“There is no need to become vexed, Miss Wakefield,” said Mrs. Henshaw with a placating and far too condescending tone, making Marian feel like a mix between a naughty child and a raving animal.
“I appreciate your concern, ladies,” said Marian, attempting to infuse more gratitude into her tone than she felt. “But I am well. I assure you. And I have put quite a bit of effort into organizing the program properly. It would be a shame to waste it.”
Casting a look around, Marian hoped to find an ally in the group, but they all watched her with varying levels of pain, as though they expected her to strike them. The storm in her heart died an unceremonious death, evaporating into a puff of wind. Did they think her a monster? Yes, she might speak with determination and attempt to win them to her way of thinking, but she had never badgered or belittled them.
The vicar leaned towards her and smiled, though it had a touch of strain to the edges. “Your passion does you credit, Miss Wakefield, but Mrs. Norwich is the chair of the planning committee, and the majority supports her decision. I think it best if we let the matter drop.”
The reprimand in his tone was clear enough that the ladies all fell silent. Though not hard or condemning, it was a clear message. As there was no other recourse, she closed her mouth and nodded. With indulging smiles, the ladies turned back to the business at hand, and Marian tried to grasp what had happened. She could not look at the others, her eyes blinking rapidly as she replayed the conversation again.
They had sacked her.
Of course, they had given her some seemingly important task in return, but there was little to be done with it anymore, so the gesture was meaningless. Even if there was much to do, Marian couldn’t help but feel her spirits sink. She held onto a tranquil expression, her hands folded primly in her lap, but it was difficult to keep the tears from gathering as the others prattled on about the concert.
Chapter 20
Once the fields were cleared, the one closest to Bentmoor’s town center transformed into a bustling thoroughfare. Gone were the golden tufts of wheat and grains, replaced with revelers soaking up the excitement of the annual harvest festival. Stalls filled the space, and however haphazardly cobbled together, each was painted in bright colors or draped with multi-colored bunting.
A great tent had been erected to one side, and raucous laughter echoed from behind the canvas as the patrons tippled spirits and wagered on the boxing matches, shouting their support for the various fighters who graced their celebration. The sounds mixed with the hawkers and performers calling to the passing crowds, each fighting to be heard above the noise.
But best of all was the scent in the air. Many of the vendors sold some form of cooked apples, smothered in sugar, spices, or both, and their crisp aroma called out with far more force than the hawkers.
So many things fought for the attention of the passersby, but George hardly noticed them. With his family gathered around, they meandered around the festival, examining all its many offerings. But George spent more time searching the crowds than the stalls.
“You and Evelyn are hopeless,” said Mother, nodding towards George’s sister, who was similarly distracted. As they had both inherited their father’s height, they needn’t rise to their tiptoes to see through the crowds, though Evelyn kept doing so.
Turning to her husband, Mother added, “Were we this ridiculous when we were courting?”
Father answered that with an arched brow and a rueful smile. “You are always ridiculous, my love.”
“Too right,” said Mother with a nod before turning to her son. Her words were thick with insinuation. “You’d best go enjoy yourself.”
George wasn’t one to blush, though his cheeks warmed a touch at that. “But we came together; I cannot abandon you now.”
Leaning closer, Mother gave him a pat on the cheek and said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry over the din of the festival, “You have spent the last sennight being so solicitous and kind, George, but you needn’t fret. Your father told me of your conversation, and I assure you, you need not stay at my side as some sort of penance.”
“I am sorry—”
But she shook her head. “I am as well, but that is over and done with. If you wish to make me happy, be happy yourself. Learn from the past and make better choices.” Then, with another pat on his cheek that made him feel all of ten years old, Mother smiled, “And stop wasting time with your father and me. Go find Miss Wakefield.”
Needing no more prodding, George smiled and hurried into the crowd. Having gone to a few of these with Marian, he knew which entertainments and offerings were her favorites. When he did not find her at the stall selling apple fritters, George purchased a few to share with her and moved towards the ring in which the circus was doing regular acrobatic and trick riding shows.
Though everyone in the area had decided to descend upon the festival today, George soon caught sight of her tucked amongst the makeshift dance floor. Marian was a fiery woman with so much spirit that George couldn’t understand how she contained it all, but her expression had the unfortunate habit of appearing more strident than intended. When she smiled, however, all her severity melted away, and her whole heart shone bright, lighting her up like a beacon.
The Marian he’d known had been apt to grin, eschewing her naturally stern appearance for that lightness of spirit; the lady he’d found upon his return to Bentmoor rarely gave such a display. However, the Marian on the dancefloor was the same he’d known all those years ago. She moved with her dance partner, skipping through the lively dance with a smile that showed the whole of her lovely soul. Being an informal dance, it was rather chaotic as the musicians played through their country tune, but that only made her grin grow as the pair navigated through it. They collided with another, and Marian laughed, drawing out a chuckle from her red-faced partner.
Mr. Clements.
George nearly crushed the fritters in his hand as he watched the vicar leading Marian about, looking quite as pleased as she, despite all the missteps they made. With each, Marian squeezed the fellow’s arm, giving him a few laughing words and cajoling him back into good humor.
George had thought Mr. Highmore his only opponent, yet it was clear from the warm looks Mr. Clements sent her that he was quite pleased to add his name to her list of conquests. It ought to be no surprise: Marian was such a conscientious person and would be a boon to the vicar and his flock. To say nothing of her intelligence and pious nature.
Father’s voice came to George, echoing those words of wisdom. He had to be patient. This course of action was a fine one. Now was the time to secure Marian’s friendship once more. She was warming to him, but there was still much trust to regain before he could secure her heart. She’d fallen for him before without any effort on his part. Surely George could do better this time around.
*
Appearances were odd things. For some people, they gave a very different impression than what they really were. Though some hid a dark heart behind warm smiles, others hid kind natures or sharp wit behind staid facades. Unfortunately for the world, the first group did so consciously but the second did so unknowingly. Marian was quite pleased to know that Mr. Clements was counted among the latter.
The vicar spun her about the dance floor, and the more she prodded him, the more Mr. Clements spoke. She couldn’t say he was an intelligent man, but he was no lackwit, either. Their conversation was not sparkling with witticisms nor especially intriguing, but with a little effort on her part, Mr. Clements was engaging. The subjects were varied, and he showed as much interest in her opinion as she did his, which made up for any of his other conversational deficiencies.
