Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway
Chapter Eleven
Years ago, Edward and his father had been commissioned to create a sign for an inn in Devonshire. They’d traveled to the Golden Mermaid and delivered the sign—a mermaid with her tail diving into the water—before spending the night there. It had been the warmest, friendliest, and cleanest inn Edward had ever stayed at.
Perhaps that was why the Blue Boar seemed so dreadful. Or maybe his opinion was due to the plate full of inedible food sitting before him. The beef was black, the carrots were yellow, and the boiled potatoes were as hard as the rocks pebbling the road outside.
If he was still hungry after seeing such unappetizing food, he wasn’t any longer once the scent of burnt apple pie at the other end of the table reached his nose.
The cook at the Blue Boar could take a pointer or two from the Coventrys’ cook or Mrs. Hill.
He gently pushed the plate aside and scooted his chair back from the table, heading to sit at the bar. Instead of drinking the ale he’d requested, he stared out of the window at the rain splashing against the glass.
He’d received correspondence from Mother that day that had both worried and soothed him.
I’ve been telling everyone that our fortunes have changed. First, Lord Ryecombe hiring you to create cricket bats, and now Mr. Coventry requesting your services for months. Word has spread, and now, I’m pleased to say, you have a growing list of projects to see to upon your return home. Apparently, the good word of a gentleman helps a person as greatly as a poor word destroys one.
Mr. Chapple has requested to call on you, but I’ve managed to ward him off at present. I suspect he is anxious to receive his rent—and rightfully so—but he will simply have to wait.
If anything, taking more commissions for you has helped my days to speed along more quickly, which, I fear, is most needed. I find I grow rather bored when you are not here, my son. But worry not. I am more than well.
She seemed hopeful in her words, if not a little discouraged, which only added to Edward’s guilt. There he’d been, enjoying pastries left and right, complaining about the bed at the Blue Boar, and doing the job he loved entirely, all while Mother was suffering alone. Lonely, no doubt hungry, yet still taking commissions for them to stay afloat.
How had he turned out so selfish with such a mother?
He sighed, longing for a distraction from his discouraging thoughts, so he turned his attention to the various conversations around him between gentlemen, farmers, and servants alike.
“Well, my Jimmy just purchased a cow…”
“The Clark’s stable hand Charlie Macrae has been eyin’ up some fine lady. Heaven knows who…”
“I’ll be headed to Town, come July…”
“Mr. Coventry has always been that way…”
Instantly, Edward pulled on the reins of his focus, settling on the mention of the Coventrys.
“It is a terrible shame,” the first man said, a voice Edward didn’t recognize. He glanced furtively over his shoulder but could not place the gentleman speaking. “But we’ve known what Mr. Coventry has been like since he moved here. All about appearance, prideful man. He believes he is better only because he rose above his lower class.”
Edward’s eyes rounded. Mr. Coventry had been working class? Previous conversations with Miss Coventry swirled into focus. Of course. That’s why they’d lived in a smaller town before. That’s why they’d moved into Daffley Park. That’s why he only wanted the best in décor and clothing—to prove his worth.
The second gentleman piped up. “I only hope the pride ends with him, though we know it has already infected his eldest. Miss Marianne is the exception, of course.”
Edward had lost all sense of propriety. He didn’t care a lick that he was eavesdropping right now.
“Indeed. She’s a lovely girl. Shame Mr. Coventry has kept her out of Society for so long.”
Edward paused. Miss Coventry was not yet out in Society? She had to be at least twenty years now. She had to be out. Yet…
Once more, information, memories, and thoughts flew about his mind, bouncing against the edges as he tried to make sense of it all. The schedule to be kept, keeping their conversations a secret, behaving so oddly, having never been called “Miss Coventry” before. That was all because she hadn’t been out in Society yet?
He knew of the upper class refusing to allow their daughters out until the older sisters were married, but refusing to allow a woman to socialize, to call, to dance, or to attend dinner parties at twenty, simply for the sake of appearances? How unthinkably cruel.
With a heavy heart, he left his drink untouched and wandered to his room, pulling out the stick he’d been whittling away at and plopping back onto his bed.
It truly was a wonder that Miss Coventry was still so happy, despite her hardships. Then again, perhaps she wasn’t.