London exhibition rather than quaint country entertainment.”
Marian’s heart tightened, and she forced herself not to speak the thoughts that leapt into her mind. Instead, she reminded herself again (and again) that Mrs. Henshaw meant well. As much as Marian wished to ascribe some darker motive to her, the lady’s expression was so open and concerned that she couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was ignorance and not malice that had Mrs. Henshaw speaking out.
Just as she formulated her reply, Marian’s gaze drifted to the right and caught sight of something that did nothing to improve her mood—Mr. George Finch. He acted nonchalantly, but Marian knew him too well to believe it. His home in Oakham was a far enough distance from Bentmoor that they did not share a parish, and his attending church services here was no more a coincidence than were the various times he’d attempted to call on her in the past few days.
Turning her back on him, Marian focused on the conversation at hand, though it was a struggle to hold onto her patience while Mrs. Henshaw and Mrs. Carter enumerated all the many reasons Mrs. Henshaw’s approach to organizing the program was vastly superior. The more they talked, the more pressure built in Marian’s chest.
The ladies spoke in kind tones and with gentle words, but it didn’t alter the fact that their opinion of her efforts was hardly flattering. Marian didn’t strive for perfection; she merely wished to do her best, and the entire reason for planning things out so thoroughly was to prepare for when things went awry, as they always did.
“I feel I must defend myself,” began Marian.
Mrs. Henshaw shook her head. “Oh, no, my dear. I didn’t mean this as a condemnation of your efforts. You are doing a wonderful job, but I feel we ought to be a bit more flexible in our approach, for we wouldn’t want the concert to become a chore for those performing. It isn’t becoming of us to insist the performers donate additional time for a dress rehearsal. They are already giving us so much, and we are asking them to expend twice the effort.”
“It is not a dress rehearsal,” said Marian, fighting to keep the temper from her tone. “It would be a short meeting in which we can familiarize them with the order and the performance space, so there is no confusion on the day. I wish to be certain we aren’t overlooking some issue, and it would make the performers more comfortable if they knew what to expect on the evening.”
“That is thoughtful but unnecessary,” said Mrs. Carter. “As Mrs. Henshaw said, they are already doing so much for the concert. It is unseemly to ask more for a small charity concert.”
“Quite right, Mrs. Carter,” said Mr. Clements. Then, turning to Marian, he added, “You are doing such good work, but perhaps it might be wise to enlist Mrs. Henshaw’s aid in organizing the program. She has a vast deal of experience in such matters.”
Pain pricked at Marian’s throat, and she struggled to swallow. Yet again, she was cast as the villain. From her conversations of late, one might think organization and efficiency the definition of cruel, but Marian didn’t see why it mattered if this was a small country concert or a large London one. Shouldn’t they aim for something better than “passable”? If one could do so without putting undue burdens on oneself or others, what was wrong with doing one’s best?
But this seemed to be a constant battle between those who wished to organize and plan, and those who preferred to let life unfold. It was a battle Marian had waged many times before, and though she had tried many times, she still could not decide why her efforts were condemned as fussy or demanding. And no matter what she said, she never seemed to win the day.
Chapter 11
