As most such drinks were a shocking shade of pink or red, Marian never understood why so many served it at functions with an abundance of fine clothes that were ruined if even a drop of that punch touched the fabric.
“I ordered lemonade and cider from some of the poorer families who make such things,” said Marian, pointing towards the array of drinks. “I thought if we were going to spend funds on the refreshments, they ought to the sort of people we are trying to help, rather than Mr. Hilton’s or any of the other thriving businesses of Bentmoor.”
Mrs. Norwich gave a forced smile, studying the selection, and no matter how Marian explained her decisions, the lady gave no sign that she thought them acceptable. The refreshments weren’t as fine or fancy as the committee usually provided, but surely, they weren’t deserving of such censure. Marian gritted her teeth, forcing her smile not to grow brittle as Mrs. Norwich gave a few hollow compliments.
They had placed her in charge of refreshments, and she had done her best. Yet even that did not meet their standards. And though Mrs. Norwich thanked her profusely, Marian couldn’t help but feel from the lady’s tone of voice that her efforts would not be welcome in the future.
When Mrs. Norwich finally took her leave, Marian gave a silent prayer of gratitude. This was precisely why she hid behind the refreshments. For all her determination to maintain control of her emotions, it was a struggle in such fretful situations and was only made worse by the sheer exhaustion weighing her down.
Frowning to herself, Marian considered the whole situation and let out a sigh, her shoulders drooping. Her tempestuous nature was no secret to her. At times, it felt as though her heart could not contain all the emotions flowing through her. Marian didn’t think herself an angry person, but the evidence of late proved the opposite. Why could so many hold onto their equanimity? How did others allow the frustrations of life to flow past them like the downy fluff of a dandelion blown about by a summer’s breeze? Did they simply not care about things?
It wasn’t as though every upset in life drove her to distraction, but having others criticize and critique her efforts brought all those little things to the forefront of her thoughts. It would be easier to live and let live if they did not denigrate the things she valued. Marian knew there were differences of opinions, but could they truly not see that the patrons admired the decorations for a brief moment before paying them little heed? The same could not be said of the program. And for all that Mrs. Norwich looked askance at Marian’s “rustic” offerings (a word that among their class far too often meant “unacceptable”), there had been compliments aplenty of the simple yet delicious fare.
The pressure built in her chest. Her muscles strained. Her mouth pinched so tightly that her lips disappeared altogether. The usual signs made themselves known, drawing Marian’s attention to her growing fury. It was as though her body had a will of its own, taking in all those little frustrated thoughts and giving them life in the physical realm.
This was not the woman she wished to be. She clung to that thought, and her mind filled with images of Mr. Finch standing before her, telling her to breathe. She followed the prompting, allowing his peace to help her find a bit of her own. The fellow may be infuriating at times, but he was a rock to cling to in the midst of a gale. The sunlight in the storm.
And then Marian saw him moving through the crowd towards her.
Chapter 29
George nodded at the passing people, giving enough acknowledgment to satisfy their pride but without slowing his progress through the room. His gaze fixed on Marian, and a series of greetings flowed through his thoughts. He wondered which might be the best given the circumstances. But for all his musings, there was nothing he needed to do, for Marian bypassed any such niceties when he arrived at her side.
“Keep me from doing anything foolish, Mr. Finch.”
His brows rose, a smile coming to his lips. “Are you in danger of that?”
With wide eyes, she gave him a sharp nod. “If one more person gives me a silly compliment about this disaster of an evening or comes to criticize something that is none of their concern, I will unleash the full power of my fury.”
“And heaven help them if you do.” George felt like laughing at that, and he blinked at the lady standing before him. This was certainly not the reception he’d expected after their last interlude. But he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “But I would hardly call the evening a disaster.”
Marian studied him with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to assure me it was entertaining, even though it was clear that the audience was restless through most of it?”
George considered that, sorting through the fine balance between avoiding a lie and adding to her frustrations, but it was unnecessary, for she held up her hand and added, “Do not tell me it was wonderful. I grant you that ‘disaster’ is too strong a descriptor, but the evening was passable at best, and why is it that I must content myself with passable when a little bit of effort could’ve made it a fine evening?”
“The pieces were organized somewhat haphazardly.”
That concession had Marian nodding in a manner that was liable to shake her head straight off her shoulders. “There were long periods of silence as the musicians shifted between each piece because there was far too much confusion about which was next. What good does it do to spend money printing programs if you change your mind at the last minute, shuffling several of them around? Had they done a simple rehearsal the night before, there would’ve been no confusion. And then they demoted me to refreshments, but my efforts have been ‘rustic.’”
“Rustic?” The tone with which she spoke the word said it was not a compliment, though George did not understand the slight.
“Rustic.” She emphasized that word with a nod. “To say nothing of the decorations—”
Marian paused, turning her gaze down to her hands as they twisted together. Her shoulders rose and lowered as she took a few calming breaths. Then, shaking her head, she met his gaze with a chagrined smile.
“I apologize. I keep thinking I have a hold on my emotions, and then they spin out of control once more.”
George’s expression shifted, a warm smile coming easily to his lips. “You will forgive me if I disagree, but you’ve kept them in hand. Yes, you are overwrought, but you have not lost control of yourself.”
Brows pulled tight together, Marian considered that. “I suppose so. But if that is true, I cannot take the credit. Your voice is the one that reminds me to calm myself and helps me to do so.”
Her cheeks grew rosy, her gaze faltering as she shifted the cups stacked beside the punch bowl, and George couldn’t fight the grin stretching across his face. To think that he had any influence over her was a heady thing, but to know he’d helped her after having caused her so much unrest made him feel as if his waistcoat was two sizes too small; his buttons might burst at any moment.
“I am glad I can be of assistance, Marian, but it is you who had the strength to do so—not I.” George infused as much warmth as he could into his tone, hoping she would believe him.
But all the earnestness of his expression was lost on her, for Marian ducked her head, unable to meet his eye, though George did not miss how flushed her cheeks had grown under his compliment.
The years stripped away, catapulting them back to that time before confessions and crushed hearts when their friendship had been easy and comfortable. When every outing saw the pair of them tucked away together. The long conversations. The shared laughter. Thinking about it all, George wondered anew at how blind he’d been. His eyes had seen only a friend, but his heart had recognized its other half.
