Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway
Chapter Sixteen
Mr. Steele stood up from his spot on the grass, and Marianne averted her gaze from the wet patch that had soaked through his backside. She really should not be noticing such a thing.
He extended his hand toward her. “Come. We must hurry so we do not miss it.”
Their hands met as he helped her up, his callused fingers on hers for but a moment before he released her and led the way forward.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he retrieved his jacket and her blanket and sketchbook from the ground.
She twisted her body around to avoid him noting her own wet skirts.
“You shall see soon enough.” His mysterious smile grew as he led her forward past the pond and beech tree and out into the field bordering Daffley Park.
She glanced toward the house. Even though the dining and drawing rooms faced the other side of the estate, anxiety crept through her stomach. Then again, what could Father do if they were discovered? Prevent her entrance into Society even longer?
“It is just up here,” Mr. Steele said.
She set aside her lingering worries and focused ahead.
Without the shelter of the large tree, the wind carried a stronger, brisker chill, seeming to penetrate her very skin. After a moment, they reached the stone wall that ran through the property and sectioned off fields of the grass still wet from the rain earlier that day.
Mr. Steele patted the top of the stone wall. “Sit here,” he instructed.
She eyed the wall that reached well above her chest. “Do you expect me to scale it?”
He laughed, and Marianne’s eyes swiftly met his. She’d never heard him laugh before. Heavens, she’d never even seen him smile so widely before. His whole countenance shifted, his brows raised, his jaw even more defined as he grinned.
He laid her blanket across the wall then turned to her, stretching out his arms. “Allow me to help.”
Suddenly, the stone wall seemed ten feet tall instead of the five that it was. “You are to lift me up there?”
“That is precisely what I intend to do.”
She looked at him with a wary eye. “Are you certain you can manage?”
He raised a daring brow, then in a swift movement, he grasped her around the waist and promptly placed her atop the wall. She barely had time to gasp in response.
“I’ve lifted wooden tables, trunks, and chairs that were heavier than you, Miss Coventry,” he said.
There was that name again. How it taunted her. How she loved it on his lips.
He placed the flat of his hands on top of the wall next, then launched himself up, swiftly shifting around to land perfectly beside her. If only his sleeves had been rolled up. She wouldn’t have minded observing the muscles in his forearms that had no doubt flexed with his movements.
She blinked away the lingering image and stared out at the moody surroundings, thick clouds still covering the skies. “So what are we here to see, Mr. Steele?”
He looked down at her, their shoulders a few inches apart. “With any luck, something that will bring you joy once again.”
Hope knocked against her chest, begging to be let once more into her heart. But she was afraid, afraid to expect good things when her future looked so bleak. “But what is to be done if one cannot find joy?”
His smile faded away. “I know that notion all too well. When my father died, many months passed before I could even register the grief. It took a great deal of patience, but I was able to work through it, eventually finding joy in certain aspects of my life again.”
The sorrow in his brown eyes, the slight raising of his brow, spoke measures of his anguish. How she longed to reach out and soothe the ache that was still there.
Before she could, he motioned in front of them with a tip of his head. Marianne followed his gaze forward, and she breathed an airy sigh. The clouds parted for the sun to make its final sweep across the countryside, brilliant shafts of white light bursting through in every direction. From her view atop the stone wall, she could better see the long stretches of grey stone and the sheep bleating softly in the endless fields, their white, woolen coats shimmering with remnants of rain.
“It is beautiful,” she breathed. “How did you know such a sight would occur?”
He didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes focused on the sunset. Then he leaned toward her until their shoulders touched.
“Sometimes, the brightest sunsets shine only after the longest rains.”
Marianne did not know if his words or his proximity was what made her heart leap within her. But when she looked toward him again, his eyes already on her, her breathing became labored, and a strange sensation overcame her.
This. This was what she’d wanted all along. This was what she’d yearned for. A friend. Someone to speak to, someone with whom she felt heard. Someone with whom she felt seen.
How was it that this woodcarver from Bath whom she’d known for three weeks was the one to give her what she needed when her own family could not?
“Do not give up hope just yet, Miss Coventry,” he whispered, the light from the waning sun lighting half his face. “Speak with your sister, with your parents. Be honest with them. If they are even as remotely as kind and generous as you are, they will listen to you.”
Tears pricked the insides of her eyes, and the truth in his words filled her soul. She’d known all along that was what she’d needed to do, but the fear of being honest with her family, of facing possible rejection, had been too powerful.
But with Mr. Steele’s supportive words, surely she could be brave enough to speak her mind.
A moment ticked by, and Marianne tried to thank him. But as his eyes searched hers, ultimately dropping to her lips, her words froze. Time stuttered to a halt, her chest overflowing with a powerful stirring to—
He looked away, and the spell was broken. Good heavens. What had she been thinking?
“It’s growing dark,” he said.
Marianne nodded at once to prove she was as unruffled as he seemed. Somehow, the sun had set without her knowledge, and the clouds had closed the gaps in the sky, promising more rain that night.
Mr. Steele jumped down from the wall then helped her next, his hands encircling then releasing her waist so swiftly, she hardly had time to comprehend his touch.
“Will you allow me to walk you back to the house?”
She glanced over her shoulder, candles glowing from a few of the windows. “I think perhaps it is better if I go on alone. It is not far.”
He nodded his understanding, taking a few steps back and swinging his jacket over his shoulder. “Then I shall leave you. Goodnight, Miss Coventry.” He turned away, heading back in the direction of the beech tree and pond.
His foot kicked up a thick slab of a tree branch—about the length of his hand—that must have broken off during a recent storm. He paused a moment, bending down to retrieve the piece of wood then carried on. What was he to do with that?
A sudden longing to extend the evening, to extend their conversation, pushed her words forth. “Mr. Steele?”
He stopped, turning back to face her, the wood still in his hands. “Yes?”
“I…I just wished to thank you. Your words meant a great deal to me.”
He gave a soft smile. “It was my pleasure, ma’am.”
She tried with all her might to think of something else to say, but as a cold wind slipped past her neck and produced a shiver down her spine, he nodded toward the house. “You’d best hurry before you catch a cold.”
He was right, of course. She was beginning to notice that he made a habit of being right. She nodded, delivering a curtsy, then turned toward the house.
Despair threatened to return, but she pushed it aside, recalling Mr. Steele’s words, the sunset, and the way his eyes had searched hers. Just as he’d promised, the world—and her future—did not seem so very bleak, after all.
* * *
Edward stood near the beech tree, watching Miss Coventry until she disappeared within the house. Only then did he continue making his way back to the village.
He tapped the piece of wood against his leg and picked up his pace as the first drops of rain fell from the sky.
He was a fool. Not only for staying out so late and getting caught in the rain, but for speaking to Miss Coventry, for sharing things he ought not have, and for drawing closer to his employer’s daughter—that wounded, aching, beautiful woman.
He replaced his jacket as a brisk wind blew against him, splashing raindrops against his cheeks. He’d been unable to stop himself from pursuing her when he’d first seen her seated beside that beech tree. He’d known she was injured, but he’d had no idea how greatly until she spoke, and his heart reached out to her.
Of course, he didn’t regret helping her, but he could’ve done so without sharing that he was destitute. Not only was it humiliating for him to admit, but he was risking drawing closer by connecting with her. And for heaven’s sake, he never should have looked at her pink lips.
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyes, willing the image to leave his mind. He had work to do, and he could not be distracted. Especially after receiving Mother’s latest letter.
Pressure weighed down on his shoulders as he recalled the missive he’d received only that morning.
Son, I’ve debated about whether to write to you, but I know you’d wish to know. I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Chapple has called in our debts. Apparently, he’s heard word of the many commissions you’ve received of late. Coupled with you being hired by Lord Ryecombe and now Mr. Coventry, he believes we have more money to spare than we’ve let on. As such, he is requesting the rent in total that we owe him, to be delivered to him within a fortnight.
I take full responsibility for this, as I never should have been spreading word about your successes. Forgive your silly Mother, as proud as she is of you.
The first thing Edward would do upon arriving back at the Blue Boar was write his mother to ease her concerns. She was no doubt making herself sick with worry. Then he’d write to the landlord, explain the situation in full, and pray the man would have a change of heart.
Edward would be paid early next week, but that wouldn’t cover the four months’ worth of debt he’d accumulated. He also would never consider asking Mr. Coventry for an advance.
His only option was to finish the carving early and hope the man would give him the same amount they’d agreed upon. Indeed, that was the very reason he’d remained later at Daffley that evening—in an attempt to accomplish more work so he could return home sooner.
Of course, that meant bidding farewell to Miss Coventry sooner. Not that he took any issue with that. In fact, it would be better to sever his relationship with the woman now. The closer he drew to her, the more likely he would share more about his life, and inevitably, the rumors.
After all, how could he, in good conscience, allow her to befriend him further without her full knowledge of the facts around his family? No lady in her right mind would continue to spend time with a working-class man with a name of such ill-repute—false as it was.
He’d never keep his job at Daffley if word got out.
Curse his loosened tongue.