Marian’s brows pulled tight together until they nearly touched, and she fiddled with the handle of her trug. “I had hoped to have an ally at the concert.”
Everything inside him clenched, twisting into a knot as George thought through his schedule. He had fully planned to fulfill that friendly role, but the date had crept up on him and in his haste to plan his trip, the concert had slipped his mind. In quick succession, he thought through what needed to be done, weighing once more whether or not his trip was important, but he knew better. Had there been any other choice, he wouldn’t leave at this juncture.
“I shall do my best to return in time for it,” he said, holding that promise close to his heart. Then, turning the conversation back to its original path, he asked, “Is it the concert that has you at odds?”
The lady shook her head. “It is trying my patience at times, but I am holding firm to my equanimity and focusing on that which I can control. Things are well in hand—or as well in hand as they can be with the haphazard manner in which they are putting things together.”
“Then what is troubling you?”
Marian’s lips quivered, her voice catching, though she fought to keep her expression calm. “I have had a miserable week, Mr. Finch.”
Casting a look around them, George gathered up their trugs and led her towards a quieter location. The bushes had been mostly picked clean, which meant the others were unlikely to join them, and George took a place between her and the party to give her had a modicum of privacy.
“What has happened?” he asked, giving a few cursory reaches into the bush, lest anyone glance in their direction.
Marian shook her head, but George would not allow her to avoid the question so easily. It was one thing if she wished not to discuss it, but the pain shining in her gaze said she needed to unburden herself, and George wondered if she had anyone else with whom to share such heartaches. He reached into his pocket, but his handkerchief was no longer there, and the purple-stained linen sitting in the corner of his basket was hardly worth handing to her. Marian’s gaze fell to it at the same time his did, and her lips lifted in a tremulous smile.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured.
George patted at his other pockets, but Marian waved this away.
“I shall be fine, Mr. Finch. Do not trouble yourself.”
But that is precisely what George wanted to do. Marian could not comprehend just how much he longed to trouble himself with everything about her. Every joy and burden. Every tear and laugh.
“Speak to me, Marian. Tell me what has you scowling at the poor blackberries.” George slanted her a teasing look, and that drew another, firmer smile from her, though it fled as her thoughts turned inwards.
“I am only bemoaning my romantic prospects, Mr. Finch. That is all. Nothing of note.” Marian tried to match his light tone, but there was no mistaking the heaviness of her heart that weighed each word down, and George’s own ached in response. If seeing Marian so distraught was a knife to the heart, then hearing her speak of “romantic prospects” twisted it, leaving him doubly wounded.
With a few prompts, Marian told all, detailing the scene with Mr. Clements, and George couldn’t decide what he ought to feel, for his heart was doing an admirable imitation of the acrobats they’d witnessed at the festival three days ago. A megrim took up residence in his head as he swung from joy to sorrow. It seemed impossible that his chest both swelled at the pleasure of having one less opponent on the field of battle and tightened at the sight of his dear Marian’s sorrow.
How did one manage friendship when one’s heart was so involved? How did he celebrate the victory of gaining ground in her affection yet wish to undo all that which had caused it? Not that he wanted Mr. Clements to renew his addresses; the fool was too easily scared off and did not deserve her.
“I apologize for going on so. This is supposed to be a wonderful day, and I am ruining it,” she said, turning back to the brambles.
“You are not, and there is nothing to apologize for. I am grateful you trust me with your heartaches.” George stepped closer, holding her gaze so she would see the truth of his words.
“Thank you, Mr. Finch. You are such a good friend to me.”
The knife did not twist this time. It pulled free of his chest and plunged back in with greater measure, digging deep into his very soul. Surely such a pleasant term ought to inspire more joy, but “friend” was a pale imitation of what George longed for.
“You are welcome, Marian.” That was all he could manage at present, especially with her gazing at him with such gratitude; it was not what he wanted to see. He sifted through all he felt and all he knew he ought not to reveal, hunting for that which he could say that might improve her mood. “You can do far better than Mr. Clements. You do not deserve such a lukewarm suitor.”
The lady's lips turned into a crooked smile that held no mirth. “I assure you it is better than a cold suitor.”
“You needn’t settle for either, Marian.”
That was met with a derisive huff, though no further explanation followed.
“You two wouldn’t have suited each other,” he added. “Vicars always want docile, listless brides. You have many wonderful qualities and would do much good for the parish, but you are too passionate and outspoken for such a position—”
“Mr. Clements already enumerated my faults, Mr. Finch. You needn’t repeat them.”
George cleared his throat, shifting in place. “I didn’t mean to offend. I simply meant that Mr. Clements is too foolish and tepid for a woman like you. I do not think you would enjoy being a vicar’s wife, so it is best that he has…” He wasn’t certain how to describe Mr. Clements’ snub, for any words that came to mind might add to her distress.
Gaze dropping to the ground, Marian shifted the edges of her shawl. “I only wish I understood what changed his mind. I keep thinking it must’ve been my outbursts during the meeting that turned him against me, but he seemed keen at the festival…” Her words wobbled, and George’s throat clamped shut, strangling him. “I keep replaying our conversations through my mind, wondering what I did or said to change his opinion so swiftly.”
“You mustn’t think such things,” said George with a shake of his head. “Put it from your mind.”
