But the moment of camaraderie was broken when Mrs. Michaelmore said, “You made a valiant effort, Miss Wakefield, but I cannot help but think the offerings are a little too common for a gathering such as this. But you are young and still learning the way of things.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Michaelmore, if I disagree entirely,” said George, and his words were echoed by the Meechams.
“You are being a tad harsh, Mrs. Michaelmore,” added Mrs. Hawker as she joined the circle. “Though a trifle rustic for the setting, it is delicious, and I fear I have gorged myself.”
Few compliments were given to the music itself, though all in attendance agreed the room was positively lovely to behold. The corner of Marian’s mouth quirked upwards in a faint smile, and she turned her gaze to George, her eyes narrowed in comical irritation that said as readily as words that she found the whole situation as amusing as it was frustrating. George gave a commiserating smile in return, slightly lifting his shoulders in surrender, which made her grin broaden.
“I understand the concert raised more than twenty pounds,” said Mrs. Hawker. “That is something to be proud of. A valiant effort.”
No doubt the amount would have been higher if the concert were managed better, but George wasn’t about to say that. It was clear from Marian’s expression that she knew it, but she graciously accepted the compliment—even if it had an edge of condescension to it.
“I have to wonder what they will do with the funds,” said Mr. Highmore.
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Marian in a tone that was more vapid than alluring. For the life of him, George had never understood why ladies feigned ignorance. What man wanted a senseless wife? But flashes of Juliette came to mind, and he was forced to amend that thought. Only fools wanted senseless wives. Looking back on it, he couldn’t recall why he’d welcomed such flirtations. Watching Marian mimic that behavior gave his stomach a sour turn, and for once, that unsettled feeling had nothing to do with jealousy.
“You have raised twenty pounds, which is no little sum,” said Mr. Highmore. “I know it is going towards the parish charity, but shall Mr. Clements decide how the money shall be spent?”
“The committee as a whole shall divide it amongst the needs that Mr. Clements has identified,” replied Marian in a tone that sounded far more like her own, though her smile was still as simpering as before.
“So it shan’t be left entirely in the ladies’ hands,” said Mr. Highmore with a nod. “Mr. Clements will ensure it goes to the truly deserving.”
“As opposed to the partially deserving?” asked Mrs. Meecham with a wry smile.
Mr. Highmore’s expression lightened at her turn of phrase but shook his head. “Simply meaning that not all the poor deserve assistance. Though some are truly desperate, most are lazy and simply need to work harder.”
George stared at the fellow, wondering if he saw the hypocrisy in spouting such nonsense whilst living off wealth that had been handed to him, but as much as he wanted to say just that, George wondered why Marian hadn’t. That was precisely the sort of nonsense that set her teeth on edge, yet she stood there, holding onto a demure smile.
“I hardly think it our place to judge others,” said Mr. Meecham. Just as he lifted his cider glass to his lips, he added in a wry tone, “I am fairly certain there are some strongly worded scriptures to that effect.”
Mr. Highmore nodded. “True, but it is not a kindness for us to give money to those who will only use it to maintain their lascivious lifestyles. Far too many of those with their hands reaching out for our coins are layabouts who could live quite comfortably if they simply shouldered their responsibilities and went to work. The men carouse and sprinkle their byblows all over creation, and the women do not hold fast to their virtue, to say nothing of their heartlessness—if the number of abandoned babies is any indication. It is scandalous how many foundling homes are needed to care for their abandoned offspring.”
With an arched brow, Mrs. Meecham narrowed her eyes. “As I see we are not going to agree on any point, Mr. Highmore, I see no reason to continue this conversation.”
The Meechams took their leave—something George longed to do. However, he couldn’t tear his eyes from Marian.
Mr. Highmore’s beliefs were the sort of tripe too many of their class believed, as there was nothing more natural for humans to do than attribute reasons behind the blessings in their lives. It was not enough to thank the heavens for their bounty; that human nature pushed them to condemn others in order to elevate their own already elevated position. According to them, they were not merely wealthy and comfortable because God ordained it at birth, but they maintained that status by virtue of their own exalted righteousness. Never mind that Mr. Highmore’s description of the lower classes’ morals could easily be attributed to the gentry and nobility as well.
The Marian that George knew would not stand silent as someone spewed such malformed beliefs. Yet she held her tongue, despite the tension in her jaw and the strain in her smile. This was not the lady he loved. This was not his Marian. Slanting admiring glances at Mr. Highmore, she stood there like any other tittering, silly debutante who flattered and flirted, never speaking a word that might contradict the opinions of her beau.
George wanted to simply tell Mr. Highmore just how wrong he was. However, his honor twisted about, pulling him in very different directions. It demanded he speak out for those who could not defend themselves, yet it also reminded him that he had given his word to be Marian’s friend. With jealousy driving so many of his actions of late, George couldn’t be certain that it hadn’t snuck its way into this moment, mimicking concern and righteousness. Hadn’t he used such justification with Mr. Clements? Would speaking out now cause a rift?
Or was it the right thing to do?
But the conversation quickly shifted away, as Mrs. Hawker and Mrs. Michaelmore did not wish to discuss such unseemly subjects as the poor and needy at a charitable event, and George stood there, unable to speak or contribute as his thoughts were fixed wholly on Marian.
Chapter 32
Placing her hands at the small of her back, Marian stretched, her spine cracking and popping like an old woman’s as she groaned. Except for sleeping (what little there had been), she had spent the entire day at the Norwiches’, and she was quite ready to be in her own home, away from everything. Her head rang from the remnant noise, her mind so very clogged that she was certain she could not form a coherent thought. Rest and quiet were precisely what she needed.
Though much of the mess could wait until tomorrow, the refreshments had required more work, leaving Marian stuck at the Norwiches’ home long after everyone else had left and the family had retired to bed. But with the maids’ help, the leftovers were now wrapped in linen, ready to be delivered to those in need the next day. Yet another little bit of good to be done.
Marian held her shawl close and stepped out into the night as the servants locked the door behind her—no doubt, quite glad to be rid of her so they could collapse in their beds. A shadow moved before her, and she leapt backward, but the shadow’s hands raised in apology as it hurried to her side.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Mr. Finch.
“What are you doing here?” Marian cast a look around the street, half expecting others to emerge from the darkness.
Mr. Finch lifted an arm, pointing at it with his other hand as he smiled. “I suspected you would be here until late into the night and didn’t want to leave you unescorted.”
