George had thought a blatant rejection was the worst possibility, but he’d been mistaken.
Chapter 28
Straightening the punch bowl, Marian moved the ladle to the right and straightened the name card. Not that it mattered. Contrary to the other ladies’ belief, she did not require everything to be perfect. However, puttering around with the refreshments was preferable to wading back into the crowd and suffering more false praise as to the evening’s success. They used varying words to say the same thing: they lauded the decorations and selection of food and drink, but the concert itself was declared enjoyable in a tone that said it was closer to passable.
The focus on this evening was to be the charity and the music, yet the final bill for their expenses was excessive and the concert itself was nowhere near as engaging as it could’ve been, leaving people in a far less generous mood than they might’ve been. But as they’d already sacrificed their time by sitting through such a wretched program, they felt quite content to leave their pocketbooks closed and the donation baskets empty.
Marian filled some of the cups, though the guests were quite capable of doing so themselves. Busy hands helped to keep her jaw from clenching so tight that her teeth ached.
“Why are you hiding here, my dear?” asked Mama, startling Marian enough that a bit of the liquid sloshed over the side of the cup and onto her hand. Reaching for a napkin, she dabbed at the mess.
“I am not hiding, Mama.”
“It is a shame about Mr. Clements, but you ought not to mope about it.” Mama gave her a warm smile that set Marian’s teeth on edge.
“I am not moping, Mama. I am merely not in the mood to socialize at present. It has been a trying week, and the preparations for tonight have left me quite fatigued.” Marian nodded at the floral arrangements that had taken far more time than Mrs. Hatwell had anticipated (which was precisely what Marian had anticipated).
“Yes, but you are wasting time. You have not spoken once to Mr. Highmore tonight,” said Mama, glancing over her shoulder at the fellow in question. “Do not spoil the opportunity. I am certain you will secure him with just a bit more effort. Your father and I would prefer for you to find a husband of your choosing. Do not force us to decide for you.”
Marian held back a laugh, for there were far too many humorous things in that statement, none of which her mother would appreciate knowing. Including the fact that she’d turned down an offer of marriage just that week.
Oh, that man. If she had been of a mind to hold a grudge against Mr. Finch for his interference with Mr. Clements, she couldn’t have managed it after that. How could one maintain a proper pique when the source of her ire did something so sweet as to offer himself up as a sacrifice to her father’s dictates? Her dire situation may be partly of his making, but Mr. Finch need not bear the brunt of it.
“Are you listening to me, Marian?”
Pushing Mr. Finch from her thoughts, Marian apologized. “I assure you I shall speak with Mr. Highmore, Mama, once I’ve finished with my work.”
“Good girl.” The lady’s expression brightened with a smile, and she patted her daughter on the hand before turning away to join a circle of matrons.
Taking a deep breath, Marian’s gaze sifted through the crowd and landed on Mr. Clements, whose eyes met hers for only a heartbeat before darting away and focusing more intently on his companions than warranted. Marian’s cheeks pinked, and she wondered if the gentleman would ever be at ease in her company again—but after the scene she’d made during their last conversation, it was little wonder that he avoided her.
Her attention drifted to where her father stood, circled about with gentlemen of his age and bearing, all puffed up like frogs as they expounded about subjects that were of no interest to anyone but themselves, content with the magnificence of their person. Some of them even had the complexion of an amphibian. Marian winced at that unkindness. One ought never to judge, especially when it came to things that were beyond a person’s control, but those physical aspects felt like manifestations of the men’s pompous, self-important, condescending behavior. Yes, those descriptions meant the same thing, but the gentlemen had such a great amount of that quality that it deserved multiple mentions.
Moving on, Marian studied Mr. Highmore, who stood to one side in the midst of a group of people. Truly, he was not such a poor choice. He was not attractive, but more importantly, he was not repugnant. And the same could be said of that which lived below the surface. Mr. Highmore was an entirely adequate suitor. Marian did not desire his company, but she didn’t loathe it, either. Sad though it may be, that was a coup.
And he continued to show an interest in her, which was a mark highly in his favor. She simply needed to avoid the mistakes she’d made with Mr. Clements. Hold her tongue. Maintain her equilibrium. And above all else, not burst into tears or any other such ridiculous display. In the past few weeks, she’d had more than her fill of such things, and she would not allow herself to fall to pieces again. Calm and collected. Surely she could manage that.
It would help if she could be finished with this wretched concert.
And if she could avoid thinking of Papa.
Or the four remaining weeks. Four.
One month.
“You made some interesting choices with the refreshments, Miss Wakefield,” said Mrs. Norwich.
Clearly, Marian was going to be tested once more, for the lady’s words seemed complimentary, but her tone said that “interesting” was a euphemism for less flattering descriptions.
Mrs. Norwich surveyed the spread. “You have laid it out beautifully, Miss Wakefield, though I am surprised you made so many changes to the menu we had decided upon. I hadn’t thought Mr. Hilton’s bakery made such rustic fare.”
Raising an eyebrow, Marian glanced at the array of spice cakes. “I spoke with some of the families in town who have kitchen staff, and they agreed to donate them.”
With a gaping look, Mrs. Norwich patted Marian’s forearm and said in a genuine tone of shock, “That sounds like so much effort when it would’ve been easier to do as we’d planned and order from the bakery. No wonder you have been so out of sorts of late. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, Miss Wakefield.”
“It took more effort than simply purchasing the food, but such coordination is not difficult if one does so in an organized manner.” Marian did not add that it took far less time and stirred up less anxiety than what their committee had suffered while sewing all the bunting and arranging all the flowers in time for tonight. “Those who donated the food were glad for the opportunity to participate, especially as I chose simple fare. Besides, as much as I adore a good lemon tart, at this time of year there is nothing better than a slice of spice cake, don’t you think?”
“It does pair well with the cider,” murmured Mrs. Norwich, though her tone was more dubious than delighted. “Though I am disappointed to not have a proper punch. It doesn’t seem like a social event without a glass of it.”
