Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway

Chapter Nineteen

Edward woke at the crack of dawn. How he longed to stay in bed. No matter the lumps protruding into his spine, the mattress called his name in soothing whispers, beckoning him to receive more sleep.

The novelty of carving the bookshelves had worn off, his exhaustion stiffening his limbs and weighing down his mood, but he could not give up now. He needed to finish the library. He needed to return to Mother. He needed to receive word from Mr. Chapple. Would the man accept his request to postpone payment for longer? Or would Edward return to Bath to find an empty shop and no home?

Rolling out of bed, he made ready for the morning, tucking the small piece of beechwood he’d collected with Miss Coventry into his satchel. He brought the wood with him each day to Daffley, working on a side carving every spare moment he received. He was almost finished, even though he was not sure anything would ever come from carving it.

With his satchel over his shoulder, he left the Blue Boar and headed straight for the bakery. Mrs. Hill did not open her shop until much later, but over the last week, she’d generously offered to give Edward his usual pastries earlier so he’d still have the option to collect them.

“I’ve made queen currant cakes for you today, Mr. Steele,” Mrs. Hill said with her customary warm smile. “I’ve added a few more than usual, too, to help you last the day out.”

After retrieving the parcel of pastries and professing his great appreciation to Mrs. Hill, Edward continued down the quiet street. The area around him was empty, excepting a gentleman striding down the other side of the street, a single carriage rattling by, and a woman walking in the opposite direction of him with a cloak drawn over her face, trailed closely by her female servant carrying a full portmanteau.

He tucked the pastries securely into his satchel as he passed by the woman, ignoring the scent of cherry tarts that wafted toward him from his package.

His brow puckered. Cherry tarts? Had Mrs. Hill not said they were queen currant cakes today?

“Mr. Steele?”

He nearly jumped at the whisper spoken just behind him. Stopping his progression down the street, he turned to see who had called for him. But the only person was the cloaked woman he’d passed by before.

Her head shifted left and right then raised just a fraction. Edward knew at once who she was. There was no mistaking those perfectly curved lips.

“Miss Coventry?” he said aloud. He hadn’t seen her since they’d spoken at sunset four days past. Had his words and suggestions managed to help? Or was she still just as forlorn?

She winced at her name on his lips. She held up her hands, a bonnet in one of them as she looked swiftly around them. “Heavens, Mr. Steele, do take care.”

He looked around, as well, but no one was in sight. “Why must I take care?” he asked in a far lower tone. What the devil was she doing in town so early and with only a maid to chaperone?

A smile curved her lips, and she moved closer to him. “Because I mustn’t be discovered.”

“Why mustn’t you be discovered?”

Her eyes sparkled, but she remained silent. He glanced at the maid standing off to the side, her face also covered by a wide-brimmed cloak, hands poking out from the folds of fabric where she held the large portmanteau.

A portmanteau. Why would they…

He looked back to Miss Coventry. “Do not tell me,” he began.

She nodded. “I am leaving Ashwick.”

“Miss Coventry—”

She shushed him again with another look around. “You will certainly be the death of me, sir. Please, refrain from using my name.”

He drew a deep breath. “My apologies. I’m simply astonished to see you here. What do you mean, you’re leaving Ashwick? Why?”

Her eyes dimmed. “Beatrice has no intention of marrying, and Father has no intention of allowing me out in Society until she does. Instead of waiting for my turn to be out, I am seizing the opportunity for myself.”

His heart reached out to her, but honestly, the woman was absolutely mad. “But, Miss—” He stopped as she raised her hand to silence him again. He restarted. “Your family will surely notice your absence.”

She sniffed out in disbelief. “They will not even notice I am gone, I assure you. They are to attend a private ball this evening here in Ashwick. When Beatrice is set to parade before gentlemen, I am left to my own devices. At any rate, I’ve another servant I’m paying at Daffley to ensure my absence remains unnoticed for a time.”

That hardly resolved his concerns. “Surely you are aware of the possible repercussions should you see this through. Your reputation will be ruined, as will your family’s.”

“I care not about reputation,” she said with a raised chin.

The words pinched a nerve. “You only say that because you do not know what it is to suffer with a poor one.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes. This was not the conversation he ought to be having right now. He needed to be at Daffley Park, working for Mr. Coventry. Not in Ashwick, trying to bring his employer’s daughter home.

“You cannot simply leave without thinking of the dangers of traveling alone,” he continued. “Where in heaven’s name do you plan to stay? And with whom?”

She raised a flippant shoulder. “I’ve an aunt in Cornwall. Or an uncle who lives in Scotland.”

“Scotland?” His eyes widened. She was planning to take the stagecoach all the way to Scotland? “You cannot be serious.”

She sighed. “Very well, then I shall travel to Cornwall. I hear it’s lovely. The sea, the lighthouses, the mines. What a beautiful place to live.”

She’d clearly taken leave of her senses, and it was all his fault. He never should have persuaded her to take courage. “Please,” he continued, forcing himself to remain calm, “you must think this through. You cannot travel the entire way to Cornwall alone.”

“I’m not alone.” She gave him a knowing smile. “I have Jane here with me.”

He glanced at the maid who was smaller in stature and height than even Miss Coventry. Oh, yes, she would provide a great deal of protection.

He rubbed a hand across his brow. What could he say to speak sense to the woman? Clearly, logic was not working. But when he looked at her again, he noticed a forced innocence in her raised brows and an amused glint in her green eyes.

“Are you…are you in earnest?” he questioned. She grinned from ear to ear, and relief flooded through his person. “Oh, thank heavens. I did not believe you could be so daft as to leave your home.” He paused. “But then, why the portmanteau?”

“Oh, I am still leaving Ashwick, but only for the day—and not to Cornwall or Scotland.” She leaned in closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “You see, there is an assembly I am inclined to attend at the inn in Wells this evening. It is but eight miles southwest of here. That is why I am here so early—to catch the only coach through the town. I shall be delivered there in safety in but a little over an hour.”

For a brief moment, all his fears had been laid to rest at the notion of her remaining in Ashwick. Now, however, knowing Miss Coventry had a plan and a way to see about said plan, his concern only grew.

“A coach will not ensure your safe deliverance,” he said slowly, hoping the words would speak directly to her judgment. “Any number of accidents could befall you, not to mention the very real possibility that you will be recognized at one point or another during your travels.”

She simply waved a passive hand. “I’m sure an accident will hardly be likely. And as luck would have it, being held captive at Daffley is my one saving grace. No one will recognize me, for I have never been there. As for the stagecoach, my dependable hood shall do the trick.” She pulled it closer as if to emphasize her point.

He scoffed. The woman really was mad. There was no other explanation for her flawed logic. “I am sorry, but I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to do something so reckless.”

She gave a little smile and a shake of her head, as if she thought his attempt to stop her was laughable. “Well, I am sorry, but I cannot, in good conscience, remain here. Goodbye, Mr. Steele. I wish you luck with your work in the library today.”

She curtsied then made her way down the street.

Edward’s jaw went slack. Confound it. She was in earnest.

Swiftly, he stepped toward her, holding her arm softly until she turned toward him again. “If you insist on going right now, I shall…” He opened and closed his mouth twice, attempting to concoct a threat. “I shall tell your father.”

She laughed airily, walking ahead. “You threaten poorly, sir. I know you are far too kind to out me in such a way.”

Blast. She knew him too well. He took a few steps then moved in front of her to stop her progression again. “Well, I am also far too kind to allow you to throw your future away by leaving Ashwick unaccompanied.”

She studied him carefully for a moment. “It appears we are at an impasse then, sir.”

He folded his arms. “Indeed.”

They stood in silence, both waiting for the other to cave, both refusing to be the first to do so.

Finally, she sighed. “As I see it, you have three options.” She raised a gloved finger. “The first, you allow me to go on my own and keep silent about it, offering me the chance to live out my life the way I wish to. The second”—she held up another finger—“you make for Daffley and tell my father my plan, thereby ruining my chance at freedom. This may sound the obvious solution, but you see, I shall already be gone on the coach before either of you have the chance to stop me, and my reputation will already be at risk.”

Edward listened with growing unease. Perhaps Miss Coventry was not so daft as he’d thought. She certainly knew how to play his own logic against her senselessness, for her words were beginning to sound sensible to him.

She drew a deep breath and continued with three fingers raised. “Finally, your third option is to accompany me to Wells.”

Well, she had certainly lost him there. He barked out a disbelieving laugh. “You cannot be serious, Miss Coventry. How could—”

She reached up, holding a finger against his lips and looking around. Fortunately, the street was still vacant. Unfortunately, her touch had rendered him as useless as an unsharpened hatchet. His heart stopped, resuming a second later with slow, irregular taps against his swelling chest.

She turned back to look at him, stared at her finger touching his lips, then swiftly pulled away. The warmth lingered like hot tea on his lips.

“You mustn’t say my name,” she murmured.

He nodded, still unable to push a word from his mouth, though his thoughts continued. Was she entirely unaware of the risks to both of them should they be discovered at any point during their absence? They’d be accused of horrible things. Her reputation would be destroyed. He’d be released from his job. He’d lose his one source of income, his chance to finally escape poverty.

“I take it you did not appreciate my third suggestion,” she said, smoothing the outside of her cloak.

Finally, he forced out his words. “Only because such an idea could never work. I could keep you from danger, yes. But all the risks would remain the same—being discovered, your reputation, my work at Daffley—”

“I would ensure that will not change,” she blurted out.

He regarded her skeptically, and she hid the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “You can promise no such thing,” he said. Then he glanced to the maid who stood a distance away. He and Miss Coventry had been speaking softly enough for the young woman to hear only pieces of their conversation, but he lowered his tone even more. “What if someone else informs your father of your departure from Daffley?”

Miss Coventry picked up on his insinuation in an instant. “I’ve paid her for her silence, as well.”

That meant very little to Edward. Money only went so far when a person’s livelihood was at stake.

“Your presence would help me,” Miss Coventry’s soft voice drifted toward him, her expression vulnerable. “Especially at the assembly. You could be my chaperone.”

“You know that would not be proper. I am not your brother, nor am I married myself.”

She wrung her hands together. “No…but you could pretend to be my husband for the evening.”

His mouth dropped open. Just when he thought she could not surprise him further. “Do you know what it is you are even asking me to do?”

Finally, she sobered, looking up at him with rounded eyes akin to a lost child. “Yes, Mr. Steele. I am asking you to help me live for just one evening.”

Her words struck his conscience. He wanted to help her. Truly, he did. But there were things that could not be solved, matters that could not be ignored.

“How would I explain my own absence to your father and the rest of the household who expect to see me?” He did not wish to encourage hope by asking such a question, but perhaps she would cease her endeavors if she realized how difficult the task was that she asked of him.

She thought for a moment. “My father is not entirely unreasonable. Send a note requesting the day to recoup from your early mornings and late evenings. He will understand.”

Perhaps. But Mr. Coventry would not understand Edward taking time away from work to gallivant around Wells with the man’s daughter.

“I will compensate you for your efforts,” Miss Coventry offered next, clearly attempting to sweeten the offer.

He cringed at the very notion. “I would never accept your money, especially when there is potential for ruining your reputation. Heavens, the risk involved…” He ended with a shake of his head.

“I am well aware of the risks in regard to myself, sir. And I am willing to subject myself to such.”

She certainly did not know of the greatest risk of all—the risk of her reputation being tainted simply by conversing with a Steele. Being alone in a different town with one would be catastrophic. How could he subject her to that? How could he risk everything for that?

“I do not wish to injure you,” he said softly, unable to share the gravity of the rumors surrounding his father, the rumors they’d all tried so hard to leave behind.

Miss Coventry’s shoulders fell forward, and she nodded contritely. “I understand why that is your answer, sir, and I accept that your mind has been made up. But then, so has mine. Good day, Mr. Steele.”

She moved down the street, her maid following closely at her heels.

Mr. Steele shook his head. She was still going, even knowing he might alert her father—thereby ending her chances at attending the assembly at all? This woman’s stubborn madness would be the death of them both.

If only she was teasing him once again. And yet, was it worth the risk of waiting to find out if she was?

He rubbed the back of his neck, a rod of worry lodged down his spine. How had he ever found himself between two decisions such as these—risk Miss Coventry’s life or risk his and Mother’s livelihood?

Still torn to pieces like an inconsequential piece of paper, he made his decision. If he accompanied Miss Coventry, at least he knew he could keep her safe.

“Wait,” he said, moving swiftly down the street, catching up to Miss Coventry and her awaiting maid. “I will go with you.”

Miss Coventry turned to face him with wide eyes. “You will?”

He nodded. “If only to keep you out of trouble.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

She placed her hands over her mouth with excitement. “Thank you, Mr. Steele!” Then she waved him toward the Blue Boar. “Now you must move swiftly. The coach will arrive in just a few moments. Find something to wear to the assembly this evening and bring whatever else you might need. Oh, and do not forget to write the note to Father. Swiftly, Mr. Steele. Make haste, make haste!”

He shook his head at her urging, moving toward the inn in a daze. What had he just agreed to do?