Mr. Finch drew her eyes to him, and her chin trembled at the concern she saw in his gaze. Though he ought to call her by her surname, it felt right for him to call her by that old appellation. She only wished she could call him Mr. George or some such thing.
And though she knew it was a mistake to visit that subject at present, she needed someone to hear her. Rachel had been sympathetic, though Marian suspected she felt the same as Mr. Clements and Mama. No one else understood, but she knew Mr. Finch would.
And so she unraveled the entire story, beginning far earlier than necessary and explaining each frustration two or three times, revisiting each hurt she’d felt during the whole debacle. As she spoke, the emotions flooded through her with the same fervor as they had the first time, until she felt strung taut. Marian recognized the warning signs that her heart was taking control once more, but she couldn’t bear to stuff it away again, even if she was liable to snap. At least she managed to keep herself from raising her voice or bursting into tears—both of which would add to her turmoil. Her voice did wobble at times, but she maintained a touch of dignity.
Mr. Finch listened to it all, guiding them along with an easy grace. His gaze never left her, yet he managed to avoid the other couples clogging the dance floor, and the sight of that tender sympathy was enough to lighten Marian’s spirits. The gentleman had occupied her thoughts quite often during their time apart, yet she had forgotten just how wonderful it felt to have his whole attention fixed on her.
“Do you wish me to call them out? I doubt Mrs. Norwich knows how to handle a pistol, but I suspect Mrs. Henshaw is a dab hand at fisticuffs,” said Mr. Finch with a contemplative frown that was so earnest that his jest was made all the more comical for it.
Marian let out a sharp laugh, lifting her hand from his shoulder to cover her mouth as more giggles slipped out at that ridiculous image. The serious glint in Mr. Finch’s eyes faded, his lips tipping up.
“You have a talent for making me smile,” she said.
“I would rather rush in and resolve the issue for you, but I cannot, so the least I can do is lift your spirits. You are capable and intelligent, Miss Marian. I know you shall sort it all out.”
His tone held such certainty that it set her insides fluttering, and Marian turned her gaze away from him to hide her blush.
“I thank you for your confidence in me, Mr. Finch, but I assure you I am at odds. I do not know why they accepted my aid in the first place if they are simply going to shunt aside every idea I have. And every time I speak, they act as though I’m trying to bully them into what I want or will come to blows if I do not get my way. Yet I am open to their opinions and have been willing to compromise. I am not immovable or unreasonable. I am opinionated, but that is not the same thing!”
Her muscles tightened, and her words came quicker. “I understand there are differing opinions, but why I am always in the wrong? Why are my ideas deemed unnecessarily complicated? They focus so much of their time and money on the areas that do not matter and degenerate that which I put my efforts towards. They accuse me of demanding perfection from the program, yet they weep and wail over the idea that our concert won’t look splendid.”
“Breathe, Marian,” said Mr. Finch with a gentle smile before emphasizing his advice by filling his own lungs. Marian followed suit and was astonished to realize just how tense she had grown, and how tightly she held his shoulder.
Relaxing her fingers, Marian sighed.
“You are not wrong,” he added. “I have never understood why such functions have gratuitous decorations, but far too often, people lose sight of what is important. They busy themselves with surface issues, overlooking far more pressing matters. All you can do is try your best to help, and you’ve done that. You have nothing with which to reproach yourself.”
*
Holding his tongue required every bit of his self-restraint. George had learned long ago there was little more to be done in such instances except offer a sympathetic word and a listening ear. Marian had taught him that, in fact. After a much younger Bridget had come to him with some heartache, and he’d bumbled into the middle of it, determined to solve it for her, his Marian had given him quite the talking-to—a lesson he’d needed to learn and one that had served him well.
So, George contented himself by imagining calling each of those ladies out.
Marian sighed again. “Yet they are going to spend who knows how many pounds to beautify an already lovely space that requires no more ornamentation and organize the program in a nonsensical manner. We will earn less money for the charity than anticipated and leave the patrons unwilling to attend another plodding event the next time.”
“But you did some good, Marian. Do not underestimate the effect you’ve had and will continue to have. You’ve certainly blessed my life.” The words slipped out before George could think better of them, though he couldn’t say he was upset at the slip—even as his collar seemed to tighten around his neck.
Out of respect for his wife and his sanity, George had banished Marian from his thoughts after his marriage to Juliette. Beyond the odd fleeting moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on her. But since reuniting with her, Marian had taken up residence in his mind. An ever-present companion. It was as though his heart was demanding recompense for all the times he’d denied it, and George could hardly go a moment without Marian flitting through his thoughts.
Holding her gaze, he felt all the things he wanted to say. They pulsed through him like a heartbeat, and Marian met his gaze steadily, her eyes mirroring the warmth George felt. Marian was here. In his arms. Smiling at him. Father’s words rose to his thoughts, and George realized that in all the time he’d known Marian, he had never fully conveyed just how much she meant to him. And now, it encompassed far more than any of the light sentiments he’d felt all those years ago.
“Miss Marian…” George’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, searching for the proper words; goodness knows he had dreamt of this moment many times before, so he had plenty of ideas. However, not one of them seemed right. Releasing her hand, George quickly wiped his palm against his dark jacket and gave her a comical grimace with a mumbled apology. Why was his mouth so unbearably dry? When he took her hand in his once more, it sent skitters along his arm.
Between one heartbeat and the next, George saw all the possible responses she might give to a declaration, and far too many of them ended with him having ruined this opportunity. Should things go poorly again, he would not be granted a third chance.
It was too early. Things were still too tenuous at present. If he only knew her heart better, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell her everything, but what if Mr. Clements’ hold was firmer than George realized? What if she was still too hurt by his past behavior? If he could but discern whether the possibility still existed for them, he would know what to do next.
“What is the matter, Mr. Finch?”
Her brows rose, and her expression filled with such sweetness that George’s thoughts emptied. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he focused on her, leaning a touch closer. Filling his gaze with all those hidden feelings, he reached out to her in silent invitation. There was no mistaking his interest or intention, and he held her there, hoping to see it mirrored in her eyes.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Finch?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“Not at all, Marian,” he replied whilst redoubling his efforts.
But Marian answered with a halting chuckle. “Are you certain? For you have quite the odd expression at present. Did I tread on your toes? I was certain I had not, but it is hard to tell on such uneven ground. They have tried to flatten it as much as possible, but not enough for my peace of mind.”
“No, Marian. You did nothing wrong.” George let out a sigh, though he covered it with a strained smile as the musicians struck the final chord.
