Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway

Chapter Twenty-Two

Marianne clutched Mr. Steele’s arm harder, repeating her words and confirming her worst fears.

“I know her!” she whispered again.

Instinctively, she stepped closer to Mr. Steele, hoping to shield herself from the woman approaching.

“From Ashwick?” he asked.

“Yes, she is one of my mother’s closest friends.” The woman, Mrs. Perkins, drew closer, her voice getting louder and louder. What was she doing in Wells? Would she be at the assembly that night? Marianne’s heart sunk lower and lower. “I need to go back to the inn,” she whispered. “I must hide!”

She turned around, about to dart farther out onto the street to make for the inn, but Mr. Steele wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her back.

“There isn’t time,” he said.

Swiftly, he led her deeper into the alleyway, turning his body toward her so his back faced the street. He pulled her near him, resting his hands on her arms just below her shoulders. In response, she tucked in her elbows, holding her fisted hands against his chest to hide behind his large frame.

If the woman saw them, the position they were in would be more than compromising—it would be detrimental.

Mrs. Perkins’s voice sounded right at the opening of the alleyway, and Marianne’s legs turned to jelly. The woman’s words were unintelligible, but her voice was unmistakable.

Only, it was not Mrs. Perkins’s.

Marianne paused. Carefully, she peered around Mr. Steele’s shoulder quick enough to see the woman walking by. Sure enough, it was another woman entirely.

Marianne’s shoulders fell with relief. Her eyes must have tricked her, convinced her of her greatest fear.

She leaned back to inform Mr. Steele of her blunder, but when she looked up at him, she became acutely aware of just how closely she stood before him. Her hands were still against his chest, his fingers around her arms.

He watched her, his brow creasing as he frowned. Was he upset with her for almost having been discovered? For bringing them both to Wells and risking everything?

“Is she gone?” he asked, his voice gruff.

She nodded, her words wavering. “Forgive me. It was not her after all. I thought…”

She couldn’t finish her words, her eyes taken with his mouth as his lips parted. A moment passed by in silence, their proximity pushing her heart to race harder and harder until finally, his hands dropped, and he took a step back.

“You are certain it wasn’t anyone you recognized?”

She nodded, unable to say a word.

“Thank heavens,” he said, looking anything but relieved as he averted his gaze. What had troubled him so greatly to cause that frown of his to return? “We had better return to the inn. You must have time to make ready for the assembly.”

He stepped aside, allowing her a wide berth. “You may go first. I’ll follow shortly after.”

She nodded in silence, stepping past him and making for the inn alone.

* * *

It did not take long for Edward to dress for the assembly that evening, yet still, he lingered as much as possible in his room, pacing back and forth and whittling away at the beechwood—the way he usually cleared his mind.

Except this time, the piece he carved did nothing but clutter his thoughts, adding another opportunity for his attention to dwell on Miss Coventry.

He wasn’t blind to the fact that he’d been attracted to her ever since the cricket match. But now, he had feelings for her, and he shouldn’t. He cared for her, and he shouldn’t.

He wanted to protect her, to shelter her from the cruelties of the world so she could maintain her happy spirit. Spending the day with her, pulling her against him in the alleyway—that had done nothing but dump kindling onto a fire errantly lapping toward Miss Coventry.

That same fire edged dangerously close to his heart.

With an aggravated sigh, he set the whittling down and retied his cravat, then he left the beechwood behind. The carving was frustrating him anyway. Something was missing in the design, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

No doubt because he was far too distracted with a certain lady making ready for the ball in the room across from his.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he descended the staircase of the inn. What was he going to do with himself? How had he even allowed this to happen? How in heaven’s name was he to remain unaffected, all while pretending to be married to the woman?

The assembly’s raucous noise grew louder as he neared the large hall, laughter and conversation drifting down the corridor to where he stood awaiting Miss Coventry.

Where was she? Had she finally lost her nerve, with this being her first dance? He wouldn’t blame her. He’d attended quite a few assemblies when he was younger, and butterflies still fluttered in his stomach tonight.

He paced back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, his footsteps sliding against the wood floor as he attempted to talk sense to his mind.

He and Miss Coventry would never work. Their lives were too different. She was wealthy, he wasn’t even making ends meet. Her father heartily disapproved of his daughters marrying working-class men, and his mother had very little to her name because of Edward’s failing business.

And then there was the matter of the rumors…

No, having a relationship with the woman—even a friendship—would prove detrimental to them both, and tonight, he would no longer allow himself to entertain thoughts of the two of them being together.

Then she descended the stairs.

The very sight robbed him of his breath, stripped him of his senses, and rendered him utterly hopeless.

At the cricket match and later at Daffley Park, Miss Coventry had been odd, though undeniably pretty. As she’d explored Wells earlier today, she had been lively, enthusiastic, and beautiful, smiling and skipping from shop to shop.

But now, as Miss Coventry slowly moved down the stairs step-by-step, confident and calm, she was stunning. Her chin was level, not raised to her sister’s superior height, and her shoulders were squared with confidence and regality. Her light-blue gown accentuated her feminine curves in a modest manner, the soft fabric cascading down from the ribbon around her bodice like a crystal blue waterfall.

White gloves extended up her arms and past her elbows, and a simple pearl bracelet matched her necklace and drop-pearl earrings.

She was the portrait of perfection, and Edward was lost.

“Good evening,” she greeted, looking past him to the doorway down the corridor. The first dance had already begun, the music sailing toward them as dancers swirled past the side entrance they stood nearby. “I’m sorry I took so very long. I’m afraid Jane is not entirely practiced for such elegant hairstyles. She was a little anxious due to the pressure of the evening.”

Edward could only nod.

“Does the ribbon look terrible?” she asked next. “Jane assured me it did not, but I had no mirror large enough to know for certain.”

She turned her head to the side, angling her neck to provide him a better view of the ribbon.

All he could see was the smooth skin of her neck.

He swallowed, willing his gaze to follow the ribbon laced perfectly through her dark curls. “It looks…” His voice cracked. Cursed, wretched…He cleared his throat and lowered his tone. “It looks very fine, indeed.”

She remained where she was, still speaking away from him. “And the flowers?”

Small blue flowers adorned the top of the hairstyle, as if the petals had sprouted from the ribbon woven throughout. They were the very flower she’d worn at the cricket match.

“They are perfect,” he stated simply, afraid his voice would give way once more.

“Thank heavens.” She breathed a sigh of relief, facing him. “They are my favorite flower, forget-me-nots. I plucked them from my bonnet.”

Her favorite flower. Of course. With a small smile, he tucked away the information then nodded. “They match very well.”

“I hoped so.” Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes scaling him up and down. His back straightened of its own accord. “You look quite dashing yourself, sir.”

For a moment, he thought she was simply saying such to be polite, but when her eyes lingered on his, her warm gaze filled every inch of his soul with heat.

He looked away, drawing in a deep breath. “Well, Mrs. Hickenbottom, are you ready to attend your first dance?”