Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway
Chapter Twelve
“It is wonderful to have you home again, Papa.”
Marianne stood with her father in the entryway of Daffley Park as he was handed his hat by a footman. Father had arrived just that morning but was now going out with Mama and Beatrice to the Abbotts’ dinner party.
That was one party she truly did not wish to attend.
“It is wonderful to be back,” he responded, smiling down at her. “I assume you’ve been keeping to your routine in my absence.”
“Of course,” she said. As much as possible, anyway.
He placed his hat on his head. “Excellent. I do know how happy it makes you.”
She looked away. Keeping to her routine usually did make her happy. She’d discovered long ago it was the best way to cope with her life. If only Father could understand that that was her reasoning behind creating the schedule in the first place.
“Now,” he said, glancing up to the empty stairs, “before your mother and sister join us, I have some exciting news to share.” She leaned in as he motioned her forward. “I do believe I have finally found a gentleman your sister will marry.”
For a brief instant, Marianne’s heart lifted. Could it be true? Or would this be yet another failed attempt at the Coventrys’ efforts to help Beatrice find love?
“He is the second cousin of Lord Ryecombe,” Father said. “I met him at the cricket match but was unsure of his merits. After meeting with him again in Bath—that was my business for my most recent trip, you see—I am convinced he will be perfect for her. Can you imagine? Your sister, related to a lord? Our family related to an earl?”
Marianne forced a smile. Father had been enthusiastic once at the prospect of his eldest daughter being married off to a very distant relation of a baron. But these things never worked out.
“You do not seem excited, my dear,” Father said. “What is the matter?”
Marianne shook her head. “Nothing. I am excited.”
He frowned, obviously catching the hesitance in her tone. “Surely you must remember that you will benefit more than anyone with your sister finally marrying.”
Didn’t she know it.
He reached for her hand, placing a soft kiss to the back of it. “You have been unendingly patient throughout all of this, my dear. But you shall one day have the attention you deserve.”
Marianne looked away. She didn’t wish for all the attention. Heavens, she didn’t need any attention. She only wanted to be free of her schedule, of Daffley Park, of not speaking to whom she wanted to speak.
“We must simply remember,” Father continued, “following Society’s rules benefits us all. We wouldn’t wish for the upper class to look down upon us because we started beneath them, would we?”
Marianne shook her head, but only because she did not agree with Father’s shame over his past. Making a name for oneself was anything but shameful.
Still, she held her tongue. Father felt as strongly about proving himself to the upper class as she felt about wanting to be in Society.
“I will continue to be patient, Father,” she finally said.
He gave her hand a squeeze then released it. “That is my sweet, obedient Marianne. Always doing the best for her and her family.”
The words skittered up her spine like a spider. She was obedient. She was always obedient. If that was what was best for her and her family, then why was she so miserable?
“Will Beatrice truly choose this man, then?” she asked, desperate for even an ounce of hope to cling to.
“We shall see soon enough.” He leaned in closer, his eyebrows raised conspiratorially. “I’ve managed to secure him an invitation to the Abbotts’ party this evening.”
She struggled to push her grin wider. “Then I look forward to a full report when you return.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs above as Mother and Beatrice appeared.
“I will be sure to keep you informed,” he whispered with a wink. Then he turned to his wife and eldest daughter. “There you are. Come, we mustn’t be late.”
“Yes, we mustn’t upset the Abbots,” Beatrice said.
Marianne thought perhaps Beatrice had said the words in a mocking tone, but her expression remained unchanged.
“You both look lovely this evening,” Marianne said.
Mother reached Marianne’s side and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, darling. I’ve instructed Cook to make an extra helping of sugar biscuits just for you tonight.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Mother always did something special for Marianne on the evenings they attended parties, whether that was requesting pastries from Cook, purchasing new paints, or finding a different book for Marianne to read. The gestures always made the sting of being left at home a little less potent.
“Extra sugar biscuits?” Father chuckled. “You and your pastries, Marianne.”
She wouldn’t need to eat her pastries if she was allowed into Society.
She ignored Father’s teasing and turned to her sister. “Enjoy yourself tonight, Beatrice.” The words lodged inside her throat as if she’d swallowed a cherry pit. Perhaps she wished to join them after all.
“I hardly think that’s possible,” Beatrice said, readjusting her shawl around her shoulders. “You are fortunate enough to be allowed to stay home, Marianne. Dull conversation and forced merriment will surely be the order of the evening for us.”
Marianne always tried very hard not to be envious of Beatrice and her freedom. But it was in moments like these where she despised her sister’s apathy. Did Beatrice not know her own fortune?
“Come along,” Father said, clearly finished with the conversation.
He moved to the doorway, but footsteps above stopped their progression. The family turned toward the stairs as Mr. Steele descended them.
His eyes fell on Marianne first, and her spirits instantly raised. What a thrill it was to have a man as handsome as he watching her.
“Mr. Steele,” Father said at once, “it is good to see you again.”
Mr. Steele reached the landing, coming up to stand near Marianne. That foreign shyness she had felt in his presence before slipped back onto her tongue, and she was rendered mute.
It was just as well. She shouldn’t be speaking with him anyway.
“I hope your business in Bath was completed satisfactorily, sir,” Mr. Steele said.
“Oh, very much.”
Marianne understood Father’s grin all too well. He clearly believed he’d found his daughter’s future husband.
“How fares the carving?”
“Very well, I believe,” Mr. Steele responded.
“Do you always work this late?”
“No, sir. I typically leave before six o’clock, but I lost track of the hour.”
“A man truly dedicated to his work.” Father nodded in approval. “I am sorry I’ve been unable to see your progress thus far. I would do so now, but we are just about to leave for a party.”
Instead of responding or looking at any other member of her family, Mr. Steele’s gaze found Marianne’s. She stood, taken aback at his lingering gaze. It was filled with understanding. But how?
“In that case, I will bid you farewell,” Mr. Steele said. After another glance at Marianne, he departed.
Her family bade farewell to her shortly after, and Marianne was then left alone in the entryway with only her thoughts for company—and only sugar biscuits to look forward to.