Just the majority of it.
But it was long past the moment for him to leave.
Wandering to the parlor door, George asked Powell to ready his gig and turned back to take leave of the hostess, only to find a gentleman had taken his place at Marian’s side. George didn’t know the fellow, but there was no mistaking his eagerness. The gentleman (and it was clear from his dress and manners that he was one) was of middling years, and though the fellow’s looks weren’t displeasing, he wasn’t handsome either. A rather bland-looking man.
Heat stirred inside George as the stranger smiled and chatted amiably. Judging by Marian’s expression, she was not diverted by the subject, which was of some comfort, but it didn’t stop the fellow from rambling on. Could he not see that she was bored? Marian had learned to school her expression to a degree, but there was no hiding the blankness in her eyes as she watched her companion. She was a passionate creature; the absence of her spark was telling enough.
But George had lingered too long. Moving to Mrs. Wakefield’s side, he gave his parting thanks and stepped towards the door. He cast one final look over his shoulder in time to see Marian laugh with the man. Not a polite titter, but an earnest chuckle that lit up her face. Pain radiated through George’s jaw, and he forced his teeth not to grind together, though it did little good when he saw Marian lay a hand on the man’s forearm with another beaming smile.
*
Good gracious, Mr. Highmore’s conversation was so monotonous that Marian knew precisely what he was going to say before he said it. The details varied some, but the subject never strayed far from his premier topic. A flash of irritation had her muscles tightening, but Marian forced herself to relax.
Mr. Highmore was a good man. So many ladies spoke of love as the only measurement for a happy marriage, but many of them married poor choices simply because their heart was swept up in fickle feelings such as attraction. Marian had known plenty who had made such a mistake, and she would not follow in their steps. Ideally, she would find a good and loving match, but with the weeks ticking by, patience was no longer her friend.
Remaining unwed was not a possibility. Father had made that clear again and again. Marrying for love wasn’t either. So, Marian must find a man with whom she could form a friendly union, and surely if she gave Mr. Highmore a proper chance, he would fit the bill. And maybe if she put more effort into the relationship, he might prove to be something more than a decent choice.
Marian was not a flirt. She had never excelled at such things, but there was little more damage to be done to her pride, so she cast her thoughts towards the ladies who excelled at capturing a man’s attention and tried to recall the things they did.
At the top of her list sat Juliette Finch, née Hutton. The lady had done a fine job at entrancing the men around her. Of course, she was aided by dazzling looks and a healthy dowry, but Marian refused to focus on that. Mr. Highmore had not hidden his interest in Marian, so there was no need to worry that she would frighten him away by reciprocating.
Mr. Highmore regaled her with his children’s antics, and she decided now was as good a time as any to begin. The story was not terribly amusing (or not as much as Mr. Highmore believed it to be), but she let out an encouraging laugh. It felt strained, but the gentleman joined in, seeming all the happier for her show of mirth.
Fans featured in so much of the flirtatious behavior she had witnessed, and Marian had none at present, so she was forced to adapt. Leaning forward with another bright chuckle, she patted him on the arm. “Oh, you are droll, Mr. Highmore. And your children are such dears.”
Though the first statement was not the entire truth, Marian assuaged her guilt by being fully truthful about the second. Though they could never match Mr. Highmore’s high esteem of their precociousness, talent, or appearance, they were dears like so many other children.
Marian scoured her thoughts for something of interest. “Is little Edwin feeling any better? The last time we spoke, you were afraid he might be coming down with croup.”
“Thank the heavens, he is well,” said Mr. Highmore with a broad grin, and though Marian might be generous in her appraisal, he seemed to lean closer with far more interest than before. He continued to speak at length about his children, and she attempted to find something to say about each story, punctuating her remarks with coy smiles and tittering laughs. She felt like a fool, but Mr. Highmore’s expression brightened with each one.
“Might I join you?”
Marian gave a start as Mr. Finch’s voice washed over her like a bucket of icy water. Turning, she found the fellow just behind her.
“Oh, Mr. Finch,” she said, turning so she might face both gentlemen. “I thought you had left.”
Mr. Finch tucked his hands behind him. “I was about to, but I hadn’t gotten my fill of conversation.”
“Of course. After such time away from Bentmoor, I expect you are eager to renew all your acquaintances,” said Marian, though Mr. Finch’s gaze was fixed on Mr. Highmore. Glancing between the pair, she added, “Mr. George Finch, might I introduce Mr. Wentworth Highmore.”
“Am I mistaken in thinking you purchased Pitchford Place?” asked Mr. Finch.
“You are correct, sir. And I assume you are related to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Finch,” replied Mr. Highmore.
Mr. Finch smiled, though there was an odd strain to it that had Marian frowning. “I am honored to be their eldest. Though business has had me in Manchester for some years, I have returned to my family seat.”
“Mr. Highmore was just telling me of his children,” said Marian, giving the gentleman’s arm a playful tap. “He has seven lovely little dears—”
“I understand you have an orchard, Mr. Highmore,” said Mr. Finch. Stepping forward, he placed himself directly between Marian and Mr. Highmore, forcing her to take a step away and shift her position.
Before Marian could say another word, Mr. Finch launched into a discourse on the price of apples. Mr. Highmore’s attention was fixed on the fellow, and for all that Marian tried to reinsert herself into the conversation, she was entirely unnecessary. Though she tried not to allow it to affect her, she couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Highmore seemed far more engaged in speaking about apples with another gentleman than in speaking about any subject with the lady he was courting.
Good heaven, the minutes slowed until Marian was certain she would never be free of this interminable conversation. Perhaps she could simply slip away and read a book in her bedchamber. No doubt no one would notice her missing. Not even Mr. Finch paid her any heed, choosing instead to focus all his attention on Mr. Highmore.
Chapter 17
Aman of eight and twenty ought to be in control of his faculties. Until today, George had thought himself possessed of intelligence and understanding; he excelled at managing so many of his family’s holdings, which suggested he was of sound mind and possessed a modicum of sense. Yet as he thought through today, he found himself lacking in both.
